"Go on," he said. "Longer you wait . . ."
I glanced around. We were in a hall. I only realized that now, which proved, maybe, that if anyone was in shock, it was me.
"Go," Jack said. "Got my gun. Hell, got two. And a knife. I'll be fine."
When I still hesitated, he said, "Koss is trapped. Barred windows. One rear exit. But he's gotta find it. You make sure he doesn't? You got him. He comes this way?" Jack lifted his gun. "I got him."
I nodded and turned to Quinn. "Can you stay with him? Please?"
"Go with her," Jack said. "I'm fine."
I would like to think that my request held more weight with Quinn, but he didn't even hesitate. He nodded and motioned for me to take backup position as he started down the hall. I took one last look at Jack. Then I followed.
CHAPTER 52
There was, as Jack said, no place for Koss to go except that back door, which he had to find first. I knew exactly where it was, and I could tell from the GPS that Koss was nowhere close.
Before I presumed anything, I asked Quinn if there was any way for Koss to "lose" the GPS transmitter. Presumably, he hadn't known he had one, but he may have figured it out by now. Quinn said no, which I guessed meant they implanted them, unbeknownst to the agents. Kind of scary, though Quinn didn't seem bothered by it.
That GPS signal meant that what could have been a long game of hide-and-seek was not. The only thing we had to do was be careful. I couldn't think of Jack. I couldn't rush. I had to plot out a trajectory that would keep Koss away from Jack, should he bolt, and keep us between Koss and the rear exit.
We also had to stay quiet. That was the harder part. Walking softly was easier indoors, on wood and old carpet, but it was still tough going. For one thing, it was dark. For another, the building construction meant trip hazards everywhere. We both had penlights but, to avoid Koss seeing the glow, we had to block the beams, so they gave off a diffuse light instead.
Koss hadn't moved since we started our trek. He was holed up. Waiting for us to drag our wounded comrade off to get medical attention.
The building was three stories, which could be a problem--the GPS only showed Koss's horizontal location. But Quinn pointed out a strength meter on the signal. When we found the stairwell and ascended to the second story, the signal decreased. Koss was on the main floor.
When we finally neared the area where Koss was hiding, we hit a snag. The building was absolutely silent. Which meant that even the scuff of a shoe was going to be heard. Taking off our shoes wouldn't help creaks and whispering fabric.
On the plus side, we were in an area where the walls still stood. So Koss was in an enclosed room. And the door to the room where he seemed to be was closed.
We stopped and conferred. The number of ways of doing this were limited to one, really, given that there was only a single entrance. We had to employ standard procedure for entering a door with an armed fugitive on the other side.
Guns out, we moved as quietly as we could to the door, each taking a side. If Koss heard us, he gave no sign of it. When we were in position, Quinn banged on the door, as hard as he could.
"Sebastian Koss?"
That's all he said. That's all he needed to say, because the noise had the desired effect. It startled Koss, and he scrambled to the left back corner of the room. Staying to the side, Quinn reached over and twisted the door handle. As expected, it was locked or otherwise barricaded.
Quinn kicked it open, one swift kick before twisting out of the way--a split-second ahead of the bullet that responded. Another followed. Completely unnecessary--Quinn and I were both plastered to the wall, out of the doorway.
"Koss?" I said. "You're trapped in there. You know you are."
Two more bullets in quick succession. The wall behind me reverberated.
"Seriously?" I said. "You're trying to shoot through the wall with a twenty-two? Word of advice, Koss? Next time? Pack a real gun."
"Ask your lover if he thinks it's real enough. He's not with you, is he?"
"No, but I'm not sobbing over his dead body either, am I? A twenty-two is for pros. People who know what they're doing. You're an amateur. And a piss-poor marksman."
Another shot, this one through the door, angled my way.
"Not even close," I said.
I expected him to fire again. He didn't, meaning he was keeping track of his ammo. Damn it.
"You know how you could shoot me?" I said. "Come on out of there."