Before leaving the 4th floor, Calhoun told Donald that he was going to stop one floor below and send Dr. Nash and the other former hostages down there up to the 4th floor.
"You've have a larger force that way," he explained, "and a 2nd gun, too, if you need it."
Not that Nash was any kind of fighter unless he was pressured and panicked into it, Calhoun thought---but that was better than nothing.
"I'll see if I can't get the folks on the 2nd floor loose, too," he went on, "and if I do, I'll send them up here to join you. If you have to make a stand, this is as close to the high ground as you're going to find."
"Careful, Cal," Donald said. "You may have whittled down the odds, as you put it, but there are still a lot of guys with guns in this building who would like to see you dead."
"The feeling's mutual," Calhoun said. He lifted a hand in farewell and stepped into the stairwell.
He moved quietly land stopped to listen every few seconds, just in case more of Barlow's followers were creeping up the stairs toward him. He didn't hear anything or run into anyone by the time he reached the 3rd floor. He pulled back the door, but before he stepped out into the open, he called, "Dr. Nash, it's me, Calhoun Weaver!" He didn't want Nash getting trigger-happy and blasting away at the slightest movement.
"Mr. Weaver!" Nash exclaimed, somewhere to Calhoun's right. "You're alive. We heard more shots from the 4th floor and weren't sure what to think."
Calhoun stepped out of the stairwell and grinned. He didn't feel much like smiling after everything that had happened---especially Brooke's betrayal---but it never hurt to keep up your spirits, and those of your allies, as well.
"C'mon, folks," he told Nash and the other people here on the 3rd floor. Pointing upward with a thumb, he went on, "I want you to head on up to 4. There's a kid named Donald Montecristo up there who's working with me, and he's forted up with the people who were working on that floor. You can join 'em."
"Will it be safer up there?" the professor asked.
"I don't honestly know, but they say there's safety in numbers. There'll be more of you in case you've got to put up a fight. Some of you guys, gather up guns and ammo from the men I killed."
Nobody moved to accomplish that grisly task. Calhoun glared at them and managed to hold in the caustic comments he wanted to make about snowflakes and pajama boys. The stern look was enough to make two of the men budge.
"Head on up when you've got that done," Calhoun told Nash.
"I----I'm just not cut out for this."
"You're doing fine, Professor."
"You don't understand," Nash said. "I don't want to do fine. I don't like knowing that I'm actually capable of such---such savagery."
"Those guys who are willing to kill hundreds of innocent people to get what they want are the real savages, Doc, not us. Just remember that."
Calhoun started on down the stairs, hoping Nash wouldn't pass out if he found himself facing trouble again---or worse, try to reason with Barlow's bunch. You don't reason with killers and robbers.
He was moving faster now as his anticipation grew. He had slipped a fresh, fully loaded magazine into the Glock. Once he reached the second floor, he would probably need it, he told himself. No way were any of those bastards giving up their shot at a share of a hundred million dollars without a fight.
He made the turn at the landing between the second and third floors but froze as he heard a sharply indrawn breath in front of an and slightly below him. Someone was coming up the stairs toward him.
Cal?" a familiar voice said. "Cal, is that you?"
She had to have heard him. She knew he was there. But she might not be absolutely sure of his identity. He might have been another of Barlow's men. If he spoke, there was a good chance she would aim at his voice and open fire.
"Cal, if that's you, you've gotta help me. I don't want to do this anymore. It was all a terrible mistake, and I'm so sorry." A pleading note entered Brooke's voice. "Please, Cal, I'm putting my fate in your hands."
"Brooke," he said. He couldn't hold it back. Her name had formed on his lips before he could stop it.
Muzzle flares ripped through the gloom in the stairwell. The gunshot crashed against his ears.
The bitch!
Calhoun triggered three swift shots before he realized something was wrong. As he heard a soft cry, he realized what it was. The shot fired at him had come from lower down on the steps than Brooke had been when she was talking to him.
That meant someone else had fired it. The two of them weren't alone in this stairwell.
That didn't mean Brooke actually regretted what she'd done and wanted to turn on Barlow. Maybe she'd been trying to get him to talk so the other gun-wielder could zero in on him. That seemed more plausible than her having a change of heart.
He pressed himself back in the far corner of the landing and kept the pistol pointed down the shadow-choked stairs. The shot fired at him hadn't struck him, and he hadn't heard the slug hit the wall or ricochet off anything. A cold ball formed in the pit of his stomach as he realized where it might've gone.
A faint moan came from somewhere down the stairs. Then a grated curse in a man's voice. Calhoun heard sounds like someone trying to climb to his feet. A hand slapped quietly against the wall for support.
"Bitch," the man muttered. "Could've told Lark---not to trust that traitorous slut...."
Unsteady footsteps started up the stairs. Calhoun stayed where he was and waited, although that was difficult now.
The steps stopped. Calhoun made out a shadowy form bending over something on the stairs. Then he heard the man mutter, "The girl! But if I hit her..."
"That's right, you bastard," Calhoun said. "You missed me."
Flame licked from the Glock's muzzle as Calhoun fired 3 more times. The bullets ripped through the man on the stairs and flung him backwards. He went down the stairs to the second-floor landing in a wild, out-of-control tumble. When he stopped, Calhoun didn't hear him moving anymore.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Calhoun went down until he came to Brooke's crumpled shape.
A part of him still didn't want to trust her. A rattlesnake could still sink its fangs in you even after the scaly little bastard was dead. But Brooke wasn't moving, and as Calhoun stuck the gun behind his belt and knelt on the stairs to take hold of her, he could tell how limp she was.
But not dead. He moved his hand to her throat and found a pulse there. It was fast but fairly steady. Calhoun lifted her, held her against him, and explored her body for wounds. His big hand found the wet, sticky spot on her back, a little below her right shoulder. There was no matching exit wound on her front. The bullet was still in her.
It hadn't struck a bone and bounced around to do a lot of internal damage, the wound might not be a fatal one. Brooke needed medical help, though, and pretty quickly. He gathered her in his arms and stood up.
As he started back up the stairs, she stirred slightly against him and murmured, "Cal?"
"Yeah, I've got you," he said. "You're gonna be okay, Brooke. Jade. Whatever."
"Not---Jade. That was----Lark's----idea. I'm----Brooke....What happened?"
"One of Barlow's men shot you in the back. I'm gonna get some help for you."
"Guess he...didn't really trust me...after all. I told him I'd come after you----kill you---but I was lying to him. Just wanted to tell you....how sorry I am----about lying to you. But not all of it---was a lie..."
He didn't want to get into any of that now. This wasn't the time or place, and besides, he wasn't sure he'd ever believe her again. But he didn't want her to die, either, if there was anything he could do to save her life.
She didn't seem to weigh much in his arms as he climbed the stairs. When he reached the 4th floor, he balanced her against him and opened the door, then called, "Donald! Doc!"
Donald and Nash came running from somewhere on the floor. When Nash saw the woman and the big bloodstain on the back of her shirt, he exclaimed, "Oh, my God! What happened? Is that---Dr. Tucker? Oh, no!"
"Hold on, Professor," Donald said, "You don't know what happened down on the lower level. She's one of them."
"I don't give a damn about any of that right now," Calhoun said. "She's hurt, and I don't want her to bleed to death." He carried Brooke over to one of the desks, cleaned it with a swipe of his arm, and carefully laid her facedown on it. "One of you get over here and put some pressure on this wound."
Donald and Nash looked at each other. The professor's eyes were huge with apprehension. Donald nodded in resignation and came over to the desk. Calhoun had already ripped a large piece off the tail of Brooke's shirt and folded it into a pad.
"Hold this on there," he told Donald. "Don't be afraid to press down on it. The most important thing right now is stopping the bleeding. Doctor, you take a look around and see if you can find some alcohol, something like that. A bottle of booze will do if anybody's got one stashed in their desk."
"I'm sure that's not the case," Nash said. "But there may be a first-aid kit somewhere up here. I'll ask the people who work on this floor. Someone'll know."
Calhoun nodded and said, "You're doing good work, both of you. Now I need to get back to what I started." He reached out, touched Brooke's shoulder for 1 second. She seemed to be unconscious now. "Killing the rest of those sons of bitches."330Please respect copyright.PENANASkTapQ6WYM