the room. The floor had been sunken almost two meters in order to create a dramatic sense of space beneath an open-beamed ceiling. Walls lined with unread books towered over the only furniture in the room—an ultramodern acrylic desk and leather chair. Rossi took cover behind the latter, his university-educated brain unable to comprehend that it would offer little protection.
Esparza was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, loafers with no socks, and a shoulder holster containing his Desert Eagle. He pulled the weapon and aimed it at Rossi.
“What are you—”
Esparza fired a single round into the top of the chair, punching a hole in it and showering his assistant with vaporized leather.
“Go out there and talk to him, Vicente.”
“No! He’ll shoot me!”
“Why would he do that? He doesn’t care about drugs, right? Just explain to him that we knew nothing about the anthrax. Find out what he wants.”
“We just tried to kill him, Carlos. You just tried to kill him. He—”
Esparza fired another round into the chair, causing Rossi to dive to the floor. “Stop shooting!” he screeched.
“The next one’s going in your face, you useless piece of shit! Now get out there!”
The younger man remained frozen for a moment but then seemed to process the fact that his boss wasn’t bluffing. He moved reluctantly back up the stairs as Esparza watched over his sights.
“Mr. Rapp!” he shouted through the door. “It’s Vicente. We just read the news about the anthrax. This is the first we heard of it. You must know that’s true. Why would we get involved in an attack on America? All we want to do is provide a safe, high-quality product to people who want it. No different than your alcohol, tobacco, and pharmaceutical companies. We’re in the business of making money. We talked about this. It’s the only reason we’re working with the Arabs.”
“Open the fucking door,” Esparza said, continuing to aim the pistol at Rossi. “Do it now.”
The younger man complied, sliding back the bolt and letting the door drift back a few centimeters. When nothing happened, he pulled it fully open and took a hesitant step into the hallway.
“This is terrible for our business and we want to help you. We can—”
The sound of automatic fire erupted, drowning him out. Esparza jerked back with the pistol held out in front of him, but immediately recognized that Rapp wasn’t responsible. If he’d wanted Rossi dead, it would have been a single shot between the eyes. More likely a guard who had glimpsed the American when he broke cover to make contact.
Rossi threw himself toward the door but missed and slammed into the jamb instead. The collision caused him to lurch back into the middle of the hallway, where he was hit by at least two rounds. The force of them spun him around and he landed flat on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
Esparza sprinted to the door, slamming it shut and throwing the bolt again. It wouldn’t hold for long if Rapp got to it, but with the guard covering the hallway it would be enough. He retreated down the steps and cut left, feeling for a hidden switch behind a bookcase. Once toggled, the entire shelf assembly swung away. The hidden passage was something he’d insisted on not because he thought he’d ever need it, but because he’d always wanted one. Now it was going to be the thing that saved his life.
Esparza turned sideways, slipping inside and pulling the shelf back into position. The sensation of claustrophobia quickly took hold as he inched through the dim light sandwiched between concrete walls. The architect had insisted on shrinking the size of the passageway to provide a more elegant shape to the library and Esparza silently cursed himself for agreeing.
The sharp corner near the middle almost stopped him. His stomach had expanded over the past few years but panic and a lubricating film of sweat got him through.
Then the lights went out.
Esparza froze, the blood pounding in his ears interfering with his ability to pick something out of the silence. But there was nothing. No gunshots. No shouts. Just the labored rhythm of his own breathing.
In the end, it wasn’t his ears that discerned something, but his nose. Smoke. A burst of adrenaline surged through him and he felt his mouth go dry. Had Rapp set fire to the house to flush him out?
He started moving again, panic starting to take hold. Finally, he reached the end of the corridor and