Chapter 48 - The Poisoned Coffee
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We parked three blocks away from the abandoned high-rise. The building loomed over the surrounding skyline like a skeletal, concrete giant. There was no glass in the windows, just open air and exposed steel rebar reaching toward the gray sky like jagged teeth.
"I'm going in alone," I told Julian, checking the battery on my signal jammer.
"Like hell you are," Julian argued.
"Julian, if we both go in, we lose our tactical advantage," I insisted. "I need you to find the main electrical breaker for the construction site. Thorne likely brought temporary floodlights and security cameras. When I give you the signal, I need you to cut the power to the entire grid. I need absolute darkness."
Julian hesitated, then nodded firmly. "You get exactly ten minutes. If you aren't out, I'm coming up those stairs shooting."
I walked toward the chain-link fence surrounding the construction site. There were no guards visible, no black SUVs parked out front. It was eerily, terrifyingly quiet. I slipped through a gap in the fence and entered the shadowy, concrete lobby of the building.
I found the temporary service elevator, powered by a noisy, gasoline-fueled generator. I pressed the button for the 40th floor. The slow, grinding ascent felt like a ride to the gallows.
When the elevator doors finally squealed open, the freezing wind hit me instantly. The top floor was completely open to the elements, lacking walls or safety barriers.
Standing in the absolute center of the concrete expanse, sitting casually at a folding plastic table, was Marcus Thorne.
He was an older man, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal overcoat, with silver hair and eyes as cold and gray as the concrete beneath our feet. He had a sleek, silver thermos and two paper coffee cups resting on the table.
"David," Thorne smiled, gesturing to the empty folding chair across from him. "Please, take a seat. It's incredibly drafty up here."
I walked over slowly, my hand resting near my holster. I sat down.
Thorne elegantly unscrewed the thermos and poured a steaming stream of dark coffee into one of the paper cups. He slid it across the table toward me.
"You must be exhausted," Thorne offered politely. "Running all night. Crashing vehicles. It takes a toll on a man."
I looked at the steaming coffee, then back at his cold, dead eyes.
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"I don't drink coffee with men who hang federal prosecutors from cranes," I said flatly.
Thorne chuckled softly. "A cautious man. I respect that. Although, if I wanted to poison you, David, I wouldn't use something as crude as coffee. I'd use something far more subtle. Like a trusted lawyer."
