The Project 05 - The Tesla Secret

and Cyrillic by the entrance to the building announced that Endgame Technology was on the second floor. A short flight of steps led up to double glass doors. Stairs and a freight elevator were visible through the glass.
    "How about the direct approach," Nick said. "I need to develop my game."
    "After you." They entered the building.
    The entry was dark and smelled of urine and stale beer and cigarettes. The steps were steep and dark and stained.
    "Classy," Lamont said. "Their website made this look like the Hilton."
    "Yeah, masters of illusion. That's one of their game titles."
    They climbed the stairs. On the second floor a long hall covered in cracked linoleum stretched along the length of the building. Nick counted four metal doors, all painted a dull brown. A sign on the second door read Endgame Development, LLC.
    Nick tried the handle. Locked.
    A door opened down the hall. A large, muscular man with a buzz cut walked toward them. He wore a black tee shirt, black leather sport coat, black pants and black shoes. He moved like a boxer. His face was hard and he wasn't smiling. He looked like someone who could hold his own in the UFC.
    Camera somewhere, Nick thought. Pretty good. Didn't see it.
    "I help you?" His accent was Russian or Ukrainian.
    "Sure, thanks. We're looking for Endgame Development. Got some work for them."
    Nick reached in his jacket pocket, watched the reaction. The man covered it, but Nick saw the inner flinch. He's got a piece under that coat. Nick took out a business card and handed it to him. The card said he was Nicholas Allen, Executive VP of Video Production. It gave an address in Manhattan.
    "I'm Nick Allen. This is my assistant, Lamont Cranston. We have a gaming project in mind. Endgame has been recommended. We'd like to explore possibilities with them, but they seem to be closed."
    "Da, closed. Gone to beach." The man smiled. A gold tooth gleamed in his lower jaw. "You come back tomorrow." The smile didn't reach his eyes.
    Nick heard the entry door close below, a whispered word. His ear started to itch and burn. His personal warning system, a psychic quirk that had saved him more than once.
    "Well," he said, "I'll just slip my card under here." He bent down as if to push the card under the door, grabbed the man's leg and pulled it out from under him.
    Gold tooth was quick. He hit the floor and kicked out at the same time. The blow landed on Nick's shoulder. It numbed his arm and broke the hold. Gold tooth rolled away and bounced to his feet, reaching inside his jacket. Lamont kicked out and slammed the knee. Nick heard it break. Gold tooth howled in pain. He had the gun out and fired as he went down. The bullet tugged at Nick's jacket.
    Nick caught him with a hard kick to the groin. The man screamed. The gun skittered across the floor. Lamont kicked him in the head.
    One down.
    Footsteps pounded up the stairs. There was no cover in the hall. Nick drew the Sig and fired into the lock on the door. Lamont let off three fast shots at the head of the stairs. It would give anyone coming up something to think about.
    Nick hit the door with his body. It popped open and they were inside Endgame Development. Lamont shut the door behind them. Bullets thudded into the metal.
    The door was the only exit. They were trapped.
    Piles of shrink-wrapped games were stacked along a wall. Four large wooden shipping crates took up one corner. Computers, a laptop and three large monitors sat on a work bench. A bright poster hung on the wall advertising a violent crime game Nick had seen in stores. It wasn't the real thing. The real thing was about to come through the door.
    Nick signaled Lamont. The crates. Whoever was out there would figure they'd be behind the door when it opened. What they'd do was predictable. Nick and Lamont ran to the corner of the room and crouched down behind the crates. Nick breathed deep and brought the adrenaline rush under control. Outside the door, the hall was silent.
    Lamont held up three fingers. Three men out there. Nick didn't wonder how he knew. Three or four or more, it didn't make much difference.
    There were three.
    The door burst open. The first man through rolled and came up shooting at where someone would be if they'd been waiting behind the door. The shots thudded into the plaster board wall. Lamont shot and missed, fired again and the man went down. It gave away their position.
    The second and third men reached around the open door and began blasting away at the