Edge

returned fire, a burst of three, and sent the man tothe floor, though he wasn’t hit—not badly at least—since he continued to fire.
    I tallied one dead, one or two hit by pepper spray.
    “Fuck, she got away,” another voice called.
    “We’re federal agents,” I called, “we’ve got teams outside too.”
    Pogue shouted, “We know there are three of you. I want all three with hands up standing in the light of the exit door. Do it now. Or we will engage you.”
    Then Henry Loving spoke again: “Corte, you’re running a rogue operation. We won’t kill the girl. We just need some information. Back out.”
    “Fuck you,” Amanda cried.
    “Amanda!” I called. “Get on the floor. Lie down, wherever you are. Stay down, be quiet.”
    This was greeted with several more shots in my direction.
    “Stop the firing,” Loving said adamantly.
    “Where are you?” Amanda cried.
    “Just get on the floor. There are—”
    A huge crack of explosion and I was rolling backward, blinded.
    A flash-bang grenade.
    Underestimated them, I thought. Even the earplugs didn’t save my hearing this time. Pogue too hadn’t expected the grenade and had been slammed into the desk hard. Still, he struggled to his knees again and looked for a target, though the flash had been so bright our vision was fuzzy.
    We both scrabbled away from the place where one of the kidnappers had lobbed the nonlethal stun grenade. I was desperate to find Amanda butdidn’t dare call again for fear of giving away my position; I could tell from their shadows they were moving in, flanking us.
    It was then that I heard a noise behind me and spun around, as the attacker, only a few feet away, lunged forward, slamming me to the floor.

Chapter 64
    THE ATTACKER WAS kicking and trying desperately to get to my weapon.
    At the same time as my vision began to return I caught a whiff of sweat and perfume.
    “Amanda!” I whispered. “It’s me, Corte.” I pushed her off me.
    The girl backed up, squinting and aiming the pepper spray into my face. In the red light from the exit sign I could see her grim eyes.
    She’s got some grit, your daughter. It’d take a lot to get her rattled. . . .
    The panic bled from her expression. “Oh . . . Mr. Corte.” Her cheeks were damp but not from crying; the residual gas from the spray was irritating her, like everybody else here. I pulled the duct tape off her wrists.
    Pogue looked our way and gestured us down, then scanned the nearby portions of the office.
    The girl collapsed against me, not in panic, though. She was exhausted.
    Nearby: the sound of metal hitting the concrete floor.
    “Eyes and ears,” Pogue snapped.
    I closed my eyes and pulled Amanda close, herface in my chest, covering her ears. When the grenade went off, this time we were prepared.
    Except that this grenade was different.
    There was a hiss and pop, rather than an explosion. I looked up to see a brilliant white light fill the entire room, shooting stark shadows onto the walls. At the same time the phosphorus burst out in a small dome and ignited the nearby portion of floor, the partitions and the upholstery of the office chairs. The brilliant white light died but the fire continued—and it grew—and we could just make out shadowy forms moving briefly on the far side of the room, then vanishing.
    A moment later another grenade landed, closer to us. We scrabbled away before it detonated and another sphere of the sticky incendiary rose. Phosphorus is like napalm. It sticks like glue and will burn through clothing and skin.
    “We can’t stay here,” Pogue whispered, looking right and left. Eyes scanning constantly. “Okay, here’s what we do. We can’t all run a defense going back out the main corridor, so I’m going to keep them pinned. You and the girl go out the front. When help comes tell ’em where I am.”
    Pogue’s approach was the only logical one. I said, “Freddy’s on his way. Shouldn’t be long.”
    Another grenade flew toward us and we were just able to get out of the way in time. It detonated, starting a third fire.
    I considered a possible strategy. I whispered, “One minute.”
    I eased Amanda down under a desk and gestured for Pogue to cover her. He acknowledged this. I made my way a little closer to where I believedthe latest grenade had come from. I knew the flash-bang grenades would have stunned the others’ hearing too and I was betting that Loving might not recognize my voice.
    I took a deep breath and