Secrets of the Crown Assassins

50

DAMIEN

I woke with a start.

I couldn't remember what I was dreaming of, but it was enough to jolt me upright. Sweat coated my face and seeped into my shirt. My hands were stinging. I held them up to find glistening red cuts dotting my palm.

How—?

And then it came rushing back—the Blood Battles, the water, the cop lights, the alcoholic mist, the recording of Rider and Rosalind's death—striking me like a brick wall.

Shit.

I flipped open my cuff and scanned the screen, searching for the time, and held back another curse. I was passed out for half an hour. The others could be at the top, waiting and fighting to find me. Or they could already be dead.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I struggled to my feet, my legs still mildly shaking. How could I have been taken down so easily? How did I let that happen?

I scanned the hall. The police lights were gone, the doors were open, and there was no sign of any scented mist. The Ravens must've turned off their little performance while I was passed out.

I'm going to bash the head of the next Raven I see into a wall.

I looked down at my screen again, checking the sensors for the location of the nearest set of servers. Just like before, they were right above us.

Why didn't they try to get rid of them as soon as we infiltrated?

Perhaps it was guarded and they thought they could get away without having to destroy their information. Or perhaps they figured it would be useless since we would be able to hack them eventually anyway, whether or not we found their servers. Or maybe this was a trap. Either way, it didn't matter right now. I needed to get the information, set the bombs, and get out of this damned building.

I touched the small packs carrying explosives hidden in my jacket. Setting the bombs would be the hardest part, not because of the task itself but rather the time it would take. The Willis Tower was made of nine different sub-buildings, each of which would stop at different intervals and heights like steps. Only two of these connected sections would go all the way to the top. That meant that I needed to place explosives in at least six of the subsections to bring the building down and allow the rest of it to crumble under the weight of the collapsed top. I had only placed two explosives so far. There were four more to go, and I was already behind in our plans.

Gritting my teeth against the weightlessness filling my head, I took a step forward. And then there was a hiss as scented mist was sprayed into the hall once more and the speakers crackled to life. The police lights blinked on.

No. No. No.

I needed to make this stop, needed to turn everything off if I was going to make it out alive. I reached into my pockets, hands shaking, searching for my EMT. There were only grenades and pens and a mini tool case, but no EMT. I checked another pocket. Again, no EMT.

Where the hell did I put it?

Rider's voice was playing over the speakers, pleading with me to not drive, to not throw my life away even as he was about to lose his. I blinked, trying to ignore it, trying to push it out, push it away. But it was enveloping me. I was going to go down again.

Focus.

But I couldn't focus. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't find my EMT and my hands were shaking all over again. I was going to pass out again. I was going to have nightmares filled with Rider's voice again. My breathing became shallow.