The motel manager covered his head and cried for help.
Hector shoved a needle into the frenetic man’s arm. The sleep and memory agent would cause a short-term headache, but the manager’s recollection of the incident would be gone. His body went limp.
“We need to get outta this room! Let’s move!”
Jack peered out the open front door. “He’s got a pulse gun—nonlethal.”
“He wants us alive. What’s his position?”
“I’m not sure. The roof–”
Jack leaned too far out. A blast of energy caught his shoulder and tossed him back into the room like a rag doll. He crumpled to the floor. All the muscles on his left side went limp. Hector grabbed Jack and pulled him out of their attacker’s line of sight.
Hector slung their equipment over his left shoulder. Clutching Jack’s arm, he lifted him up and supported him with the other shoulder. “We have to get to the car. Can you make it?”
Jack managed a weak nod.
Hector half-dragged, half-steered Jack to the door jam. No back door. To get out, they would have to slip through their assailant’s range of fire. The parking lot was located on the other side of the motel manager’s office. Not far, but their route was exposed for fifty feet. No cover. Their attacker would have three or four clear shots.
Hector sifted through the duffle bags and pulled out a grenade.
“You ready?”
He counted to three, and then tossed the grenade out the door. Pausing only a second, he dragged Jack out into the courtyard after it.
