gauge his surroundings, he spotted another doorway and, pausing to
listen for any sound, he hurried through it.
He stopped and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He swore under his
breath. He was in the same warehouse, or one identical to it. They
must have been driving in circles. He cautiously slipped down the steps
and onto the main floor. The limo was nowhere in sight. He suddenly
heard a sound from the direction he had just come. He raced to the
overhead door, searching frantically for the switch to open it. His
head jerked around as he heard running footsteps.
He ran across the warehouse to the opposite end. Hidden in a corner
behind some fifty-gallon drums, he carefully placed the gun on the floor
and clicked open his laptop.
The laptop was a sophisticated model complete with a built-in phone
modern. He turned on the computer’s power switch and used a short cable
housed in his laptop’s case to hook his computer’s modern to his
cellular phone. Sweat poured from his brow as the machine took a few
seconds to warm up. Using his mouse, he clicked through the necessary
function screens and then, in the darkness, his fingers guided by strong
familiarity with the keys, he typed his message.
So intent was he on sending it, Jason did not hear the footsteps behind
him. He began to type in the e-mail address of the recipient.
He was sending the message to his own America Online mailbox.
Unfortunately, like people who couldn’t remember their own phone number
because they never called it, Jason, who never sent e-mail to himself,
didn’t have his e-mail address programmed into his laptop.
He did remember it, but typing it cost him a few precious seconds.
While his finger hovered over the keys, a light flashed over him, a
strong arm locked around his neck.
Jason managed to click on the send command. The message leaped
electronically off the screen. For one brief moment. Then a hand
slashed in front of his face, grabbed the laptop from him, the cell
phone dangling precariously in the air at the end of the short cable.
Jason could see the thick fingers hitting the necessary keys to cancel
the e-mail.
Jason swung a short, brutal punch that connected with his assailant’s
jaw. The grip relaxed on the laptop and Jason was able to snatch it and
the cell phone away. He slammed a foot into his attacker’s abdomen and
raced off, leaving the man face down on the floor. Unfortunately, he
left the 9mm behind as well.
Heading toward a distant corner of the warehouse, Jason now could hear
racing feet coming from all directions. There would be no escape for
him, that was clear. But he could still do something.
He dodged behind some metal stairs, dropped to his knees and started
typing. A shout nearby made him jerk his head up. His flying fingers,
so accurate now, failed him as his right index finger hit the wrong
keystroke when typing the recipient’s e-mail address. He began typing
the message, the sweat pouring down his face, stinging his eyes. His
breath came in big clumps, his neck ached from the stranglehold. It was
so dark, he couldn’t even see the keyboard. He alternated between
staring at the tiny electronic images on the screen to desperately
scanning the warehouse as the shouts and running feet came nearer and
nearer to his location.
He didn’t realize that the small amount of light thrown off by the
computer screen was like a laser show in the dark warehouse. The sound
of men running hard toward him barely ten feet away made him cut short
his message. Jason hit the send button and waited for the confirming
signal. Then he deleted both the file he had sent and the name of the
recipient. He did not look at the e-mail address as his finger held
down the delete key. He then slid the laptop and cell phone across the
floor and underneath the steps until they stopped far back in the
corner. He had time to do nothing more as multiple searchlights hit him
squarely in the face. He slowly stood up, his breathing heavy but his