Chapter Eighteen
Two men burst into the locker room. A third man arrived, moving slower, more purposefully.
The first pair swept through the space, stepping over their dead comrades, pushing open locker doors, clearing corners and checking shower stalls in the bathroom area. They moved in a fluid motion, well trained and skilled.
Ten feet above, crouching in the dark, behind an air conditioning unit, I strained, spreading my weight across a support beam and a pipe, peering down, through a loose ceiling tile. I’d wedged the stepladders behind me, against an electrical conduit. It had been the fastest ascent of my life and from my darkened hiding spot, I held a perfect viewpoint—unless the goon squad got curious and looked up. I stayed still, keeping my breathing low and steady, watching
