State of Emergency by Sam Fisher

understand what I'm doing. You forget that I grew up in
this city.'
    'Yes, Pop, but that was 50 years ago. It's changed just a
little.'
    Marty took a deep breath. 'Simon, your mother is a
committed environmentalist. She totally believes in doing
this.'
    'So you're saying you're doing this for Mom? Because if
you are –'
    'No, not at all.'
    'Look. How about I take you there? I don't give a fuck
about my carbon footprint.'
    Marty was shaking his head. 'You just don't get it, do you,
son?' When Simon said nothing, his father went on. 'Look
at yourself. You're overweight and overworked. You don't
give a damn about yourself, let alone the world we all share.
The way you're going, you'll be dead long before me.' He
gave his son a stony look. 'Take heed, son, take heed.' And
with that he walked out.

25
Los Angeles
4.01 pm, Pacific Standard Time (Incident time minus 3
hours, 16 minutes)
    The Dragon parked the Toyota outside a four-storey apartment
block in Glendale. It was a scruffy red-brick building in a back
street. It hadn't been painted since it was built in the 1960s,
and the garbage bins were overflowing onto a potholed
alleyway running alongside the block. It smelt bad.
    He took the stairs. There was no one around, but there
was more garbage in the stairwell, and urine stains up the
walls. It smelt worse than the alleyway. The man he was
looking for was called Dexter Tate and he lived on the third
floor. The Dragon had been here before, a week earlier, to
make the offer.
    Dexter was expecting him and opened the door before the
Dragon knocked. A narrow hallway painted in a repulsive
pinkish purple led to a tiny lounge with a couple of ripped
armchairs, a low table covered with bottles and cigarette
packets. In the corner stood a massive TV. A football game
was in progress, Chargers versus Broncos.
    Dexter threw himself into one of the chairs and nodded
to the other. The Dragon ignored the invitation to sit. Dexter
lit a cigarette.
    'I would rather you didn't,' the Dragon said and snatched
the cigarette, crushing it to pieces. Dexter sat to attention
and started to protest but thought better of it.
    'I assume everything's in order?' the Dragon asked, his
Russian accent breaking through on the word 'assume'.
    'Of course. So, you got the second payment?'
    'All in good time, Mr Tate, all in good time. I would like to
see the schematic. Talk me through your work . . . please.'
    Dexter shrugged and pulled himself up from the chair.
An IKEA cupboard that looked as though it hadn't been put
together properly stood against one wall. Two of the shelves
sloped. Dexter opened a drawer and pulled out a large roll
of paper. He walked over to the table, pushed everything
onto the floor and opened the roll. It was covered in
lines, labels and typed numbers. It was a schematic of the
California Conference Center in downtown Los Angeles.
Dexter picked up a couple of bottles and placed them on
the corners of the schematic to hold it down. Then he
pulled one of the chairs up close to the table. The Dragon
looked over his shoulder.
    'The complex is huge.' Dexter ran his finger in a broad
circle. 'This is the ground floor,' he said, pointing to one of
the horizontal lines. 'Reception is here. There are entrances
here, here and here, and four more at the other side of the
Main Concourse.' He stabbed at the paper. 'The ground floor
has two large auditoriums, Hall A and Hall B. One at each
end. Tonight's event is in Hall A, over here to the west of the
Main Concourse.' He paused for a moment to look up at the
Dragon, who was staring at the schematic.
    'There are three levels above the Main Concourse and
Reception. A gym, indoor pool, small meeting rooms. There's
a bar and restaurant on first. The whole place is bottom-heavy,
though – there are six levels below ground, B1 to B6.
B1 is administration: offices, storage facilities. B2 to B5 is all
car park. B6 doubles as part car park, part major storage area.
That's where they keep everything from