He spotted two men standing ten yards away.

They were in full camo, with flashlights in one hand, pistols in the other. Drawn by the exploding office window, they were a fraction too slow in turning toward Jack.

Sweeping around with his shotgun, Jack pulled the trigger and held it. A barrage of shells sprayed out like a machine gun. The rounds blasted the two men across their midsections, ripping them nearly in half.

Flashlights went flying.

Not knowing how many more men were down here, Jack leaped for the cover of a steel equipment locker. He stared across the room toward the hall that led toward the walk-in cooler.

A glow came from that hallway.

As he watched, the light clicked off.

Damn it.

At least one more man was still down here.

Before he could even calculate a strategy, two shots fired. The pair of discarded flashlights went dark. The last man was a crack shot, taking out the last lights.

Not good.

Jack was now blind. He pulled back undercover.

As he did so he heard boots pounding across the cement floor, the ring of a heel hitting one of the steel drains. He blindly pointed his weapon and strafed in the general direction. The muzzle flash would give away his position, but he had no choice. He kept firing until the drum magazine emptied.

A sharp cry of surprise cut through the barrage.

Jack’s ears strained as the echoes died away.

Was the man down?

Even as he thought it the steps resumed out of the dark, more stumbling, erratic-but they were heading away.

Jack dropped the shotgun and grabbed his pistol.

Across the room, a door opened and slammed closed. The man had fled out of here.

Suspicion rang through Jack. These were trained killers, not cowards. What would make the man flee like that?

He stepped out of hiding and kept his pistol pointed toward the door-when the world exploded.

Chapter 34

Duncan listened to the muffled blast fade away. It came from a floor below. He had tried to raise Korey’s team down there, but he’d gotten no answer.

Worrisome, but not his primary concern.

The place was surrounded. No one was getting in or out.

Duncan stood over Fielding’s dead body. His face was a bloody ruin, his eyes gone, his lips blackened as if flash-frozen. Duncan had already noted the liquid nitrogen tanks in the room and could surmise what had taken place. Fielding must have underestimated the woman and let his guard down.

Stupid.

Duncan felt no sympathy for the man’s agonizing death.

Another of Duncan’s unit, an Asian-American named Takeo, came up behind him. “Second floor is swept. No sign of the woman.”

Duncan didn’t acknowledge him. He wasn’t surprised.

Another teammate spoke by the lab door. “Do you want me to go check on the others down in the morgue?”

That could wait.

“You’re both with me,” he ordered.

With the place surrounded, nothing else mattered. He’d be out of here in two minutes. With at least one prize in hand. Then he’d burn this fucking place to the ground and be done with it.

“Where to, sir?” Takeo asked.

Duncan didn’t answer. He had noted a stack of cards by the lab’s computer. Dr. Lorna Polk. From his intel on this place, he knew she was the staff veterinarian. She ran this cryogenic lab and the veterinary facility. From the schematics, the veterinary wing lay toward the rear of this level, farthest away from the fires.

Panicked, she would’ve fled to a place of security, a place she knew.

Duncan stepped over Fielding’s corpse and headed in that direction. He moved cautiously. The body was a good lesson. He would not underestimate Dr. Polk.

“Follow me.”

JACK PICKED HIMSELF up. The blast had knocked him off his feet. Across the dark lab, a fire glowed. It raged down the hall that led to the walk-in cooler. Smoke poured into the main room.

He gave the open pathology lab a quick scan and saw no sign of the assault team. But the man who had fled would alert others. Jack didn’t have much time. He ran toward the fires.

As he rounded into the hall smoke choked the passageway ahead. Flames danced up the walls to either side. At the far end, the steel door to the meat locker had been blown off.

He heard a woman crying through the smoke. The assault team must have learned the scientists were holed up in here and had tried to blow their way inside. But someone had been heavy-handed with the C-4.

Jack rushed forward, heedless of the spreading flames.

As he sidestepped the blackened door an arm thrust through the smoke and stabbed at his face. Jack leaned back, catching a flash of silver as a blade passed in front of his nose.

“It’s me,” he hissed out. “Agent Menard!”

Through the pall of smoke, Lorna’s brother appeared, holding a scalpel in one hand. His other arm was cradled to his waist. From the angle of his hand, he’d broken his wrist.

Kyle pushed forward, unapologetic about nearly blinding him. He had only one thought. “Where’s Lorna?”

Jack shook his head, and his heart sank. He had hoped she would’ve made it down here somehow and joined the others.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Kyle looked like he was ready to lash out again with the scalpel.

“I left her upstairs, locked in her office.”

Jack moved past Kyle, drawn by a woman’s sobbing. He had to get these people moving. Inside the cooler, he found the neurobiologist, Zoë Trent, kneeling over her husband. He lay on his side in a pool of spreading blood. A thick steel pipe pierced his chest, impaled through by the force of the blast.

The man wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

The pathologist, Greer, knelt on the other side, a finger to the man’s throat. He glanced to Jack and shook his head.

A cold fury flashed through him.

Kyle spoke at his shoulder. Guilt rang in his voice. “If I hadn’t locked this place up so tightly… if they didn’t have to blow it…”

“Then you’d all be dead,” Jack said and knew it to be true.

Carlton Metoyer stood over Zoë, his face sunken and much older. He tried to get her moving. “He’s gone, my dear,” he said softly. “We must go.”

“Noooo,” the woman moaned and clutched her husband’s hand.

Jack had no time for niceties. He stepped forward and bodily picked her up. She struggled against him. He carried her away from her husband and down the fiery hall. The woman’s thrashing died down to a limp-limbed moaning. She hung on to him as if drowning-and maybe she was. But Jack was in no position to pull her back.

Reaching the main floor, he passed her to Greer and Carlton. “Get her out of here. Out the back. The way should still be clear for a few more minutes. Make for the woods and keep moving.”

They didn’t argue, too shell-shocked and scared.

Kyle hung back as they headed away. “My sister…”

Jack pointed after the others. “Go. I’ll find her.”

Still, he hesitated.

Jack shoved him after the others. “Trust me. I’ll get her,” he promised. Or die trying.

LORNA KNELT AT the entrance to the surgical suite. Wearing her night-vision goggles, she had a clear view across the treatment room to the entryway. She had been staring for so long her eyes felt dry and sandy. But she dared not even blink.

And it proved fortunate.

Without warning-not a footstep, not a whisper-the door swung open. Two shapes burst inside, staying low and splitting to either side, weapons at their shoulders.

A third followed, standing taller.

Something about his posture set her heart to pounding harder.

Lorna leaned out of direct sight and picked up the flint striker from the floor. She normally used the tool to ignite the Bunsen burner in her veterinary lab. Minutes ago, she had picked it up from the lab bench-along with the portable propane tank that fueled the burner. This far out, they had no natural-gas lines.