not going to be a problem.”
“Mostly. That’s terrific. Mostly. There’s a lot of potential crap in that word, you know.” Mal increased his stride as they crossed another road.
“I swear, man. Not a problem.” He sounded more confident of his answer this time, but maybe he still hadn’t been convincing enough.
Mal gave him a fast look of barely hidden disbelief. David couldn’t blame him. Unfortunately he couldn’t be sure of anything, especially that she was any less of a problem than the police presence at the building. He didn’t want anyone diving into his background, and he suspected his boss didn’t either. He guessed they’d have to get into the sniper’s lair some other way.
But Mal’s brain was clearly back on the mission at hand. He didn’t hesitate. He directed David through a short alleyway that took them into a courtyard of the adjacent building.
Ignoring three doorways, Mal opened the fourth and took the steps behind it two at a time. Holy shit. Mal had been up long enough to scope out the area. David felt ashamed that he’d stayed in the room so long. But Molly. He’d stayed up way too long watching her sleep.
“Okay,” Mal kept his voice low. “This is the floor that the police have cordoned off, next door. It’s directly opposite the hotel restaurant.” He paused.
David looked out of the open stairwell and thought about the night before. He used his hands to visualize the trajectory of the sniper’s bullet. “No. I’d say the bullet hit the Russian at a forty-five degree angle, blowing out his lower back. Which means…” he looked up and across at the restaurant. “I’d say the nest is maybe two floors higher.”
Malone looked relieved. “Thank God. They said you were solid, but you know, after last night…” He held his hand flat and shifted it to and fro.
“You dick. I’d heard it was you I had to keep my eye on.”
Mal smiled. “You should. If you want to learn something. Come on. Stop wasting time.” He strode up the remaining steps to the roof. Once there, it was easy to step across a small wall on to the roof of the next-door building.
David spotted a door and nodded toward it. He reached it first, and pulled on the handle. Locked. “Of course.” He breathed, taking out his knife.
Mal watched the surrounding roofs as David levered the door open by forcing the blade through the doorjamb. It was relatively easy. Nothing up here seemed to have been well maintained, and the wood splintered as if it hadn’t seen a lick of moisture in decades.
Three floors down they found the likely lair. Both men stood in the doorway listening to the sounds of the police a couple of floors down. Mal raised his eyebrows at the laughing below, and David just shook his head.
The room was empty. The floor was covered in linoleum that had seen better days. A couple of boxes lay near the window, and several others by the wall. Mal stared toward them. They appeared empty, but who knew?
The sun peeking through the window glinted on something. “Stop!” David hissed. Mal stopped dead in his tracks and looked to find the reason for David’s order.
“Tripwire about ten inches from your left foot.” David approached and followed the wire to the wall. “Huh.”
“Huh what?” Mal said through gritted teeth.
“Wait.” The tripwire disappeared on both sides of the room under what appeared to be empty boxes. Then extended in a V shape to the boxes in front of the window. “Back up toward the door. Try not to deviate from where you were before.” He heard Mal sigh, but was grateful that he complied. As he lifted the cardboard boxes he saw devices with enough explosives to wipe out the room, but not much else. Probably not the people inside the room either. Weird. Just enough to destroy the evidence, he guessed, but not enough to kill anyone. Someone with some explosive skills had great restraint. Usually people who made their living designing bombs did so for maximum