Ramrod Intercept

Schwarz scrambled for the weapons bin, hauled out a Colt Commando assault rifle. One clip of 5.56 mm rounds up the snout and he took three more, jammed them in his waistband.

“Which one is Lake’s car?”

“It’s a black Towncar.”

Schwarz searched the monitor, worked the stick to move the mounted minicam around. At that hour there weren’t many vehicles left in the garage, but he was irritated it took him ten seconds before he spotted the vehicle belonging to the president of DYSAT. It was parked at the deep north end, sandwiched between a white van and Cadillac. Okay, he decided, move in on foot, take up position behind a concrete pillar down that way.

Lay in wait and ambush the bastards. Sounded like a plan.

“Stay put, no matter what,” Schwarz growled at Grogan and Caldwell. “Try and run on me…”

“We understand.”

Schwarz malingered, not certain they did. Something was turning over in their eyes, but he didn’t have a second to spare.

A couple of mad-dog shooters, or more, were on the way.

Schwarz was out the door, the assault rifle up and ready. He was almost clearing the van when a leggy blonde came through the doorway leading to the stairwell. Mouthing an oath, he was forced to wait until she vacated the combat zone he was sure was only moments away from erupting.

LAKE WAS LIVID as he stormed into the security room. He was raising Burrows, part of his security detachment from the next floor down, when Giddell hit the button on his private elevator. Lake scanned the bank of cameras, watched as the two human freight trains rolled for the doors.

“Burrows, you and Jackson hit the main hall. Our friends are right now coming out. Do not worry about noise or making a mess. Just get it done.”

“Aye, aye.”

Just get it done, he thought. Seething, as the door to the car opened, he couldn’t understand where it had gone wrong in the office. He was certain he’d gotten the draw on them, but they moved in an eye blink, as if they’d anticipated his killing play or could read his mind, which was impossible.

No, it was something else that had saved their skin. Experience, he decided. Those guys were pros of some kind. But what? And from what agency?

There would be a few moments to kill before the elevator reached the garage. In that span he needed to raise the reinforcements, get his thoughts together about their next stop. Malibu. Godwin and girl. He owned a private hangar in an airfield south of L.A. proper that was used exclusively for ferrying military brass, and DYSAT people. Once he had the data manual and the Ramrod Intercept microchips…

First he needed to clear the premises. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think Burrows and Jackson had what it took to take out the freight trains. If nothing else, they might slow them, long enough for him to make his Towncar and ride on.