Against All Enemies by John Gilstrap Page B

question insults my intelligence, but I get that you’re vamping for time. And when you follow me, you’ll see the answer to your second question.” He thumped Ian playfully on the arm with his elbow. “Come on, Colonel. You’re a soldier. You’re supposed to embrace new adventures.”
    “Suppose I refuse?” Ian said. “What happens if I say no?”
    Little scowled with mock earnestness. “Hmm. Well, I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. But between you and me, how long do you really think you would last in the general population in Leavenworth?”
    Ian’s heart and head raced in near-panic mode. This was the nightmare, the unthinkable. Getting caught had always been a risk, but it had been such a different one, such a manageable one. And he’d been so careful. Now his world had been reduced to only two terrifying choices: he could try to run, or he could follow. But they already knew so much.
    “It’s just up here, Colonel,” Little said. “And I swear to God that no one’s going to hurt you.”
    “And that’s precisely what you would say if you were going to hurt me.”
    Little laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I suppose it is. But here’s a little detail for you: My boss needs you too much to let you get hurt.”
    “Yet he’ll let me rot in prison.”
    A shrug. “In ten minutes, this will all make sense.” Little waited for Ian’s answer. He seemed to have all the patience in the world.
    “I have no choice,” Ian said aloud.
    “I don’t see much,” Little agreed. With that, he started walking up Wilson Boulevard.
    Ian followed. Just past the Hyatt, Little turned right into a towering office building that had seen better days, and led the way inside without bothering to see if Ian was following. Truly, he had no choice. The lobby security guy looked up as they approached, but after a brief dip of his head, he turned back to whatever interested him on his desk.
    “If I’m not out in a half hour, call the police, will you?” Ian said. He tried to keep his tone light enough not to be alarming, but serious enough for the guy to give some thought if he in fact did not reemerge from wherever they were going.
    The guard made no indication that he’d heard Ian, but the words caused Little to stop, turn, and smile as he waited for Ian to catch up. He said nothing as he pressed the Down button on the elevator.
    Of course it would be the basement.
    The car dinged, the doors opened, and Little motioned for Ian to enter first. The interior walls of the elevator car were draped with dark green quilted moving blankets, typical of any elevator used for freight. Ian wondered if the blankets would also muffle the sound of a gunshot. Little pressed the button for B3 and the doors closed.
    Fully aware that any escape option—as fragile and unlikely as they had ever been—had now evaporated, Ian concentrated on slowing his racing heart. He took a deep breath through his mouth, held it, then released it as a silent whistle. Whatever was coming, he needed to think clearly, and that wouldn’t be possible if he didn’t do something to contain the surging adrenaline.
    The elevator jerked to a halt and the doors opened onto a concrete tomb of rooms that clearly were never designed for paying tenants. With dingy tile floors and battleship-gray concrete block walls, the low-ceilinged corridor reminded him of a hospital morgue, or maybe a bunker.
    “Out and to the left,” Little said.
    Ian complied, and was oddly relieved when Little accompanied him.
    “Third door on the right.” Painted the same color as the walls, the doors down here were all made of smooth steel.
    Ian stopped at the appointed place. “Do I need to knock?”
    Little reached around him and rapped lightly with the knuckle of his middle finger. “No, I got that.”
    Five seconds passed, and then the knob turned. The door opened to reveal a man who could have been Little’s clone—thick neck, wide shoulders,