THE LABYRINTH
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"It is not so much our friends' help that helps us, as the confidence of their help." (Epicurus)
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Chapter Twenty Six
When this whole thing is over, Flack thought, craning his neck and glaring upwards, I'm gonna take a little vacation. Somewhere quiet, where the buildings don't blot out the sky - and they don't fight back.
He loved this city - really he did; finding beauty where other folk only found endless confusion. Too big, too loud, too dirty... Maybe so. But how about the colour and variety; the wealth of cultures, each one adding its own unique flavour to the melting pot?
And Marcus Thorne had placed his godforsaken tower in the middle, like a ugly black stain. Like a stamp that said: 'Mine'. The more Flack stared, the more he came to realise how much he hated it. The building was a monster and it had swallowed his friends.
He dropped his eyes and gave his vest a final tug.
No more waiting.
He felt like a powder keg, full of suppressed energy and ready to blow at any moment if they didn't get moving soon. Beside him, he could tell that Agent Rowd felt the same way and, for the first time, he found himself almost empathising with the man.
Moving on to link eyes with Jess, who stood a little way off, Don caught the reassurance in her gaze, and the hidden concern. He knew her far too well to miss that. Like Stella, she longed to come with him, and he was sorry to leave them both behind. But - again, like Stella - he needed Jess on the outside; someone that he could trust. Someone strong. To her credit, she never questioned his decision, but simply took it for what it was - a declaration of his faith in her ability to guard his rear.
That thought made his lips quirk ever so slightly, as he paused to imagine the way that she would lightly twist it; and the look that would shine on her face as she spun it back with an even more playful remark...
Focus, Don, he told himself - but the bright thought lingered, giving him a new and unexpected sense of confidence. He ran his eyes around the rest of his team, connecting with each person in turn, as he had with Jess; a leader creating a vital link. Rowd, he noticed, did not do the same, but stared ahead grimly.
The entry team was small; a strange assortment. Lewis Bardon; a bundle of nerves in an ill-fitting bulletproof vest that clearly did not make him feel any safer. Two anonymous FBI agents; short-haired, stony-faced and clad in matching outfits with the ever-present yellow letters emblazoned on the back. Next to them, Flack's own choice; Officers Sean Roake and Maria Gianetti. Two of New York's finest. More importantly, two level heads who had already proven their worth in many a crisis. Two cops who knew and respected Mac Taylor and his team...
The final late addition to their group was Captain Robert Fordham, the 12th precinct's resident go-to guy for all things explosive. It was hard to see him clearly right now, as he was covered from head to toe in a padded suit that was old and rather scorched - a worrying sign? He hoped not. Through his visor, Fordham tipped the detective a cheerful wink. "Ready to go?" he asked, in muffled tones.
Flack turned back to Rowd. "Are we?"
"Yes," the agent said tersely. "No more waiting." Which echoed Flack's mood so neatly that he gave a friendly grin. Startled, Rowd matched it with a more subdued reflection.
And just like that, they were off. It was always the same on a mission like this; his heart pounding in his chest, blood singing in his ears, and the promise of action, long-awaited, driving him onwards. Adrenaline - a dangerous high. Keeping a cool head was essential. Better men than him had succumbed to rash or even fatal errors in the wild thrill of an incursion.
Conscious by now that the tower may be watching, they kept to the shadows as they skirted around the base and headed downwards into a gloomy passageway that dipped further and further below street level. High walls penned them in on one side; iron shutters slipped by on the other. Flack pulled out his flashlight and motioned for Gianetti to do the same. The beams stretched out ahead of them like cautious fingers, testing the way.
Which was how they discovered the heavy iron gate, sealed with a combination lock, that brought them to a reluctant halt.
Flack turned to Bardon and raised his eyebrows.
"Now what?" he said.
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Once more, Sid had come in search of Stella, desperate for an update and unable to wait any longer. Entering the crime lab, he felt a sense of hushed expectancy, as though the very building held its breath. The lights were dim, and white-clad figures moved to and fro; intent upon their various tasks, but anxious all the same. As he passed each room, the silent workers raised their heads, dark-eyed and wondering. What did he know?
Very little, Sid thought wearily. This day had been so very long already. When had his shift ended? He couldn't even remember.
Nearing Stella's office, he paused. She was there, but not alone. Straight-backed and elegant as always, she stood in the centre of the room with Sheldon and Lindsay before her.
Should he intrude?
Her lips were moving but her voice was low and he could not catch her words. Lindsay's shoulders, seen from behind, were tense, and Sheldon's face, in profile, wore a mask of tight control. Drawn in but unwilling to disturb them, Sid watched through the glass; a guilty voyeur, full of fear and sympathy.
Like a scene from a silent movie, every gesture spoke volumes. Stella's face was pale yet determined. Bad news, then, but not the very worst. He held his breath as a sharp cry burst from Lindsay and her hand flew to her mouth. Sheldon's arm reached out and grasped her firmly. Always the rock, Sid thought, noting the sudden tilt to his jaw, and the narrowing of his eyes.
Stella moved closer; creating a bond between the three of them with her proximity. Feeling strangely jealous, Sid yearned to be part of that group, and share in the comfort. So absorbed was he that, when they broke apart and headed for the door, he failed to react until it was far too late.
"Sid!" The way that Stella said his name was always warm. It made him feel better to hear it. Her smile was tired, but genuine. Behind her, for the first time, he saw Lindsay's face. Her eyes were red, yet all she showed was pleasure at the sight of him. Sheldon did too; and Sid felt a wave of relief at the ease with which he had been included.
"You have news," he said. It wasn't a question.
Stella gave a reluctant nod. Folding his arms, he composed his own face carefully and waited to hear what it was that she wished she did not have to tell him.
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Who would have thought that a single flight of stairs could be harder to climb than the tallest mountain?
Adam liked to think that he was an active man when the inclination took him but, secretly, he had to admit to himself that his strength was almost spent. Not to mention the fact that his physical needs were becoming rather urgent too.
This was a nightmare, in every sense of the word.
He had already pinched himself a couple of times to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Now he had two bright red marks on his arm to prove just how real it was.
It's okay for me, he thought stoutly. What were a few minor aches, a sore throat and a little discomfort compared to the pain and confusion that Mac must be feeling right now?
"How are you doing, boss?" he murmured, pausing once again to let the detective catch his breath. Looking back, he sighed. Halfway. Really? Only halfway...
"I'm fine," Mac said grimly - and yet, how could Adam believe him? There were dark stains on the handkerchief around his head that looked ghastly in the dim light, and his cheeks were pale. He tilted his neck, facing upwards out of instinct. "How much farther?"
"Not far now," Adam lied. "Keep going. You're doing great."
He had almost expected - no, hoped to see Danny bounding down the stairs in their direction. Part of him ached to pick up the phone again and call him, just to hear his voice. Or Stella. Or Lindsay. Or anyone... But the battery on Mac's phone was running dangerously low. What if he exhausted it for no other reason than a selfish need to chat?
Besides, Detective Flack was coming...
The hope was a powerful one, yet Adam was still afraid. Mac was anything but fine. What if time was running out?
What if they should have stayed put?
I don't know what I'm doing, he thought frantically - and so he kept going. What choice did he have?
Step by painful step, he dragged Mac upwards to the next level, only to find that there was no door.
He gasped in horror. Then where had the noise come from?
Turning around, he saw that the stairs rose even higher; ten or twelve more steps that ended in shadow and the fickle promise of a way out. That, or nothing at all...
"Almost there," he breathed. Staying positive; that was the key.
"Okay." Mac clung to him like a child. And that, more than anything, terrified him.
Hold on, Adam.
Not far to go.
And Detective Flack is coming...
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If ever Don had a chance to feel justified in being smug, surely now was the time. Yet somehow, he resisted. It felt childish to celebrate small and petty triumphs when his friends were inside, fighting for their lives.
Bardon stepped back from the lock, as the gate swung open.
"Guess they haven't changed it. More fool them," he offered, with a guilty smile. Even Rowd looked impressed.
"Good job," Flack said. "And thank you." He knew how much this would cost the foreman and his family. Taking the moral high road could be an unappealing option - yet Bardon had chosen the right path in the end.
Flack only hoped that it wouldn't lead to something worse than the loss of his payoff from Thorne.
They filed through and continued on their way. "Two more," Bardon said to Flack, "and then the back door."
Sure enough, another metal gate rose before them; and another. Each time, they passed through with very little trouble. Bardon's head for numbers, it seemed, was impressive. When Flack made a passing comment to that effect, he shrugged. "I like math. Always have." But the light in his eyes betrayed his pleasure at the compliment.
At last, the gates were behind them and the beams of light picked out a dead end, complete with several large dumpsters and an enormous pile of flattened cardboard boxes, waiting to be recycled.
"It's kind of a service entrance," Bardon explained, seeing the looks that passed from one team member to another. "Guess that fancy front door's a little too grand when you're takin' out the trash... Thorne didn't want it to spoil the look of his tower, so he tucked it away in a corner, out of sight."
A corner was right. There was no way out of there but backwards. Not the ideal situation. Looking up, Flack scanned for cameras. None were in evidence - but, just to be sure, he pulled out his phone.
"Stell. You there?"
"I'm here," said a steady voice on the other end.
"Okay. You got any access to the external surveillance?"
There was a pause. He imagined the scene in the AV lab - the CSIs, so focussed, leaning over a screen and discussing the options that lay before them.
"Yes," she said at last, and Don gave a silent, mental cheer. "Internal sensors are out of our control, but we can shut the external cameras down. All of them. Make the tower blind..." Her choice of words was deliberate, giving them both a wicked sense of satisfaction.
"Do it," he told her.
"Now?"
"Now."
No way to tell if she had been successful. All Don could do was trust in the skill of Stella and her team. Shoving his phone away, with a promise to call her back the moment that they were inside, he gave Fordham the nod.
Time to blow this monster's guts wide open.
Without Bardon, finding the right spot would have been a tricky exercise in spatial mathematics, as they tried to work out which of the many shutters they needed to remove. With his help, they had no doubt. It took Fordham a matter of minutes to set up the C4 and program the timer, before joining the rest of the team behind a hasty, makeshift barrier of garbage dumpsters. Crouching between Flack and Rowd, he held up his hand and let his fingers drop in sequence; five... four... three.. two...
One.
It may have been a controlled explosion but it still took Flack's breath away. With his hands clamped firmly over his ears, he barely kept his balance. The dumpster in front of him rocked and slid a couple of inches, revealing the torn and twisted metal that, only seconds ago, had been a gleaming shutter. Fordham rubbed his gloved hands together in satisfaction and pulled off his visor, revealing a tanned face beneath a shock of salt and pepper hair.
"Textbook," he said with pride.
His face fell when he saw the door.
It was blackened and slightly dented from the blast, but otherwise unharmed. Flack shared a grim look with the captain.
"We're gonna need a bigger bomb...," he quipped.
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A/N: Now, I know what you're going to say - more Mac and Adam, please! But patience is always rewarded. For the sake of the story as a whole, I needed the rest of the team to progress a little further - but the next chapter will belong solely to our brave lab tech and his boss. (And don't think that I've forgotten Danny, either...)
The next update will be Wednesday evening. And for those people who want even more angst and drama - of course there is more to come... (mwahahaha)
Thank you for all the reviews! And thank you, as always, to Lily and Farmgirl :)