NATHAN MILLER PULLED the black ski mask over his face. The clack of rounds being chambered in a rifle filled the back of the panel van. Hamza Khoury sat across from him, loading his weapon with deadly intent.
Bright sunshine poured through the front window. Pedestrians crossed ahead of them at the corner of Highbury Place. They passed an iconic pair of red phone booths on the left. A familiar logo with the emblazoned blue eagle came into view on their right.
“Showtime,” Jinx said. She pulled the van over to the curb and left it idling.
Nathan caught her worried expression in the rear-view mirror.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “If we’re going to find Chavez, we need to grab their attention first. This will work.”
“Stop worrying,” Hamza said. He switched off the safety on his rifle and shifted toward the back doors. “It’s not often Miller has an idea worth listening to. Let him have this one.”
Nathan grabbed him by the forearm. “Remember, we’re in and out in under three minutes. And nobody gets hurt.”
His mask obscured the smirk Nathan imagined twisting his lips.
Hamza threw the back doors open and rushed out into daylight.
“Keep the engine running,” Nathan said to Jinx before he followed Hamza outside.
His boots sounded on the uneven cobblestones. Gasps echoed around him. Those on the street took notice of the semi-automatic rifle cradled in his arms, along with his ski mask. His kavendium armor clattered with each step he took.
Hamza mounted the three steps to the front entrance in one stride. He pushed the glass door open, and Nathan hurried to join him. The blast of a gunshot, followed quickly by terrified screams, greeted him as he entered the bank.
Hamza fired another warning shot into the ceiling, and those left standing dropped facedown on the floor.
“Nobody move and nobody gets hurt!” Nathan shouted. He swept his weapon around the room once and then approached the counter.
A woman in her late twenties cowered on the other side close to the carpeted floor.
Nathan tossed her a canvas bag. “Fill it up!” He took aim at her head. “It’s not your money, so don’t even think about trying anything cute.”
She whimpered and got back to her feet. Her hands shook uncontrollably.
“Come on!” Nathan hollered.
She cried out and fumbled her keycard, gaining access to the cash drawer on her second attempt.
The dull smack of flesh pulled Nathan’s attention away from the teller. A man in a black suit collapsed in a heap at Hamza’s feet across the room.
Nathan ground his teeth.
Son of a bitch! No one’s supposed to get hurt. What the fuck is he doing?
Hamza kicked the man in the stomach and followed up with a vicious shot to his face. Blood sprayed across the gleaming marble floor, and strangled cries filled the air. Hamza fired another round to silence them.
“Anyone else want to be a hero?”
Hamza hopped the counter and swung his rifle over the terrified employees. “Who’s the manager?”
Manager? We don’t need the manager. We’re not hitting the vault.
The clock in Nathan’s head ticked down with increasing urgency.
“Don’t make me ask again!” Hamza said.
“I’m . . . the m-manager.” A man in his late fifties stood on shaking legs.
“Ninety seconds!” Nathan shouted.
“You hear that?” Hamza addressed the manager. “Time to make a withdrawal from the vault.”
What is he thinking?
Nathan jammed his gun at the teller, prodding her to fill the bag quicker.
She hesitated a second over one pack of bills, and Nathan gripped her wrist tight. His cybernetically enhanced strength pried a gasp from her lips. He forced her back down to the floor and tossed the die pack aside. “We won’t be needing that.”
Nathan grabbed the bag of cash and backed away from the counter.
Hamza slammed the manager into the vault door. “Open it up!”
“I-I can’t.”
He placed the rifle barrel against the back of his head. “You want to rethink that answer?”
The man simpered. “It-it’s a t-time lock. It won’t open now.”
Hamza moved closer to him. He pressed the barrel farther into his flesh. “This isn’t your money. You want to be loyal to a bank that doesn’t give a shit about you? Are you willing to die for someone else’s money?”
Nathan hollered, “Time’s up! We need to go!”
Hamza snarled. “Not without the vault!” He turned the man around to face him. “My partner says we’re out of time. That means you’re out of time. Open the fucking vault or I splash your brains all over it and find someone a little less stupid to do the task!”
“It-it c-can’t be d-done.”
“He’s telling the truth!” a female employee said. “We can only open it at eighteen past the hour.”
Nathan stepped toward Hamza. The countdown in his head expired. “Fucking now!”
Hamza whipped the butt of his rifle across the manager’s face. The older man’s head jerked back and struck off the vault. He collapsed unconscious to the floor. A moment later, Hamza leaped the counter and rushed past a stunned Nathan.
No one was supposed to get hurt.
Nathan reached inside his coat and wrapped his fingers around a smooth, round object. He backed toward the front door, keeping his gaze on the room. At the last moment, he pulled out his hand and flipped a coin into the air.
He was gone before it landed.
