frowned in the mirror. “You sick?”
“No, I’m not sick. But I will be if I don’t take the medication.”
“Oh, I see. Well . . . yeah, sure. I can take you—”
There was a burst of chatter from the radio and Ram stopped talking, inclined his head, and listened.
Andy caught a word here, a number there, but other than that, he couldn’t understand what the dispatcher was saying.
The radio fell silent and a moment later, Ram barked that single laugh again and said, “Well, hot damn, that’s the Clancy place! Sounds like maybe Giff’s having some problems tonight. And we’re really close.”
Ram suddenly took a sharp left turn and increased his speed. He hit a button and red and blue light began to dance in the darkness in a swirling pattern around the car as it drove through the night.
“You two just sit tight,” Ram said. “I gotta take this call. You two stay in the car and you’ll be fine, okay?”
Andy turned to Donny, who looked afraid. Andy knew exactly how he felt. He could not believe Ram was taking them on a call. He really had lost his mind. But Andy said nothing.
When he got no response, Ram shouted at the top of his lungs, “ Okay ?” It was a sharp, piercing sound in the small space and it made Andy’s ears ring.
“Sure, Ram, sure, okay,” Andy said quickly, because there was nothing else he could say, nothing else he could do. Like it or not, he and Donny were in Ram’s hands.
Simon Granger stood on a fat, sturdy branch and hugged the trunk of the oak tree he was in to keep from falling as it tossed and swayed in the raging wind. He wore night-vision goggles over his ski mask and his Remington 700, equipped with a suppressor, was strapped to his shoulder. He’d been soaked to the skin for so long now, it was almost easy to forget he was wet.
Upon entering the hospital’s fenced-in grounds with the others earlier, he and three other men had climbed the enormous oak trees that stood like great sentries around the hospital. Simon stood in the tree on the western side. The trunk split into two fat arms that spread apart, as if it were going to hug the building, its tentaclelike branches extended in all directions.
As Ollie’s men had headed for the back of the building to get in, Simon had watched the Vendon Labs security team as they were caught completely off guard. They’d come from the guardhouse at the gate, from the building’s rear entrance, and some had materialized out of the darkness that had concealed them. They were fast and silent and Ollie’s men did not hesitate to shoot them. Now their bodies lay scattered around the grounds. The guardhouse stood dark and empty and the chain-link gate was twisted and broken and standing open.
Earlier, he’d watched someone crash a Jeep through the gate and speed away down the gravel road. He should have called Ollie and told him about it, but he’d been too busy hanging on to the oak’s trunk to keep from falling out of the tree. His only job was to cover the others as they went into and came out of the building.
The storm had intensified in the last several minutes and now the tree in which Simon stood was flailing in the powerful wind, creaking and groaning, threatening to throw him to the ground. A sound came up from beneath him, one he could not identify at first—a cracking, popping sound. It came in bursts and reminded him of the sound of popcorn popping in a microwave oven.
The wind attacked the hospital like an angry beast. The windows on the ground floor had been boarded up, but apparently not well enough. The boards over some of the windows in the rear began to come loose. One of them flapped noisily in the wind for a while, then tore away with a crunching sound and flew into the darkness. Others began to follow.
Simon was afraid that Hurricane Quentin had arrived early and was ready to party while he was still in this tree, waiting to cover the others when they came out. But when would that be? He
“No, I’m not sick. But I will be if I don’t take the medication.”
“Oh, I see. Well . . . yeah, sure. I can take you—”
There was a burst of chatter from the radio and Ram stopped talking, inclined his head, and listened.
Andy caught a word here, a number there, but other than that, he couldn’t understand what the dispatcher was saying.
The radio fell silent and a moment later, Ram barked that single laugh again and said, “Well, hot damn, that’s the Clancy place! Sounds like maybe Giff’s having some problems tonight. And we’re really close.”
Ram suddenly took a sharp left turn and increased his speed. He hit a button and red and blue light began to dance in the darkness in a swirling pattern around the car as it drove through the night.
“You two just sit tight,” Ram said. “I gotta take this call. You two stay in the car and you’ll be fine, okay?”
Andy turned to Donny, who looked afraid. Andy knew exactly how he felt. He could not believe Ram was taking them on a call. He really had lost his mind. But Andy said nothing.
When he got no response, Ram shouted at the top of his lungs, “ Okay ?” It was a sharp, piercing sound in the small space and it made Andy’s ears ring.
“Sure, Ram, sure, okay,” Andy said quickly, because there was nothing else he could say, nothing else he could do. Like it or not, he and Donny were in Ram’s hands.
Simon Granger stood on a fat, sturdy branch and hugged the trunk of the oak tree he was in to keep from falling as it tossed and swayed in the raging wind. He wore night-vision goggles over his ski mask and his Remington 700, equipped with a suppressor, was strapped to his shoulder. He’d been soaked to the skin for so long now, it was almost easy to forget he was wet.
Upon entering the hospital’s fenced-in grounds with the others earlier, he and three other men had climbed the enormous oak trees that stood like great sentries around the hospital. Simon stood in the tree on the western side. The trunk split into two fat arms that spread apart, as if it were going to hug the building, its tentaclelike branches extended in all directions.
As Ollie’s men had headed for the back of the building to get in, Simon had watched the Vendon Labs security team as they were caught completely off guard. They’d come from the guardhouse at the gate, from the building’s rear entrance, and some had materialized out of the darkness that had concealed them. They were fast and silent and Ollie’s men did not hesitate to shoot them. Now their bodies lay scattered around the grounds. The guardhouse stood dark and empty and the chain-link gate was twisted and broken and standing open.
Earlier, he’d watched someone crash a Jeep through the gate and speed away down the gravel road. He should have called Ollie and told him about it, but he’d been too busy hanging on to the oak’s trunk to keep from falling out of the tree. His only job was to cover the others as they went into and came out of the building.
The storm had intensified in the last several minutes and now the tree in which Simon stood was flailing in the powerful wind, creaking and groaning, threatening to throw him to the ground. A sound came up from beneath him, one he could not identify at first—a cracking, popping sound. It came in bursts and reminded him of the sound of popcorn popping in a microwave oven.
The wind attacked the hospital like an angry beast. The windows on the ground floor had been boarded up, but apparently not well enough. The boards over some of the windows in the rear began to come loose. One of them flapped noisily in the wind for a while, then tore away with a crunching sound and flew into the darkness. Others began to follow.
Simon was afraid that Hurricane Quentin had arrived early and was ready to party while he was still in this tree, waiting to cover the others when they came out. But when would that be? He
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