It was just before dusk, and Olivia was about to pull into a parking spot in front of the warehouse owned by Doernitz Industries – the one Walter had suggested was the most likely location for Metzger's secret lab – when Peter interrupted her.
"Drive right past," he said in an 'I'll explain later' tone of voice.
She took his advice, driving past that warehouse and parking at the next one.
"What did you see, Peter?" she asked after switching off the ignition.
"Security cameras," he said. "They've got the front door covered, and probably the others as well."
Olivia's phone buzzed and she put it to her ear. "Dunham!"
"This is Broyles. I've got the search warrant, but there was an accident on the expressway. I'm going to be late getting to you. Hold off on the search until I get there with backup."
"All right, sir; Peter and I will stand by." She hung up, then addressed Peter. "Broyles is going to be late."
Peter fidgeted nervously for a minute or two; waiting was not his strongest suit.
"No reason we can't scout the area, right?" Peter got out of the vehicle, walked around to her side. "I'm gonna go do some dumpster diving. Care to join?"
"You sure know what a girl's idea of fun is," Olivia quipped.
She got out of the SUV and followed Peter down the alley between the warehouses. At the far corner they found a cluster of dumpsters, which Peter wordlessly opened, one by one, examining the contents. When he reached the last dumpster and looked inside, he gave a worried expression.
"Hmmm..."
"What is it?" Olivia asked. "Body parts?"
"No, worse," he replied. "Clothing. Take a look."
Olivia looked into the dumpster and saw a large pile of clothing, consisting primarily of jackets, shirts and pants. "So? It's a dumpster. And this is a low rent part of town."
"Yeah, but in this part of town, people take clothing out of dumpsters; they don't put them in."
"Good point," she conceded.
Olivia pondered the situation and considered that Peter usually had good instincts about such things, having been abducted himself a few times before. She pulled out her phone and called Broyles, while Peter looked around the corner of the building.
"Agent Broyles? This is Dunham. Sir, we have reason to believe that someone may have been abducted by Metzger. I think we need to search the warehouse, immediately. Will you be here soon?"
She heard her superior sigh. "No, I'm afraid not. This accident has got traffic snarled up for miles. I'll leave it to your discretion. But if you do go in, be careful. I don't think we can get there faster than another half hour."
"All right, sir. I think it's important we go in now. Get here as soon as you can."
Olivia returned her phone to her pocket and drew her gun, nodded at Peter.
"Why do you call Broyles sir? You're not in the military..."
Olivia gave him her now is not the time look, making him chuckle.
Peter hooked a thumb toward the back of the alley. "As luck would have it, there's a van pulled into the loading dock out back. I think we can get inside there."
Olivia nodded, then rounded the corner and moved rapidly toward the loading dock, Peter following closely behind. She looked in the back of the van, found it empty save for a pile of discarded clothing.
Seeing this, Peter gave her a self-satisfied grin, mouthing an I told you so with a smug
Olivia ignored him, leading the way into the warehouse proper. Past the door in the loading dock, they found a short corridor. It had the antiseptic smell of a hospital; clearly, the facility was being used for some sort of medical purpose.
As they moved down the corridor, they became aware of noises – beeps at regular intervals, low muttering, a droning noise – that grew louder as they approached the door at the end of the corridor.
When Olivia reached the door, she looked through the small window placed about head height, and she then knew they had the right place.
She cocked her head toward the door, indicating that Peter should open it for her. He nodded, grabbed the handle. Olivia wordlessly counted down from three, then burst through the door, gun at the ready, after Peter pulled it ajar.
"Freeze! FBI!"
Erwin Metzger, his bulk in full surgical scrubs, sat in an office chair behind a computer console, facing towards a surgical chair in the middle of the room. In the chair lay an unconscious man, naked save for the sheet that covered him. The man's arms and legs were securely restrained by straps. The man was bald – recently shaven, actually, to judge by the pile of hair that lay on the floor.
Dominating the room was the surgical robot. It crouched over the man's upper body like a white, mechanical praying mantis stalking a fly.
Metzger moved, pressing a key on the keyboard in front of him, and the robot began sawing into the man's skull, accompanied by a fine mist of blood. Then he ran for the door, moving far faster than his obese body would suggest he could.
Oliva took aim, but held her fire when she realized the shot would hit the robotic equipment instead of Metzger.
"Peter!" yelled Olivia.
Peter crossed the room and reached the console in three strides. He somehow stopped the surgical robot within thirty seconds, which left the unconscious victim with a fine red gash that carefully followed the contour of half of his skull. The robot then stowed its instruments, washing the bone-saw clean with a spray of water.
Peter started shrugging into surgical apparel, donning an apron, gloves, a mask and a cap.
"Olivia, go after Metzger!" he exclaimed. "I can handle this!"
Olivia looked at him as if he were insane.
"I once resuscitated a woman with a MacGuyver-ed defibrillator; I can at least keep this guy alive until help arrives."
After a moment's consideration, Olivia nodded, making for the door that Metzger had used. She heard Peter ask her to be careful as she left the surgery room.
She found herself in another long, brightly lit corridor, this one with several doors opening to either side. Olivia proceeded carefully, knowing to check each door for activity before proceeding to the next. When she reached the third door down, Metzger lunged into the corridor after she kicked the door in. She fired, the bullet grazing Metzger's left thigh. He batted aside her gun arm, then pushed her hard, and she literally flew across the width of the corridor, hitting her back against the wall opposite the door. Her pistol whirled down the corridor, clattering on the tile floor.
Olivia dimly perceived that a black and tan shape, about waist-high, emerged into the corridor from behind Metzger and darted back the way she had come.
Chuckles!
She tried to yell a warning to Peter, but Metzger seized her by her arms, and for the first time since childhood, she was picked up and slammed to the ground by a man.
She couldn't worry about Peter anymore. She was fighting for her life.
As Metzger's thick hands closed around her throat, Olivia attempted to buck him off. She was fit, but not strong enough to bridge a three hundred pound man. She tried to pull him into an elbow strike to the head, but he straightened his arms and squeezed her throat tighter. Stars started to dance at the edge of her vision, and she knew it wouldn't be long until she passed out. Desperate, she growled like an animal and started slamming hook punches into his sides, only succeeding in making his blubber jiggle.
A ways down the corridor, she saw a familiar man, crouched, with dark hair and brown eyes, wearing standard FBI issue body armor.
"Livvy, if you want to save Peter, you have to do what I told you," Charlie said.
Great, I'm hallucinating, again, she thought.
Charlie nodded. "Yeah, you're hallucinating. Deal with it."
Great. Now I've got sarcastic hallucinations.
"Livvy, remember that day we had on the mats," he urged. "Remember what I taught you. What does someone with his hands around your throat want?"
"Control!" she replied by rote; though in actuality, it sounded more like a garbled mess.
Cnnntrlalluh!
"Don't give him that control over you, kiddo. Eyes, ears, throat, balls; do whatever you gotta do."
Oliva used the last ounce of strength she had left. She slammed a hard right hook into Metzger's belly while bringing her left arm up between them and slamming it down on his forearms, just below the crease of his elbows. Just as Charlie had taught her, this snapped Metzger's head forward, lifting his chin up, and she punched him hard, in the throat. A muffled crack of something breaking free resounded – cartilage, she thought – and Metzger gagged, hands reflexively going to his throat. Since he no longer cared about choking her to death, she was able to grab his wrist and elbow and lever him off of her; she had his hands cuffed behind his back in an instant. She then grabbed her gun and ran down the corridor, leaving Metzger choking on the floor.
Olivia burst into the operating room at a full run. The huge Rottweiler was crouched on top of Peter, his left arm in the dog's mouth. The dog moved in jerks and lunges, trying to find the leverage to tear the defending arm off, while Peter rained blows on it with his off hand.
She aimed her pistol carefully, lining the sights up between the dog's ears, and fired, blowing the top of the dogs skull off, showering Peter with even more gore. The dog whimpered, then collapsed onto the floor.
"Peter!" she gasped. "Your arm!"
Peter shook his head, dazed, clutching his shredded limb above the elbow and trying to staunch the flow of blood by digging his thumb into the artery. He smirked at her.
"Did I ever tell you I was a Boy Scout?"
Olivia looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, then realization hit her and she smiled despite the gravity of the situation. "Be prepared?"
He nodded. "Zip ties, my back pocket. Grab one for me. Tourniquet." He seemed to be trying to grimace away the pain.
Olivia put her gun back in its holster and obliged. She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching around to his back jeans pocket, where her fingers found a bundle of plastic ties. She grabbed two and held them up for him to see.
"Good. Wrap them around my arm about an inch above the elbow and pull it really tight."
She followed his instructions, and the flow of blood from his forearm diminished to a faint trickle.
Peter sat up, hooking his good arm around her shoulder, and she supported him as both rose to their feet.
Broyles then burst into the room, pistol drawn, followed by three more agents; he eased himself as he saw that Olivia and Peter were fine.
"Just in time, sir," she said with a smirk, causing Broyles to shake his head as he called for medical assistance in his walkie-talkie.