Buildings Most Unstable
Author's note: This is a revision of my original book, Buildings Most Unstable.
SurroundedA shot rang loud in the small room, and the man fell forward with a cry of agony, blood spurting from his shin. He limped out of the room as fast as he could manage, for the bomb was already counting down.
I jumped up, dominating as best I could the dizzy sensation that wanted to overwhelm me, and punched four digits into the bomb keypad. I ran out after the would-be murderer. But he had stopped. Burrow and his men were at the entrance of the hotel building. I lowered to one knee to help with the dizziness, and extended my handgun out before me.
The man was breathing heavily and glancing scared, with leg bleeding, from the policemen to me and back again. He counted at least five pistols pointed at him. Reluctantly, slowly, he gave up; he tossed the bag to the side, and raised his hands.
“Jack,” the inspector walked up later. “W-what on earth did you put in for the code for the bomb?”
“Just a guess- 1992.”