Something inside Stan felt sick and he cursed himself for his own weakness.
"Get the suitcase and let's go, Martin."
The suitcase.
It wasn't there. While they had been busy at the windows, Stan thought, somebody had stolen the case. Reynolds hadn't even seen them and even if he had—the ape was now beyond questioning.
"It's gone?" Tanner laughed. "Avis is an amateur, Martin. And a bungling amateur at that! She could have killed us again and instead she preferred the case! One call to Ainsworth and we'll replace that tomorrow!"
They were feeling their way down the back stairs when the thick feeling to the air disappeared. Suddenly the street was filled with screams as passersby noticed the instantaneously ruined house and the burning cars and the suspicious mounds of ashes that swirled up into the morning air.
A block away, Stan stopped and wiped the sweat and soot from his face. Tanner looked at him sharply. "Something wrong?"
"Yes, there's something wrong!" Stan swung around and grabbed Tanner by the lapels, crossing his hands so the cloth was drawn tight around Tanner's throat and his knuckles dug into the flesh.
"I haven't been getting the answers," he said in a thin voice. "The girl's no ape—she knows too much, her weapons are too far advanced, her men are too well organized!" His voice started to shake with nervous reaction. "I'm supposed to be running the operation down here and I don't even know what's going on!"