Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

need to take the prints with you.”
    “They’ll just slow me down.”
    “But you only looked at them for a second. You won’t know where you’re going.”
    Danny motioned for Luther’s flashlight, and Luther gave it to him. “Let’s just say I have a pretty good memory.”

Chapter 82
    Sydney knocked on the door, but there was no reply. She knocked again. Still nothing. The door must be guarded , she thought. Someone had to be out there.
    “How much longer will I be in here?” she asked to whoever was beyond the door.
    Silence.
    She turned to the mirror on the far wall. “I have to use the bathroom,” Sydney said as she clutched her stomach. “Please. I’m not feeling well.” Finally, there was a buzzing sound and then the door opened. A Secret Service agent stood in the doorway. A woman. Blond, steely-eyed, and not likely to be charmed by Sydney’s feminine wiles. Sydney may have been disappointed, but she played it off well. She clutched her stomach again and winced.
    “This way, ma’am,” the agent ordered, a submachine gun tucked in her armpit. The agent motioned down the hall with her gun barrel. “Let’s go.”
    As they walked down a barren hallway, Sydney eyed as much of her surroundings as she could. The holding room was located in the basement. Naked lightbulbs were covered by wire cages and stuck high on the concrete walls every ten feet. Several pipes that ran along the walls provided the only color to the area. Each one was painted with different colors and labeled Air, Water, Sewer.
    They turned down a narrow hallway lined with office doors and tiny nameplates too far away to read.
    “Hold it, ma’am,” the agent barked. “Make a right.”
    Sydney did as she was told. They moved into a shorter hallway. A men’s room door was to her left, and a ladies’ room was to her right. Straight ahead was another office. A black and white nameplate hanging on the door read, “White House Military Office .” Below it, in print that Sydney could read, was a name that had been burned into her mind long ago.
    Sydney’s father was listening after all. He had answered her prayers. The target of her lifelong search was right in front of her, only steps away.
    Sydney was an instant from breaking into a run when the agent grabbed her by the arm and turned her toward the ladies’ room.
    “Make it fast,” the agent said. Sydney entered the bathroom with the agent on her heels. There were three stalls, and Sydney took the one at the far end. She shut the door behind her and sat down on the toilet. Her whole body began shaking. She opened her mouth to let soundless cries escape. Hot tears plummeted from her eyes, staining her cheeks. Her anger clouded her thinking.
    How? How? How?
    The question that pounded in her head was as much for her parents’ senseless death as it was for how she was going to proceed.
    Don’t blow it now, Sydney. You’re too close. Stay calm and think.
    She turned around, sank to her knees, and stared into the small pool of water in the toilet bowl. She imagined it was a hundred times its size. She closed her eyes and pictured herself immersed in refreshing water. She could feel the water supporting her, challenging her. It was the only place where her thoughts ran clear. It was the only place where Sydney Dumas could really breathe.
    Sydney’s eyes shot open. Of course , she thought. She tightened her stomach and swallowed enough air to fill her lungs. Then she opened her mouth and heaved.
    The agent remained silent, but Sydney heard her approach.
    Sydney heaved again and followed it with several hacking coughs.
    “Ma’am, are you okay?”
    Sydney kept her eyes in the toilet, but she heard the door open. Then she felt the agent hovering over her. “Could you please hold my hair back?” Sydney paused to breathe hard. “I don’t want to get vomit in it.”
    Sydney heaved again for the exclamation point on the end of her request. Then she felt the agent pulling her hair back with both hands.
    Sydney took in a deep breath and heaved again. But this time, she exploded off the toilet like it was a starting block. The back of her head caught the agent on the chin. Sydney shot up next to the stunned agent and grabbed the back of her shirt. Then, with every ounce of strength, she rammed the agent headfirst into the tiled wall. The agent hit the wall just as she tripped over the toilet. Her limp body slid down between the toilet and the side wall. She was