Quinn handed him the rope, and the bodyguard pulled. The disc resisted at first, but Kincaid’s persistence paid off, and soon it opened like a hatch on a submarine. Kincaid yanked it out of the way.
The shaft below was completely dark. Nate shined his light into it, but the bottom was too far down to see.
“That shaft looks a little tight,” Kincaid said, peering over Nate’s shoulder.
“Claustrophobic?” Nate asked.
“No. But I like to avoid things I could get stuck in.”
“If you want to stay here and guard the hatch, you’re welcome to do that,” Quinn said.
“Uh-uh. I am not staying behind. I was just commenting.”
“Comment noted.” Quinn looked at the others. “Shall we see what’s down there?”
“I’ll go first,” Nate said.
He lowered a leg onto the ladder attached to the shaft’s wall. A light near the very top came on. Quinn glanced past Nate and saw the rest of the shaft remained in darkness.
“Must be motion activated,” Quinn said.
“Either that or I’m going to get shot in the ass on the way down.”
“You volunteered to go first,” Daeng said.
“Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”
Quinn’s guess was confirmed as Nate triggered more lights on his way down.
Daeng followed Nate, then Kincaid, Orlando, and finally Quinn. He shut the lid, and as the kidnapper had done, left it unlocked. If they needed to make a quick exit, every second would count.
When Quinn stepped off the ladder at the bottom, he found the others gathered at the end of a corridor. Once more, the only lights on were those nearest them, so he couldn’t tell how long the hallway was.
“Any cameras in this area?” he asked Orlando.
“There were ports for them in the system but no feeds.” She pointed a little ways down the tunnel at the wall, where an empty mount protruded from the wall. “I think someone scavenged them when the Soviets originally shut this place down.”
They headed down the tunnel, lights coming on as they neared and turning off after they passed.
Even walking fast, it was nearly five minutes before they reached the door at the end of the tunnel. Beside the exit was a rust-tinged metal box mounted to the wall, like a small breaker box. Quinn lifted the lid.
Whatever had been inside had been claimed long ago. The only hints of the previous contents were the ends of several brittle-looking wires, sticking up from a metal pipe connected to the bottom of the box.
The doorway itself was another monument to Soviet-era brutalist architecture. Three heavy-duty metal clamps surrounded the top and non-hinged side of the door. When engaged, the door couldn’t be opened without moving them out of the way first. But they were not engaged, and from the rust flaking in spots where paint had chipped away, they had not been in a long, long time.
Quinn directed Nate and Daeng to one side of the tunnel, and Orlando and Kincaid to the other. When they all had their weapons drawn and pointed at the doorway, he pushed the handle down and pulled the door open.
A dark room on the other side. Light spilling in from the tunnel revealed an oval table with two chairs at the near end, and no people present.
Quinn nodded the all-clear and stepped inside.
Footsteps echoed into the upcoming intersection, coming from the hallway to Jar’s right.
Jar backtracked fast to the last door she had passed, cracked it open enough to make sure it was dark inside, and entered. A scan revealed the room as some kind of storage space, but different from the rooms she’d walked through earlier. More importantly, she was alone.
She placed her ear against the hallway door and listened as two people walked by on the other side.
She could really use Orlando’s help right now. But after guiding Jar for several minutes, Orlando had told her she needed to go offline while she and the rest of the team were preoccupied with their own entry into the base. She’d given Jar the final directions to the holding-cell area, and said she’d get back to her as soon as she was able.
“Don’t push things too far,” Orlando had told her. “If you feel like you’re trapped and can’t go any farther, hunker down somewhere and we’ll come get you.”
So far, Jar had felt a few moments of anxiousness, but never like she was trapped.
In fact, she was almost at the holding cells. Two more short hallways and she should be in view of the guarded door. If only people would not be so rude as to use the hallway when she needed it.
She smiled. Another joke to tell Nate.
Her grin didn’t last long, however, disappearing when she heard voices in the hallway, only a few meters from her door.
The walking people had stopped and were now talking.
Were they going to come in here? Had she chosen the wrong room?
From the chuckles and the rising and falling tones, it sounded to Jar like one of them was telling a story.
Jar turned and swept her flashlight through the room, looking for another exit or someplace she could hide if they did reach for the door. But there were no other exits, and the only things she could possibly hide behind were five stacks of large plastic crates, three high each.
Printed on each crate was the acronym DARPA.
The only DARPA she knew of was the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency of the United States. It was the organization in charge of developing not only the next generation of military equipment, but several generations after that.
How had DARPA crates found their way here?
Whatever the reason, she was sure Quinn and Orlando’s employer would be very interested in knowing what was inside the boxes. She could take a peek and be on her way without wasting too much time.
The stacks were about twice her height. She grabbed a crate on a middle stack and gave it a shove. As she’d hoped, the stack didn’t move.
She stepped into the gap between the center stack and the one next to it, and used the crates as a makeshift ladder to get to the top. From there, it was easy enough to open the lid of the top box on the neighboring stack.
The crate was filled with black foam. Seated in cutouts within the foam were several dozen objects, each approximately the length and width of a soda can, with the ends rounded
She lifted one out of the foam. Not just the length of a soda can, but cylindrical like them, too, making them look like giant prescription tablets. The ends were metal, while the sides were made of a dark plastic polymer that seemed almost translucent. She shined her flashlight at the material, but it didn’t help her see through it.
She reached into the now empty slot in the crate and pushed gently on the bottom. Another layer of cylinders was below.
She had no idea what these things were, but she was sure someone back in the US would want to know they were here.
She wrapped the one she’d removed in some extra clothing from her backpack and placed it in the middle of her bag, where it would be safest. She thought about pulling one of the cylinders from the lower layer and placing it in the empty slot on the top, but that would take too much time, and the likelihood of someone doing an inventory check in the next hour seemed remote.
Back at the door, she listened again. The voices were gone so she eased the door open, slipped out of her hiding place, and crept down to the next hallway. No one there, either.
She turned into it, then stopped when she reached the intersection with the corridor that should lead right past the holding-cell section. She peered around the corner.
There it was, approximately thirty meters away. A wide metal door, in front of which stood a bored-looking sentry.
An easy target.
She could take him out and wouldn’t even need her pistol to do so. Men always underestimated her, and she had no doubt the guard would assume he could subdue her without difficulty.
If she knew for sure Brunner was on the other side of that door, maybe she would have given it a go. As it was, she
couldn’t risk exposing herself.
It was time to hole up until Orlando contacted her again. Jar thought she was still in range. Jar had activated her second-to-last relay right after she last talked to Orlando, and the final one a few turns ago.
She glanced back the way she’d come. The closest door was five meters away on the other wall. It would have to do.
She retreated to it and found herself in another crate-filled storage room. Only these crates were smaller, and instead of DARPA printed on the side, there were Chinese hanzi characters.
Unlike with Russian, Jar spoke both Mandarin and Cantonese and could read hanzi.
The words read: RESTRICTED. DO NOT OPEN.
It was almost enough to convince her to peek inside them also. But she suppressed the urge and opened the door just enough to listen for activity in the hallway.
Orlando entered the room behind Quinn.
“Any idea where we are?” he asked her.
“Underground.”
“Seriously?” he asked.
“I can tell you the general area. But the only map I have is the power-grid schematic, and that’s not going to help us at the moment. Once I can check our location on a security camera, I’ll know exactly where we are.”
“I’ll take the general area if that’s—”
“A map has just downloaded to your computer.”
Everyone froze. Danara’s voice had just come over their digitally encrypted comms. That shouldn’t have been possible.
Orlando turned on her mic, though it probably wasn’t necessary. Danara had somehow overridden the controller, probably everyone’s controller. “How did you access this?”
No reply.
“Danara, I’m talking to you. How did you get access to comms?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your question was meant for me. I don’t have visual on your location. Though if you could open your computer, that would alleviate the problem.”
“I am not going to open my computer.”
“Then how will you see the map?”
Orlando did not want to talk about the map yet. “You shouldn’t have been able to access our comms so answer my question.”
“You’re incorrect. Perhaps accessing your communications gear would have been difficult for some, but it was never impossible. For me, it was…simple.”
“Who the hell are you people?” Nate said.
“You people? Do you think there is more than just me here?” Danara laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there is only me.”
“Only you?” Quinn said. “I don’t believe that for a—”
Orlando held up a hand, stopping him from saying anything else. A suspicion had been pecking at the back of her mind since not long after they’d first encountered Danara. Now, Orlando was starting to believe her wild idea was correct.
“Look,” Orlando said. “I know you are concerned about Dr. Brunner, but you should not have broken into our private conversations.”
“I am merely assisting you, like I have been doing by keeping the cameras from seeing Jar. She is very close to the holding cells, by the way. You should probably contact her.”
In the calmest voice Orlando could muster, she said, “Tell me, Danara, where are you located?”
“Located?”
“Where are you right now?”
A pause. “I am not supposed to answer that.”
“Why not?”
No response.
“Is it because Dr. Brunner told you to always keep your whereabouts secret?”
Another pause. “Yes.”
“And you always do what Dr. Brunner tells you to do?”
“I try to.”
“Because he created you, didn’t he?”
“I’m also not supposed to answer that,” Danara said.
“I think you just did.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tiana entered the antechamber to Nesterov’s office. This time Rayana was sitting behind her desk, near the door to the general’s inner office.
“He’s expecting you,” the woman said. “Go right in.”
Tiana steeled herself to avoid revealing the treasonous act she’d just committed, and strode into Nesterov’s office.
The general looked as if he hadn’t moved since the last time she saw him.
“Is Brunner ready?” he asked.
“As ready as he’s going to be. I’ve given him something that should reduce his symptoms.”
“Good.” Nesterov stood up and straightened his jacket. “And what about Grigory? Do you have a plan yet?”
“He’s already been dealt with.”
“Already?”
“He will no longer be a problem for the organization.”
He studied her for several seconds. “I’m impressed.”
“You gave the order. I just followed through.” Every word she spoke packed with guilt that required all of her willpower to suppress.
“And the body?”
“It will be disposed of presently.”
“May I see him?”
She had anticipated the request. “Of course. If you would like.” Her heart, however, was suddenly racing a mile a minute.
“Perhaps. If there’s time later.”
She would do everything she could to make sure there wasn’t. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you think Dr. Brunner is up for another visit now?”
“He should be.”
As much as Brunner wished it wasn’t true, his migraine had dulled considerably since he was given the shot, his pain becoming a ghost of what it had been. He could even move his head without wincing, and had been able to use the toilet, a task that, just a short time before, would have come with the desire to curl up on the floor in a fetal position and cry.
The headache’s retreat created a vacuum into which exhaustion poured in. This, too, was part of his normal recovery progression, the naratriptan lulling him into a desire for sleep.
Maybe if he gave into it, he could forestall the inevitable encounter with General Nesterov. The idea made him relax even more.
He closed his eyes, and within seconds was floating in a sea of images that were far from calming: being yanked out of the train on a rope, Clarke flying out the door of the helicopter, the lid closing on the crate. He tried to think about something else. Anything would be better.
The trip to Rome, he told himself.
Three years earlier, when the idea of how to bring Danara to life had first come to him.
He’d been at a café near the Pantheon, drinking coffee and watching the tourists who filled the streets.
So many people. So many different stories. So much information.
That was the moment when the missing link he’d never been able to figure out dawned on him. It was right there, plain as day, but neither he nor anyone else had seen it.
He’d pulled out his notepad and paper and scribbled down his thoughts. At the end, he jotted the name Romulus. The supposed founder of Rome was said to have left from that very spot for the heavens. Brunner had thought it the perfect name for his future creation. This idea would change over time, but what didn’t change was the fact that at that table on that day, the former Romulus and eventual Danara had been born.
Crowds had continued to pass as he looked across at the Pantheon, so ancient and still so stunning. Had those who’d constructed it truly believed it would last two thousand years?
Someone in the crowd called to him. “Dr. Brunner.”
He turned toward the voice, but was unable to pick out the source in the river of bodies.
“Dr. Brunner.”
There.
Brief glimpses of a woman standing still as others passed. She seemed too far away for her voice to be so close.
She said his name a third time, and as she spoke, she moved toward him without seeming to take a step.
Terror gripped his heart. It was her. Snetkov.
His kidnapper.
“It’s time,�
� she said.
His shoulder began to shake, and the café and the glorious Pantheon disappeared like grains of sand whisked away in the wind.
“No,” he mumbled. “Please, let me sleep.”
“You can sleep later,” the woman said, her voice next to his ear.
Before he knew it, he was sitting up, blinking.
Snetkov stood before him, leaning forward so that her face was in front of his.
“That’s a good boy,” she said, and tapped his cheek. “Now, on your feet.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up.
For a moment, he expected his head to shout in protest, but then he remembered with regret that his migraine was all but gone.
“Follow me,” she said, then let go of him and headed out the door.
His body yearned to lie back on the cot, to sleep, for weeks if possible, but that was not a choice he had. With a sense of defeat, he shuffled after her.
He lost count of how many turns they made or how far they walked. He only knew she eventually opened a door and led him into a room that had but a single chair smack dab in the center.
“You remember General Nesterov,” she said, gesturing to Brunner’s left.
Brunner nearly jumped when he realized someone else was in the room.
“Dr. Brunner,” the general said with a dip of his head.
“Hell-hello.” It was an automatic response.
“Please,” the woman said, pointing at the chair, “have a seat.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jar heard footsteps in the hallway. One person.
She closed the door all the way but kept the handle down, so that the latch did not engage.
She held her breath as the steps neared her door, and let it out once they had passed. She inched the door open again and took a look at the back of the walker.
A woman.
Though Jar could not see her face, she was sure it was the female kidnapper. The hair was right, so were the height and figure.
Any lingering doubt Jar may have had disappeared a few seconds later when the woman turned at the next intersection and headed toward the holding cells. In that brief moment, the woman’s profile was visible. It was the kidnapper. No question.
The Unknown Page 29
