The Junk Drawer

07. Target: Gustavio Lachowski - Incomplete

07. TARGET: GUSTAVIO LACHOWSKI — INCOMPLETE

COVINA, WASHINGTON

0800 HOURS; 08 MINUTES

CALIFORNIA STATE BANK

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"We're never going to make it in time." I gasped out, feeling a burning sensation in both my heart and my legs as the strain of exerting more speed washed down on me. Ronan, on the other hand, looked just about the opposite as I did — whereas I was a literal hot mess with sweat pouring down the sides of my face and breathing raggedly through my dry mouth, he breathed heavily through his nostrils, his speed and energy never once faltering. Who the hell was this guy?

Ronan didn't reply to my breathless remark, merely glancing at a wall clock as we passed: seven minutes to spare. I wasn't even confident enough to believe that the bomb had been planted in the very place we started in, but a hunch was a hunch, and there was no other option than to go with our guts at this point.

We were only about halfway to the vault; I grimaced when I realized we would have to run down the horrid flights of stairs once again. If we ever got there.

The bank was huge, a few stories high and large in size —spanning several wings from opposite end of the building to the other. Ronan burst through a door at the end of the hallway, the slam resonating through the building. Police sirens sounded in the distance, muted only by the barriers of the sturdy walls of the bank. The police forces were unable to penetrate the massive swarm of the evacuating crowd, screaming and crying from the stressful situation. I could have been like them, unable to cope with the pressure and just breaking down, but I was overshadowed by a sense of numbness. I couldn't feel any emotion other than determination.

It definitely came in handy at the moment.

We ducked our heads low to keep from being spotted, making it across undetected. Ronan rapidly looked around in a flurry, his eyes scanning every sign, every crevice of the bank. Eventually, we found ourselves running into the entry of the third floor boiler room, remembering how the basement not only held the vault area but the electric and gas tanks needed to operate the building.

The stairs were creaking, made of metal chain links woven into one another. My small feet skidded across uneasily, tripping as they got caught in the small holes on the floor. Making our way onto the platform, we were greeted with a swarm of heat from the equipment, making me sweat even more and wish for a nice, cold shower after this whole saving the lives of people ordeal was over. The heat wasn't the only thing that welcomed us.

Looking over the railings, Ronan cursed through gritted teeth as some of Lachowski's henchmen stood guard at the exit of the boiler room below us. The exit leading into the vaults.

"How much time?" he snapped at me. I swallowed a dry lump and looked around for a clock, paling when I caught sight of the minute hand.

"Five minutes."

"Shit," Ronan swore. The two guards from below let out a shout when they caught sight of our heads above them, and they immediately scampered to the ladders directly below us. They started climbing and Ronan muttered, "shit," once again. He looked around for a weapon, grimacing when he came up empty.

"Your gun?" I squeaked out, clearly visualizing the weapon he had threatened me with beforehand.

"Left it in the car." he sighed out, running a hand through his messy locks. "You can't just take a gun into a bank, shithead."

"I'm only trying to think of ideas!" I yelled at him, the numbness beginning to wear off as the stress took over. My eyes caught the clock again. Four minutes left to go.