"But I work here. In Four Squad. I'm Special Agent Jake Miller."
"I'm sorry, sir," the guard said, "but about a thousand people work here. If you do, in fact, work here, then you know you need proper identification to enter the building."
The second guard walked over.
"I realize that," Jake said, edging in front of Favreau. "But this is...an unusual situation."
The second guard took a hard look at Jake. "What kind of unusual situation, sir?"
"Look," Jake said, "I don't have time to explain everything to you, but I need to get to my office. Right now."
"Sir, if you'll give me your supervisor's name, I'll be happy to call him and verify your identity," the second guard said.
"Don't bother," Jake said. "I'll call him myself." He was reaching for his Blackberry when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Jake turned and saw Favreau staring through the glass outer doors. The two suits who had been chasing them were standing on the sidewalk in front of the building.
Jake pointed. "Those two men, in the suits, do you see them?"
"Yes, sir, I see them," the first guard said. "What about them?"
"Twenty minutes ago they tried to kill me."
"Is that right?" said the second guard. Although neither guard moved.
Looking at the two security guards, Jake felt himself growing angry. "Yes, that's right. I need you to take them into custody. They are armed and dangerous. Call for backup and use extreme caution."
Still, neither guard moved. Jake looked back and forth between the guards and the men outside. "What are you doing?" he asked the guards, his voice rising almost to a shout. "I'm an FBI special agent. I have taken this man into custody." He pointed through the glass doors. "I need you to arrest those two men outside."
The two guards stood their ground. "We can't do that, sir," the second guard said.
Jake felt his jacket move. He reached down but Favreau already had the Beretta out. Both guards reached for their holstered pistols. Favreau aimed the Beretta at them. "I wouldn't do that." The guards stopped reaching.
"Are you nuts?" Jake shouted.
"Move," Favreau told Jake and pointed to the bank of elevators across the lobby.
They backed across the lobby while Favreau kept the Beretta pointed at the security guards. At the elevators, Jake punched the call button. Immediately, an up arrow flashed and a bell dinged. They stepped backwards into the elevator car. Jake pressed the button for the third floor. The doors closed. The car rose.
Seconds later, an alarm sounded in the building.
"Oh, shit," Jake said. Then he snatched the pistol from Favreau's hand. "Give me that. You're a prisoner, try to act like one."
Favreau shrugged.
When the elevator doors opened on the third floor, Jake and Favreau stepped into the deserted lobby. The after-hours lighting was subdued. The alarm was still ringing. "This way," Jake said. He led Favreau down the hall to a door with a sign that read Four Squad. Beside the door was a keypad. Jake shielded the pad with his body so Favreau couldn't see it and punched in his Special Agent ID number. The lock clicked and Jake pushed open the door. He stepped in ahead of Favreau, the pistol still in his hand.
"I'll take that," said a voice behind him. Jake tried to turn toward the voice, but an arm as hard as a steel pipe clamped around his neck and someone yanked the pistol from his hand. Behind him there was a short scuffle that ended when Favreau grunted and something heavy thudded onto the carpeted floor. The clamp tightened around Jake's neck. The light started to bleed out of his vision. As he sank to his knees, the arm stayed across his throat.
"That's enough," said another voice.
The clamp loosened. Jake sucked in a lungful of air. Some of the light returned. "Let him go," the same voice said. It sounded familiar to Jake.
The arm slid off Jake's throat. His head was spinning. He wasn't sure he could stand, so he sat down on the carpet and braced himself with one hand. When he looked up, he saw his
Morten Storm, Paul Cruickshank, Tim Lister