Shadow of Betrayal jqt-3

by Brett Battles

  As they descended, the tunnel made a constant, gradual turn to the left, providing them no more than fifteen feet of forward visibility. So it was almost without warning that they reached the end of the tunnel.

  “Where’s the door?” Nate asked. The dead end was covered with more of the ancient concrete.

  “We must have missed it,” Quinn said.

  “I didn’t see one.”

  Quinn pushed by him and headed back up the tunnel. He swung his flashlight back and forth so he could get a good look at the walls on either side.

  Nothing.

  He continued on for fifty feet before turning back and making a second pass.

  “Is it possible they never finished it?” Nate asked.

  “It’s finished,” Quinn said. “Why else cover this end with the concrete? If they’d still been working on it and stopped, we’d be looking at raw earth.”

  “Maybe they covered it up when they decided not to finish it. Some sort of safety precaution.”

  The possibility rang truer than Quinn wanted to admit. But there was one other fact that negated it.

  “Then why did someone block the entrance with the rock?” Quinn asked. “These guys are serious. They would have checked this tunnel first. If it was unfinished, they wouldn’t have wasted the effort moving that slab in place.”

  He ran his flashlight over the end of the tunnel, then flipped it around and tapped the metal handle against the surface. There was a dull echo from the other side of the concrete.

  “It’s hollow,” Nate said, surprised.

  “Apparently.”

  “What do we have to do? Bust through? That won’t be too subtle.”

  Quinn said nothing as he examined the surface. It was something near the edge where the end of the tunnel met the wall on the left that caused him to pause. He moved the beam of his flashlight closer, the circle of light condensing to a bright spot on the concrete. He then moved the beam up the wall a couple of feet, then tilted it down until it almost reached the floor before returning it to its original spot.

  “What’s this look like to you?” he asked.

  Nate stepped over and looked at the illuminated surface.

  “The crack?” he asked. “We’ve seen tons of them on the way down. Wait… are you thinking we might be able to push this in?”

  Quinn moved the light upward again. “What about here?”

  “Another crack.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Not another.” He moved the light down the wall back to where he’d started. The crack was continuous, curving gradually toward the center as it traveled up.

  “Let me see that,” Nate said.

  Quinn handed him the flashlight. Nate performed the same examination Quinn had a few moments before, looking both up and down the wall. The crack started near the floor and continued all the way up to an apex at the center of the tunnel’s dead end before traveling back down to the floor near the other wall.

  “What the hell?” Nate said. “A door?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “But how do we open it?”

  “Excellent question.”

  First they tried pushing on it, but it didn’t budge.

  “Maybe it can only be opened from the inside,” Nate said.

  A very distinct possibility, Quinn thought.

  “Look for a release,” Quinn said. “Something that you’d press or maybe step on.”

  They searched for five minutes but found nothing. Quinn stood staring at the wall, trying to think of another possibility. Twist the door like a dial? Doubtful. What if they needed to push the door at an exact spot? Perhaps, but… it didn’t seem like the right answer, either.

  Maybe Nate was right and the only way to open the door was from the other side. If that was the case, they were done here, and might as well figure out a way to get off the facility grounds without drawing attention.

  Quinn’s phone vibrated against his leg. He reached in and pulled it out. As he pressed his thumb against the screen to release the lock, he paused. His phone had rung in his pocket. They were a good fifty feet underground, and he shouldn’t have been able to get a signal. There was only one reason he could think of that would explain it. The facility must have been wired with an antenna so cell phones could be used. Large businesses did it all the time, wiring their buildings so you could still get a signal in the elevator or while you were sitting on the toilet. Progress.

  He looked at the name on the screen. Peter.

  “You got my email?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes. Where the hell are you?”

  “Exactly where I told you we were going.”

  “Yellowhammer?” Peter asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s where you took the picture?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “He… works with my client. His name is Kevin Furuta. He’s CIA.”

  “CIA? What the hell is he doing here?”

  Peter didn’t answer.

  “What’s he doing here, Peter?” Quinn asked again.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How the hell did he even know about this place?”

  “After you told me about your meeting with Primus, I informed my client. He must have thought it necessary to send Furuta in for a look. Probably figured he could get in and out before you even arrived.”

  “Pretty goddamn stupid, if you ask me,” Quinn said.

  “I don’t disagree.” There was a pause. “Do you think you can get him out?”

  “Get him out? I don’t even know if I can get in yet. And if I remember correctly, that’s not my priority.” But even as he said it, Quinn knew he’d do what he could.

  Peter must have known it, too. “Keep me posted,” he said, then hung up.

  Before Quinn put the phone back in his pocket, he realized he had a text waiting. It was from Orlando and had been sent while Quinn and Nate had been searching for the back door entrance.

  Where are you?

  She knows, Quinn thought.

  He typed in a quick response that implied they were in a safe position doing a basic recon. Her response was almost immediate, and confirmed his thoughts.

  Bullshit

  He put his phone back in his pocket. They could argue about his decision later; doing it now and by text would be counterproductive.

  “Did I hear you say that guy was CIA?” Nate asked.

  Quinn nodded.

  “Well, that’s awesome. Did he bring any friends with him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Quinn started walking back up the tunnel toward the surface.

  “Where you going?” Nate asked.

  But Quinn didn’t answer. Since the door was a bust, he figured their next best chance was one of the ventilation shafts. Though if Tucker’s group had gone to the trouble of blocking the entrance to the emergency exit, they surely would have done something that would keep anyone from using the vents. Still, Quinn had to try.

  When they reached the rusty door, Quinn stepped through first, then turned to make sure Nate shut it behind them, only Nate wasn’t there.

  Quinn stepped back inside. Nate was ten feet down the tunnel, looking toward Quinn but not at him.

  “I think I might know how it works,” Nate said.

  Quinn was quiet for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at the rusted metal door. “Are you thinking that—”

  “Yes,” Nate said. “Stay here.”

  Without further explanation, Nate ran back down the tunnel.

  Thirty seconds later his voice crackled in Quinn’s ear.

  “Can … ou hear … Quinn, can … ear me?”

  “You’re breaking up.”

  “… ose the do …”

  “What?”

  “… e door … ose … oor.”

  “You’re not coming through.”

  “Close … e door.”

  That was enough. Quinn reached out, grabbed the handle of the rusty doo
r, then pulled it closed. As he did, he noticed a lever built into the frame. It was in the down position.

  “… id yo … lose it?”

  Quinn thought about it for another second, then reached out and flipped the lever up.

  For a moment there was nothing. Then, “… aaa. That d … ome … down. Come …”

  Quinn raced back down the tunnel. At the bottom he found Nate standing near where the tunnel had ended. Only now the artificial wall had moved out of the way.

  “Closed circuit,” Nate said. “All you had to do was close the door.”

  Quinn thought about telling him it had nothing to do with whether the door was open or closed at all, but decided to save it for later. It was good for Nate to feel like he’d accomplished something. It had been a good guess anyway. And if Nate hadn’t suggested it, Quinn would have never seen the lever.

  “And you’re going to love this,” Nate said.

  He shone his light through the opening. The tunnel went on for another ten feet, but straight and level now.

  And at the end, a door. A real door.

  “I think we’ve found the way in.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Tucker looked at his watch. It had been thirty minutes since the prisoner had been taken to his cell. He would have liked to leave the guy sitting in the dark a little longer, but there was no time for that.

  It wouldn’t be long before he and his team would have to pitch in on the final preparations of the shipment. And by this time tomorrow he would be on his way to Bali, the job complete, and his final payment sitting safely in his offshore account.

  He wasn’t even worried about what would be next after that. At some point he would have to find more work. But his pay on this one had been pretty damn good, so it would be a while before he’d have to make any calls.

  He radioed one of his men to meet him near the detention cell, then pushed himself away from his desk.

  It was time to find out what the asshole knew.

  * * *

  The door from the tunnel let out into a wider corridor. Quinn went through first, his SIG with suppressor attached in his right hand. Nate, also armed, stepped out of the tunnel as soon as Quinn was clear.

  Quinn signaled to his apprentice to leave the tunnel door cracked open in case they had to make a quick exit, then leaned forward just enough to peek around the corner.

  Empty, both ways. He stuck his head out a little farther for a better look.

  His first impression was that they’d suddenly found themselves inside a naval ship, or more accurately, perhaps, a submarine. All the walls were metal, and thick with layers of gray paint. Along the ceiling and hugging the top of one wall were pipes of various diameters running lengthwise down the corridor. Lights hung down between the pipes every ten feet or so, and gave the hallway plenty of illumination.

  To the left, the corridor went another fifty feet, then turned to the right, out of view. To the right, it continued half again as far before dead-ending at a closed door. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of a door closing. He paused, listening, but there was nothing else.

  He pulled out the Yellowhammer blueprints from his backpack and located their position. This particular section was at the north end of the facility. The corridor to the left that made the ninety-degree turn ended in what appeared to be a storage room. The rest of the base lay to the right, through the closed door.

  The map showed that just beyond the door was the main east-west corridor. Compared to the passageway they were in, there was a much greater chance it would be occupied.

  He folded the printout and put it into his pocket.

  “Stay here,” he mouthed to Nate.

  He could see the reluctance in his apprentice’s eyes, but Nate nodded anyway.

  Quinn approached the door at the end of the hallway. The handle was a lever, not a knob. Down to unlock, up to lock. Quinn pressed his ear against the door, his free hand resting on the handle. Quiet.

  Slowly he pressed down on the lever. There was a muffled groan as the bars holding the door in place moved out of their sockets. Once they were free, Quinn paused. If anyone had heard the noise, they’d show up any second.

  When no one did, he pulled the door back a few inches, testing the hinges. They were smooth and silent.

  The corridor beyond was much like the one he was in, only larger. Again he listened for sounds of life, and again he was greeted with silence.

  He pulled the door open farther, then stepped over the threshold.

  He knew from his examination of the blueprint that there was another corridor about twenty yards to the east that led to the elevator. It was the only way to the facility’s main exit. Beyond that, the hallway he was in disappeared around a bend to the left. To the west, there was another intersecting corridor running to the south. No elevator down this one; it led to living quarters from when the base was fully staffed.

  The majority of the facility was to the west, so if there was any activity, that’s where he would find it. Quinn ducked back into the hallway where he’d left Nate, then motioned for his apprentice to join him near the door.

  “I’m going to see if I can find Peter’s friend,” Quinn said.

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “No. Stay here and watch my back. Let me know if anyone comes down the hallway.”

  Nate didn’t look happy with the answer.

  “Problem?” Quinn asked.

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Good,” Quinn said. “I’m not sure how well our radios are going to work down here. If we lose contact for more than twenty minutes, get back into the tunnel. Give me another fifteen, then get the hell out of here.”

  As Quinn started to open the door again, he heard a metal groan somewhere in the distance. Immediately he pulled the door closed, leaving the barest of cracks so he could hear what was going on.

  A door farther down the hallway shut, then there were steps moving toward Quinn’s position from the east. The person’s pace was steady, not rushed. Quinn soon became aware of a voice, too.

  “… him now. Have two men meet me there, then the rest of you should go downstairs and help get things ready to go.” Male, with an accent. Australian, and unforgettable. Leo Tucker. Just like Hardwick had promised.

  “Okay,” a second voice said. It was tinny, coming over a radio.

  Tucker was close now, within twenty feet.

  Just keep walking, Quinn willed him. Just keep walking.

  “Once I finish with him, I’ll join you in the lab,” Tucker said.

  “Petersen and Linden are on their way to you.”

  “Good.”

  Quinn wanted to peer through the crack to see if he could get a look at what was going on, but he resisted the urge, and instead held the door steady so that Tucker would have no reason to notice it wasn’t closed.

  Tucker continued past without breaking stride. Quinn waited until the footsteps began to recede, then pulled open the door and looked out.

  Tucker had almost reached the west end of the hallway where it turned to the south.

  Quinn looked back at Nate. “Twenty minutes,” he whispered, then began following the Australian.

  * * *

  Tucker couldn’t help feeling a bit of respect for his captive. The man was good. He’d clammed up tight and was refusing to speak again.

  “Torture, is that what you’re waiting for?” Tucker asked the man. “Maybe some bamboo shoots under the fingernails? A few good kicks to the kidneys?”

  The man did what he’d been doing for the last fifteen minutes. He smiled, a grotesque fake smile that made Tucker want to pistol-whip him.

  “Well, hate to disappoint,” Tucker said. “But torture’s not something I’m into.”

  This time he was the one who smiled, then he moved his gun away from his side and shot the man in the knee.

  “Oh, wait,” Tucker said as the man howled in pain. “I forgot, I am into torture. I just don’t like to work
at it.”

  He shot the man in the other knee.

  The prisoner screamed, then fell off the chair onto the floor.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Tucker said.

  The man writhed in pain, unable to respond.

  “Perhaps I’ll do your elbow next. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” the man gasped. “Please.”

  “You answer my questions, and we’ll bind those up for you. Give you a little something for the pain, too. How’s that sound?”

  “Please,” the man repeated.

  “Who are you?”

  “Furuta,” the man said, his voice labored. “Kevin Furuta.”

  “All right, Mr. Furuta. This is progress. Who do you work for?”

  “Please. My legs. Help me.”

  “You answer my questions first, remember? Questions with an s. That makes it plural. You know what plural means, right?”

  “The Agency,” Furuta said. “I work for them.”

  “Now, that’s interesting. Why would the CI-fucking-A have an interest in us?”

  Furuta said nothing.

  Tucker raised his gun and pointed it at the man’s arm.

  “Come alone, did you?” Tucker asked.

  “No,” Furuta said.

  But the answer came too fast, and Tucker knew it was a lie.

  “There’s a strike team waiting close by. If they don’t hear from me soon, their orders are to attack.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ. Where did you get that line? Out of some fucking Bruce Willis film? You’re alone, Mr. Furuta. And you’re royally screwed.”

  “No. Really, they’re there.”

  “Enough,” Tucker said.

  He shot the man in the left elbow. Furuta screamed again, then fell silent. Tucker kicked him to see if he was still conscious, but the man had passed out.

  “Patch him up?” Petersen asked.

  “Fuck no,” Tucker said. “Let him bleed out. He’s no use to us anyway. Even if the CIA is interested in us, we’ll be gone before they can do anything about it. You’ve got to love bureaucracy.”

  Linden opened the door and let Tucker pass through first. Once they were all in the hallway, Tucker glanced back at the room Marion Dupuis was in.

  “Are we bringing her along?” Petersen asked.