Page 144 of Agency
“Upstairs, right?” I asked, finally, after swallowing against my adrenaline-fed dry mouth. “He’s gotta be.”
“Gotta be.”
Heaving myself to my feet, I offered Morgan a hand for the rest of the way. He accepted, and I really had to work my legs to get him up from the ground. With the extra gear loading him down, he was probably close to two-hundred-and-fifty pounds.
And then we were getting strapped again, and Morgan was checking the time on his wrist watch.
“How we doing?”
“Only two minutes down so far,” he growled back. “Doing fine.”
Nodding, we went to the base of the stairs. We paused for a second, and our eyes both glanced up the straight climb to an open, wraparound landing at the top. The whole way we would be open and exposed.
“Thanks,” Morgan said as my boot touched the first step. “By the way.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said.
He grabbed my shoulder, turned me back to him, saying, “But if I don’t now, I might not ever get the chance again.” His gloved fingers came up, brushed my cheek, and his lips were coming down to mine as my eyes turned up to his.
Certainly not standard fields ops procedure. But I didn’t care!
Honestly, Morgan tasted kind of gross. Not that I probably tasted any better. His breath was stale, and adrenaline seemed to coat his tongue as mine ran over the warmth of him. But, still, I kissed him like this was the greatest, most important kiss of my life, and like he tasted of the freshest mint in the world.
We parted after a long moment, foreheads pressing together as we breathed heavily.
“See you on the other side of this?” he asked.
“Definitely.”
Chapter Forty
Ambyr
Now that we weren’t locked in a life-and-death struggle, I could actually appreciate my surroundings. And, Management’s cabin was, dare I say, homey. Family pictures on the walls, comfortably stuffed furniture, thick carpet and heavy rugs lining the floors. Nothing was ostentatious, nothing designer quality. Instead, his furnishings were all functional and utilitarian.
What must have been family pictures hung from the wood-paneled walls. Well, some still hung. Our firearms and CQC had knocked plenty to the floor.
But, even here on the stairs, framed pictures from a range of decades and time periods covered the left side. Children, young people, older people, all in black-and-white, Kodak color, and even on Polaroids.
Management was a family man. Or, at least, had been.
Still on point–and with weapon raised–I continued the upstairs climb. Barrel tracking my vision, I swept the landing above as I took every step with methodical care. A steadybeep,beep,beepcame from somewhere above us, making me pause halfway up. I looked down to Morgan.
“Hear that?”
He nodded. “Bombs don’t really beep, though. You know that.”
I nodded. Right. I kept going until, there I was, at the top, with what I figured to be Management’s room down at the end of a nearby hall.
Now, the smell hit the back of my throat. That hospital smell I remembered so clearly from after the car accident. Bleach and too much air freshener, and the underlying smell of sweat, bodily waste, and rot that never seemed to go away. At least in hospitals, there was a staff constantly cleaning and disinfecting the surfaces specifically chosen to handle patients. Here, though, the smell had seeped into the porous wood-paneled walls, permeated the carpet and rugs covering the floors.
The beeping continued. A sharp, mechanical inhale and exhale.
“Clear the other rooms,” I communicated to Morgan with a series of raised hand signals as I slowly made my way down towards the room I just knew was Management’s.
He didn’t acknowledge, simply went off to follow my order. The final check was no more than a simple precaution. We both knew there was no one else in the house besides us and our target. But, better safe than sorry.
I kept going.
