The pistol dropped into her palm.
Her thumb hit the release.
The magazine rang on the tile.
She racked the slide.
A round spun out and clinked against the warmer.
Two seconds.
Sutter howled and went to his knees.
She slid the empty pistol under the cabinet.
“Josie, behind the warmer. Stay low.”
The girl dove.
Rainey had not waited.
He lunged for the child with both arms.
Lauren grabbed the rolling IV pole.
She swung it low into his knees.
He stumbled.
She whipped it back across his shoulder.
The metal base cracked against bone.
He roared and caught the pole.
She let go.
His own weight carried him forward.
She hooked his ankle and drove his shoulder into the doorframe.
He came back up swinging.
A fist clipped her cheek.
She tasted blood.
Good, she thought. That’s the last one you get.
Gail Whitman, white-faced, tore the fire extinguisher off the wall and tossed it.
Lauren caught it one-handed, pulled the pin, fired.
White powder swallowed Rainey’s face.
He staggered, blind, clawing at his eyes.
A palm strike to the sternum, a knee to the thigh.
He folded.
She rolled him onto his stomach and pinned his wrist behind his back.
“Hutchins, zip cuffs.”
The big guard stared.
Then he blinked and fumbled at his belt.
His hands shook so badly he dropped the first pair.
“Take your time,” Lauren said. “He’s not going anywhere.”
He cuffed Rainey, then Sutter.
Boots pounded down the hall.
Four more security officers burst through door two and stopped cold.
Two men in dark suits, face down on the floor.
A fire extinguisher still hissing.
A nurse in cobalt blue scrubs with a split lip and a pistol magazine at her feet.
Nobody said a word.
Lauren wiped the powder from her hands and lifted the wall phone.
“Imani, get me an outside line.”
She dialed ten digits she had never written down.
She had memorized them in a dark room four years ago and promised herself she would never use them.
It rang twice.
“Section Nine,” said a flat voice.
“This is Kite. I have two children from the program. Hostile contact at Admiral Prescott Naval. Two subjects detained. Mother is down near Harlan Bridge. I need a unit, a medic, and a clean extraction.”
A long pause.
“Say again your call sign.”
“Kite.”
“Stand by.”
Behind her, the room had gone dead silent.
Dr. Greiss stood against the wall.
His coat was dusted white.
His mouth hung open.
“Kite?” Dr. Brandt whispered. “What does that mean?”
Lauren set down the receiver and faced them.
“My name is Special Agent Lauren Pierce,” she said. “Diplomatic Security Service, Protective Operations, nine years. I was assigned to this family when the father was killed. I walked away four years ago. I never walked away from them.”
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