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that’s suicide. Isn’t it?”
    Slade gave a slight shrug. “Sometimes suicide is the preferred option. Perhaps he’s here to repay a debt. Perhaps he is willing to die so his family does not.” Bob Jr.’s face made it clear he could not fathom dying intentionally. Slade smiled, a cadaverous, sick expression. “It’s a big, bad world out there, farm boy.”
    They watched as the man strolled through the koi ponds and the sweeping lawns that had been clipped more carefully than most putting greens. The lab tech stopped for a moment, then leaned over a low hedge.
    One of the secretaries rose from her hiding place behind the hedge and tried to run on wobbling high heels. The lab tech emptied the rest of his clip into her back and reloaded. He moved out of Bob Jr. and Slade’s line of sight, heading for the main entrance.
    â€œWhoever he is, they had him here for a reason,” Slade said. “I’d be willing to wager he is not the only one. Let’s move, before the rest of the team gets here. Their arrival is imminent, make no mistake.”
    Bob Jr. eased open the door and they moved cautiously into the murky light. Blackened flecks of corn leaves and gritty ash floated in the gentle breeze. The air smelled of smoke and ash. Bob Jr. shifted his grip once again on Slade, putting the old man between himself and the main entrance, and dragged him along the flagstone walk as it curved around to the massive greenhouses.
    This was the only upside to hauling the old man around; he might provide a shield for any bullets.
    Slade realized this as well and said again, “Hurry up, dammit!”
    The greenhouses had been built along a low cliff and looked down on a boulder-strewn shore. “A boat is waiting down there,” Slade said. “It is secret, hidden, and reserved for upper management, regularly maintained in case of emergency. I would say that today certainly qualifies.” Slade caught Bob Jr.’s eyes. “Understand this. You will not gain access without me. The stairway is locked with a code. I know the code. Get me to the boat and you will live.”
    â€œThat’s the plan,” Bob Jr. lied.
    The doors to the greenhouse had been sealed in red biohazard tape. A short chain encircled the handles, secured with a padlock. The distant lights of the sun and fires reflected in the myriad windows, making it impossible to see inside. Bob Jr. didn’t want to think about what that meant. He stopped short. “We can’t go in there. We’ll have to find another way around.”
    â€œThere is no other way. The stairwell to the dock is inside.”
    â€œThen how? It’s locked.”
    Slade shot Bob Jr. a withering stare. “Break the glass, moron.”
    Bob Jr. didn’t want to make any more noise than necessary, so he lugged Slade around the far side of the building, near the cliff, leaned the older man against the wall, and lifted a football-size rock out of the border separating the bushes from the grass. He held his breath.
    Slade looked back to the main building. “Do it. Now.”
    Bob Jr. heaved the rock at the nearest pane. It bounced off.
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake,” Slade said.
    Bob Jr. retrieved the rock, lifted it over his head, and threw it so hard both feet left the ground. This time, the rock smashed through the glass with a tinkling explosion. Spinning red lights flickered to life inside, and a deep, insistent buzzing erupted. Bob Jr. felt his insides go watery.
    â€œGo, go!” Slade said, clutching at his arm and pushing him inside. Bob Jr. tried to ignore the broken glass in the soft dirt and crawled into a forest of cornstalks. A cobweb smeared across his face but he couldn’t stop to wipe it away. Some of the strands pulled taut across his tongue, then broke free, drying against his teeth. He gagged and spit, hating the feeling of the threads disintegrating in his saliva even more than