Description: Maydock's dry laughter was really starting to chap my ass, but he kept up his chuckling for a few seconds. "Kal, I am something new under the sun, the first of my kind. An incipient species ready to stride the world like colossi." Perfect. With no further comment, I smashed my smartphone against the corner of the chest of drawers, sending shattered plastic and delicate components flying. Lowenstein's head fell to the floor with a dull thud and rolled to a stop next to Nihsen's size nines. I put the cheap phone to my ear. "Good, Kal," Maydock purred. "Now ... three eight three one." "What?" "Three eight three one. That's the code that will disarm the bomb attached to young Nelson." My skin began to crawl. I knew what would come next, but remained silent. "He is three blocks away. Two blocks directly south, one directly east. A warehouse under renovation and is currently unoccupied by human prey. He is on the roof. You have ten minutes. Come alone or he dies. Oh, and destroy the phone." Click. I didn't think twice. The cheap cell joined the detritus of the smartphone as shards of plastic and paper circuitry rained down upon the carpet. "What are you doing?" shouted Nihsen, grabbing my arm. "I have to go." He wouldn't let go. Damn, but he packed some muscle beneath that tubby exterior. His eyes blazed with mistrust. "What did he tell you?" "Check the Picasso," I said, pointing to the crudely rendered, spear-wielding Spaniard. "Camera is in there somewhere." While everyone looked toward the print I hightailed it out of there, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. My sneakers hit concrete at a run and the too-humid air walloped my face like a wet slap. The car was close, but so was the warehouse. I briefly considered raiding the Hyundai's trunk but realized that time was short and I had plenty of lethality hidden about my body. At least, I hoped so. Three blocks passed in a blur; the only sound I was aware of was the flapping of my trench coat. I spied my destination. It was the only building large enough to be called a warehouse--a three-story brick monstrosity surrounded by shorter structures, equally old and worn. An ancient, weathered Gulliver surrounded by storefront Lilliputians. Most of the small windows decorating the warehouse were either boarded up or broken. As I approached, I became aware of an aura of decrepitude and abandonment that practically shone from its crumbling russet faade. If it was being renovated, it must've been from the inside out. I knew it was a trap. Had to be. Maydock was toying with me, putting me through my paces for his cruel amusement. It would be up to me to spoil his fun.

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