Free The Golden Crystal by Nick Thacker

southeast side and was simply labeled “H.” As the building was set on a small hill, he liked to take a brief pause at its north side and look out over the rest of the complex. Getting a bird’s-eye view of the entire place let Bryce see how sprawling the Whittenfield Research firm’s grounds were. From here, nine buildings filled his vision. All painted an eggshell white, all mostly the same size and roughly the same shape — one or two stories tall; the smaller ones about 50 yards long by 50 yards wide, and the largest, in the center of the grounds, about 200 yards long and 100 wide. 
    Looking down, Bryce noticed the Thompson brothers returning from their trip out on the town. They were too far off to make out the details, but he instantly recognized their walk — an ambling gait, sort of a hybrid between a duck and a cowboy who’d been on a horse for too long. Stealth wasn’t in their nature. Bryce chuckled to himself as he watched their lazy stroll toward the building’s glass entranceway, their motions indicating that they were again engaged in a heated — though certainly trivial — argument. 
    As they closed in on the front door, Bryce noticed something else. Something moving behind the brothers, around the next building to their north. His eyes darted over to the spot, the rest of his body instinctually going stiff.
    There it was again. 
    If he hadn’t been focused at the spot, he would have completely missed it. It was a very large man, crouching down and clad in black. It looked like Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame — if Quasimodo had been a larger-than-life football player. The man was clearly stalking something — sneaking toward the building the Thompsons had just entered.
    Bryce unclipped his handheld radio unit and lifted it to his mouth. 
    “Attention all detail. We have a breach. Single male suspect appears to be entering the main hallway of Building ‘E’. Remain on high alert and await further instructions, out.” With his other hand, Bryce lifted his pistol from its holster.
    If the brothers can just get to the room, I can reach them on their handsets, he thought. I can keep watch until they’re in the room, call for backup, and approach the intruder myself.
    As the black-clad man slowly crept forward, keeping to the shadows, Bryce reconsidered. Wayne and Jeff wouldn’t make it to their room before the intruder reached the doors; there was no time to wait. Bryce needed to get control of the situation right now. He wasn’t sure who this guy was, but he certainly wasn’t dressed for a business meeting. 
    With a flimsy outline of a plan — overtake the intruder first, ask questions second — Bryce stood and quickly plotted his route down the hill. Before he could take a step forward, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Someone was behind him. 
    Turning on a heel, he swirled his body around and down, planning to land prone, gun drawn and forward. As he dropped, something hit him on the left side of his neck, causing his mind to jumble. His body went weak as he fell forward, but he could just make out a figure in front of him. 
    Black cargo pants, military combat boots. Voices above him, speaking another language. Russian? The figure moved closer, and bent down to retrieve something from the ground. Bryce hadn’t realized he’d dropped his pistol when he was struck. The figure straightened, and Bryce drifted into unconsciousness onto the grass. 

WAYNE AND JEFF HAD BEEN inside the building for barely two seconds when the two security officers on duty rushed past. Behar was already dripping in sweat and heaving as he waddled by. “Captain Reynolds issued an early alert order,” Bensen called in passing. “Must be some kind of drill; we haven’t heard any update,” he finished. 
    The brothers picked up the pace toward their shared room; their ongoing argument about which lady at the bar was obviously single suddenly unimportant. “You think there’s