Free Covert One 5 - The Lazarus Vendetta by Robert Ludlum

himself for
dragging the other man into this fight and angry at the fates.
    Another grenade bounced across the corridor and rolled toward the head of
the stairs. This one did not explode. Instead it hissed and sputtered, spewing
thick, coiling tendrils of red smoke into the air. In seconds, the two intersecting
corridors were blanketed in billowing smoke.
    Smith peered down the barrel of his MP5, looking for any sign of
    movement in the smoke. Firing blind would only give
away his position. He needed a target.
    From somewhere ahead, deep in that red, roiling cloud, two Uzis stuttered on
full automatic, spraying a hail of bullets down the hall. Copper-jacketed 9mm
rounds punched new holes in walls or ricocheted off steel doors. Ceramic vases
shattered. Shredded pieces of yellow and purple wildflowers swirled madly in
the bullet-torn air. Smith fell prone, desperately hugging the floor while the
Uzi rounds ripped right over his head.
    The shooting stopped abruptly, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.
    He waited a moment longer, listening. Now he thought he could hear feet
clattering down the smoke-filled staircase, growing ever fainter. He grimaced.
The bad guys were falling back. That fusillade of submachine-gun fire had been
meant to keep his head down while they escaped. Worst of all, it had worked.
    Smith scrambled upright and went forward into the blinding red cloud. He
strained to see what was ahead of him. His feet sent spent shell casings
tinkling across the tile floor and crunched on powdered bits of adobe. The top
of the stairs loomed up out of the smoke.
    He crouched, peering down the stairwell. If the intruders had left someone
behind to guard their retreat, those stairs would be a death trap. But he did
not have time to run all the way back to the central staircase. He had to
either chance it—or stay here and cower.
    With his submachine gun held ready, he started down the wide, shallow steps.
Behind him, blinding white light suddenly flared across the corridor. The whole
stairwell swayed violently from side to side, rocked by a series of powerful
explosions rippling through the Nomura PharmaTech and Institute nanotech labs.
    Reacting instinctively, Smith threw himself down the stairs, rolling and
tumbling head over heels while the building above him erupted in flame.

Covert One 5 - The Lazarus Vendetta

Chapter Six
    Dr. Ravi Parikh swam slowly upward through darkness, blearily trying to
regain full consciousness. His eyes fluttered open. He was lying with his face
pressed against the floor. The cool brown tiles bucked and jolted beneath
him—shuddering as carefully placed demolition charges systematically smashed
the other North Wing lab complexes into splintered, flaming ruins. The
molecular biologist groaned, fighting down a stomach-churning wave of nausea
and pain.
    Sweating with the effort, he forced himself up onto his hands and knees. He
raised his head slowly. He was looking at the floor-to-ceiling picture window
that ran the whole length of the Harcourt lab's outer-office area. The blinds,
usually drawn tight, were wide open.
    Close to his head, the strange metal cylinder he had wondered about was
still clamped to a desk facing the window. A blinking digital readout attached
to one end of the cylinder flickered through a series of numbers, counting
down: 10...9...8...7...6...5...
    Small shaped charges attached to the picture window detonated in a
rapid-fire succession of orange and red flashes. Instantly the glass shattered
into thousands of tiny shards and blew outward. The sudden change in pressure
sucked dozens of scraps of loose paper into the air. They were wafted out
through the jagged opening.
    Still dazed and sick, Parikh stared after them in utter, uncomprehending
bewilderment. He drew a single deep, shuddering breath.
    3 ... 2 ... 1. The blinking digital readout went
dead. A relay valve clicked and cycled inside the cylinder. And then, with a
quiet, snake-like hiss, the nanophage