That Time in Cairo, Logan Ryles [books suggested by bill gates .txt] 📗

“Your call,” Edric said. “Whatever you do, hurry it up. You’re going on twenty minutes.”

Wolfgang placed a hand on her arm. “Trust me. This is it.”

Megan handed him the scroll, then twisted to the keypad. Her finger danced over the keys as Wolfgang recited the numbers, then she hesitated over the pound sign. Wolfgang nodded again, and she pressed it. There was a pause, and they held their breath, waiting for the red light.

The keypad flashed green. Wolfgang felt a flood of relief washing through him, and he realized he hadn’t been as confident as he thought. Megan grinned and twisted the handle. The bolts slid back with soft thunks, and Megan pulled the door open and shone her flashlight inside. The safe was empty except for a lone manila folder on the top shelf. Megan slid it out and tore the top open, then shone the light inside. Photographs. Four or five of them, taken with the aid of powerful lighting, illuminating the tattered and aged remains of a scroll.

“Charlie Lead, we’ve got it,” Megan said, still grinning. She turned to Wolfgang and smacked him on the arm. “Nice job,” she whispered.

Wolfgang felt a flood of elation, but he only nodded, unsure what to say. Her smile radiated brighter than the sun, and he suddenly realized that it was the first time he’d ever seen her genuinely smile.

Damn, it’s a good look.

Megan swung the safe shut and turned toward the door. They made it only halfway before Lyle’s voice burst over the coms.

“Charlie One, you’re busted! Security is headed your way.”

9

Megan tucked the folder beneath her arm and motioned for the door. “Let’s move!”

Wolfgang dipped for the safe-cracking tools scattered across the floor, but Megan shook her head.

“Leave them. It won’t matter after we recover Pollins.”

She paused next to the door to slip her bare feet into a pair of Pollins’s sandals. They weren’t a perfect fit, but they’d have to work. Then they slipped out the front door, and Megan turned to shut it. As she did, the elevator doors rolled back, and footsteps thumped against the carpet. Wolfgang looked up as two men in black suits hurried into the hallway. Their jackets were unbuttoned, exposing Glock handguns fixed to their hips, and their death stares killed any hope he had that this wasn’t going to be a confrontation.

“Stay cool,” Megan whispered. She brushed the hair behind her ears, and they started down the hallway, walking casually straight toward the two men without giving them so much as a glance.

“Stop right there!”

The first man was tall—an American, with the kind of haircut and cookie-cutter glower that screamed Marine Corps. He put one hand on his gun and held out the other. The second man stood two paces back, his hand next to his gun, his feet arranged in a perfect weaver-shooting stance. His skin was darker, and his jacket hung over beefy shoulders that jutted up and out awkwardly, like a bulldog.

Megan made a show of looking from one guard to the next, then popped her gum like a high school delinquent. “What’s up your ass, boys?”

Wolfgang heard a hint of a Toronto accent creep into her voice, and he took his queue.

“Ma’am, I need to see some identification,” Marine said, his hand still resting on the Glock.

Megan glanced at Wolfgang with a “What the hell?” expression, then produced a Canadian passport.

Marine took it and scrutinized it a moment, then glared at Wolfgang. “You’re both from Canada?”

Wolfgang nodded.

“Who are you visiting tonight?”

Megan took that one. “Dr. Ashley Pollins. She’s a friend.”

“I thought you were delivering food,” Marine said, turning back to Wolfgang.

“I was. I work at the Chinese place. They let me take home the leftovers.”

This time, Bulldog spoke, directing his question at Megan. “Did you check in downstairs?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Can’t remember. It was yesterday.”

Megan popped the gum again, and the guards continued to glare them down.

Bulldog moved toward Pollins’s front door. “I’m just gonna check with the resident before we let you go.”

“She’s asleep,” Megan said. “Hell of a hangover. Been drinking all day.”

“Is that right?” The guard paused mid-step, then turned back. A little smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Drinking all day?”

Oh, crap.

Megan shrugged, but Wolfgang saw her legs tense.

“Tequila, man,” she said.

The guard smirked. “You know, that’s funny, because every year, the big dogs at the corporate office send out a little gift for the residents. You know, something to show our appreciation.”

He took a step forward, the smile growing at the corner of his lips.

Not good.

“Anyway, this year they sent a nice bottle of wine. But when the concierge delivered it to Dr. Pollins, you know what she said? She says, ‘You keep it. I don’t drink.’”

Yep. That’s a wrap.

The guards exchanged a “busted” look. It only took a split second—just one bro congratulating another on his supreme Sherlock skills—but it was a split second too long. Wolfgang and Megan sprang into action at the same moment, Megan taking Bulldog and Wolfgang taking Marine. The guard had three inches and probably forty pounds on Wolfgang, all of it muscle, but the groin is immune to the protections of big biceps and handguns, and Wolfgang had learned long ago that a shin to the groin was about as effective as a hand grenade in a fuel refinery. Marine’s eyes popped outward as the blow smashed home, then he fell forward with a guttural moan so sincere Wolfgang almost felt sorry for him.

Behind him, Wolfgang heard a commotion of arms and legs flailing, followed by a thump on the carpet. He turned to see Bulldog writhing on the floor, his right arm bent behind him at an unnatural reverse angle. His handgun lay scattered around him, fully disassembled.

“Let’s go!” Megan shouted. She swept past Wolfgang, grabbing his arm and hurtling toward the stairwell.

“Charlie Lead, requesting immediate evac!” Megan snapped as she flung open the door to the stairwell, and they rushed downward two and three steps at a time.

“Copy that,