Tom paused briefly, weighing the absurdity of his conclusion. He knew if he was wrong, Jack Preston would be merciless on him, but he also knew the stakes were much higher if he was right. He shook the doubts from his head and spoke slowly into the phone.
“I’m afraid he already knows we’re coming for him, sir.”
∞
Rick continued down the walkway, silently reading the apartment number as he went.
1552…1553…1554…1555…
He paused just outside of the next entryway and reached into his pocket. His fingers wrapped reassuringly around the grip of his pistol. Unlike before, the
door to apartment 1556 was closed. Rick glanced quickly over his shoulder to
see if anyone was approaching, but the corridor still stood empty. A cold
gust of wind suddenly swirled around him, carrying with it another
nauseating mix of chemicals.
He stepped cautiously into the entryway and placed his ear against the door.
The low murmur of a male voice could be heard speaking inside the apartment, followed by another, higher pitched response.
He’s still alive Rick thought with relief.
He stepped back and pulled the handgun from his pocket. His heart pounded loudly against his chest as he quickly leveled his leg against the apartment door and kicked hard. The heavy steel door swung inward and slammed against the wall with a loud crack.
“Department of Homeland Security! Don’t move!” Rick screamed as he pointed the gun into the dark interior and took a step closer. Staring into the small apartment, he could barely make out the rough silhouette of a man sitting in an armchair. He pointed his gun at the man and stepped inside.
“Identify yourself!”
The man didn’t respond.
“I said identify yourself!”
“I’m afraid you’re in the wrong homeland,” a low voice responded from the nearest corner of the room.
“Don’t move!” Rick replied, immediately swinging the gun towards the voice. He then froze, staring in confusion. Instead of his target, a wooden table stood in the corner, a tiny black speaker resting on its surface. He glanced nervously around the room. “What did you say?” he demanded.
“I said you’re in the wrong homeland,” the voice replied from the speaker on the table. “I don’t recall the US Department of Homeland Security including China as part of its jurisdiction.”
Rick swung the handgun back towards the man in the chair. “Tell me who you are, or I swear to god I’ll put a bullet in your fucking chest!”
“I’m afraid he can’t help you,” the speaker said calmly.
Rick stepped farther into the dimly lit apartment and peered over the barrel of his handgun at the man sitting in the chair. He appeared to be a slightly built Asian man, with thick features and a wide, oval-shaped face. He was wearing glasses and dressed in beige slacks and a simple button-down shirt. His arms hung loosely off the chair, and Rick thought something appeared odd about his hands.
“Can you speak English?” he asked.
“He can’t speak at all,” the speaker crackled. “By the way, is that a real gun?”
Rick looked more closely at the man’s face. He couldn’t tell if it was the man in the photo. The pale tint of his skin seemed unnaturally gray, and behind the lenses of glasses, his eyes appeared waxy and dull.
“Wait, what’s wrong with–”
The tap on Rick’s back was soft and nearly imperceptible, like the finger of a child asking for attention. The sound that followed was equally soft and gentle – a fleeting breath of wind that seemed to rush past him through the narrow interior of the apartment. He immediately spun around and pointed the handgun at the empty doorway, ignoring the odd, warm wetness that was now soaking into his shirt. Confused, his eyes searched the façade of the dormitory building that stood on the opposite side of the courtyard.
There, hunched low atop the edge of the roof, a dark figure lifted his head and briefly looked at him before settling back into position.
Rick saw a brief flash of light appear from beneath the man’s head at the same instant he felt another tap on his chest. He stood quietly for a moment, staring across the courtyard at the anonymous figure with a mixture of shock and terror before turning and stumbling back into the apartment. A few steps in, he dropped to his knees on the hard concrete floor and leaned heavily against the wall. The only sound he could hear was the sickening gurgle of air and blood rushing from his chest. He looked up at the man sitting placidly in the chair and slowly raised his small plastic handgun towards him.
“This is your last chance to talk.”
The tap against the base of his neck pushed Rick’s body violently forward. He gasped in pain, staring at the vibrant spray of blood along the wall next to him as the last bubbles of breath poured from his chest. A second later, his twisted body slumped lifelessly onto the floor.