by Ilsa J. Bick
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Pederson said. “You got him?”
“We got him! Six, come!” Six one-thousand, five... “Everyone, go! Go go go!”
Leaping ahead, Six vaulted down the tunnel, tail up, the tan of his rump showing in a dim light oval. Legs churning, she and Gholam staggered after. More alert now, Tompkins tried to help by kicking at the ground and taking some of his own weight. Behind, she could hear the clap of Lowry’s and Amir’s footfalls, their harsh breaths, the jangle of hardware. Bullets still fizzed, but the shots were concentrated on Jack now.
Three one-thousand. Ahead, the darkness was beginning to lighten, the gloaming going grainy and pulling apart, and then she was tripping over a rocky ledge…two…stumbling into the next chamber with its nearly arranged shelves of gallon jugs and bottles and barrels of chemicals, everything you would need to make heroin—
There was a very large, very loud boom.
Chapter 7
Dead Man
“Whoa.” Paulsen’s beam jittered over a flat rectangular platform on wheels poised in the mouth of the right-hand tunnel of a three-way junction. “What the hell is that?”
“A handcar.” Kate remembered this from all the mine tours she’d taken as a kid. She pointed at the tall T-bar with grips right and left. “The handle’s attached to a pump which turns a crank on the wheel shafts. All you have to do is release the brake, and off you go.”
“What’s this doing here?” Jean sounded like she’d just bitten into a rotten apple. “Doesn’t look like much of a private railroad car to me, Wynn.”
Wynn looked defensive. “Naw, we’re on the right path. I told you, this guy McGillivray was seriously paranoid. I bet he left that thing here to confuse people. Look, it’s not even on the middle track.”
An, the girl who’d helped Kate, raised a hand, like a timid schoolgirl. “Perhaps it’s telling us which way to go? To the right?”
“Unless it’s a feint,” Jack said.
Kate hadn’t thought of that. As they went deeper into the mountain, a beaky, gnawing dread dug its claws deeper and deeper into her gut. She’d keep turning a look back, watching how that narrow sliver of silver light grew fainter, its gray wash becoming ever-more diffuse until, at a bend, the light was gone. With the complete darkness broken only by the illumination offered by their headlamps came a burgeoning sense of suffocation. Silly, she knew. As if sensing her distress, Dax had dropped back to be with her. Wynn either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care, and she liked having the dog by her side. Talk about déjà vu. She could almost believe this was Six.
“You said it was a straight shot, Wynn.” Panning her light over a trio of rough-hewn archways, she said, “So which is it? Door Number One, Two, or Three?”
“Well…” Wynn consulted his map. “Track tends that way. Kid could be right that this is pointing the way.”
“Maybe?” Kate centered her beam on the middle track in which another set of thinner tracks nestled. “That thing’s not going anywhere. The point blades aren’t seated right.”
“The what?” Jean asked.
“Movable rails. They’re usually attached to a switch.” She glanced around then pointed to the right wall. “There, that metal lever sticking up from the floor? It’s attached to the points. You throw that to pull the points right or left These have only been switched halfway.”
“So all we got to do is throw the switch the rest of the way, line them up, and we’re golden,” said Wynn. “Or just walk around the damn thing and keep going.”
“Sure. If that’s the right way.”
“It’s the right way,” said Wynn.
“Is the three-way on the map?”
“No, but…”
“No?” Jean’s tone was sharp as a stiletto. Still clustered around the handcar, the girls stirred restlessly and muttered. Even Dax shuffled back a step to lean into Kate’s left leg. “How can it not be on the map, Wynn? You said it was the right track, the right tunnel,” Jean spat. “Are you sure you’ve got the right map?”
“Yes, of course, I am. Lambert even highlighted the damn thing. Just take it easy, all right?” Wynn’s finger kept flicking, scrolling, stabbing. “This could be a feature that was either never recorded or just wasn’t that important. These are old maps. They weren’t into pinpoint accuracy in those days.”
“I don’t know about that. Forks in the road seem kind of important to me.” Kate thought that might be doubly true for McGillivray, a man paranoid enough never to allow a guest to hang on to a map, and thought nothing of lacing a route with booby traps just for kicks.
“Certainly one way to cut down on those door-to-door salesmen,” Jack said.
This isn’t funny. Actually, nothing about this was, not this tunnel, not this little trip down memory lane. And to think she used to love caves and mine tours. Right now, she’d rather put pins in her eyes.
“Or maybe it’s not the right way and only looks like it was on account of the mountain.” Paulsen’s voice quavered and cracked like a teenager’s. “Dead Man, it shakes, right? So maybe these rooms opened up. Wynn, you sure Lambert said we were supposed to go without him and come this way? ’Cause maybe we should’ve gone into the mountain somewhere else.”
Or maybe you’d be just as happy if we’d never gone in here at all. Kate noted how Paulsen’s face, white as bone, glistened. The temperature was actually pleasant and constant, warm enough that everyone had unzipped their parkas and shed gloves. Paulsen was dripping, his scent as sour as old gym socks.
“Claustrophobic?” Jack said. “Or afraid of the dark. Maybe both.”
Irritated, Wynn said to Paulsen, “It’s the right way. Now, will you shut up?”
Paulsen’s face worked. “I’m just saying.”
Right or wrong, Paulsen had a point about Dead Man. The mountain did shake. Scanning the ceiling, she studied the heavy beams running across the rock ceiling. Each beam was held in place by posts at either end. Strong iron mesh had been strung between the beams both to reinforce the ceiling and catch stray rubble, but there was something else behind one mesh hammock. Was that iron? Her gaze moved over a rusted square affixed in a bolted frame. Odd.
“Paulsen.” Wynn’s tone sharpened. “You got to relax, man.”
“How am I supposed to relax?” Paulsen raised a shaking finger. “We’re in the wrong goddamned tunnel, aren’t we?”
“No. We were supposed to follow a track and we were supposed to duck inside the mountain at a very specific set of coordinates, which we did.” Wynn jabbed a finger at the ground. “And there’s a track.”
“And now there are three and this damn handcar,” Jean observed.
“Which still doesn’t mean we’re wrong. The map is a sketch.”
“So, what do we do? Which direction? We do rock, paper, scissors, or what?
“Hey.” Paulsen brightened. “Yeah, yeah, that would work.”
Jean slid him a narrow look. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“No, directions.” Paulsen dug out something from a vest pocket and held it up. “Compasses still work. All we need is a general direction, right?”
“Not a bad idea.” Wynn’s tongue, pink and wet, flicked over his dry lips. Pulling out his own compass, he compared his reading to the map’s coordinates and then let out what sounded to Kate like a sigh of relief. “Southeast.”
“Okay, so…” Compass in hand, Paulsen started for the right-hand tunnel. “That one.”
“Wait.” When they all looked back, Kate pointed left. “There’s air coming through here. There isn’t any coming from there.”
Wynn’s lips compressed. “So? What does it matter?”
“Wynn, air flow means there’s ventilation, and ventilation means shafts and other openings.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” Wynn rolled his eyes. “First off, that’s the wrong direction.”
“You don’t know that. The tunnel might loop—”
“And second, just because there’s no air
flow coming at you from inside the tunnels now doesn’t mean there won’t be further on. I’m no big expert like you, but even I get that air flow below ground depends upon changes in barometric pressure. In case you didn’t notice, the snow was practically gone which means the pressure outside the cave is rising and that should force air into the cave, not draw it out. The tunnel isn’t straight, either. It curves back and forth. The deeper we go, the less the air flow might be.”
“Well, someone please decide.” Jean had an arm around the thin shoulders of one of the younger girls. “Before we have to start carrying these kids.”
“We don’t have to. We got this.” Paulsen circled the handcar. “We could let the girls ride and take turns pumping. Beats walking.” Squatting, he reached down, tugged then planted a palm on one end and heaved. There was a metallic squaw as the brake let go and rusted wheels clashed. “Piece of cake. Come on, girls.” Paulsen made a let’s roll gesture. “Hop on.”
This is almost too easy. As the girls pressed forward, she stayed where she was, a hand on Dax’s collar. As Wynn crossed the threshold into the tunnel, Dax didn’t so much as twitch. If anything, the animal pressed closer as all the girls, except An who’d edged to the back, clambered aboard. The way An kept throwing glances, Kate thought the girl would prefer to stay with her, too.
“Because Dax and An trust you.” Jack ghosted by her ear. “And trust usually goes both ways, Kate. Wynn trusts he’s right because he took Lambert’s SIM.”
Oh hell. You’re saying Lambert let him take the wrong map?
“Or the right map, but the wrong way, Kate,” Jack said. “I know as much as you do. Except, perhaps, McGillivray wasn’t the only one into fake-outs and double-crosses.”
Right, right. And there was the railcar oh-so-helpfully pointing a way and there was Paulsen at the switch and—
“Paulsen!” she shouted, at the exact moment Paulsen gave the switch a mighty tug. “Wait!”
The word was lost as the points let out an ear-splitting screech, but above that, Kate heard the grating of metal against metal and a deeper, throaty rumble—
As the tunnel came down with a roar.
Chapter 8
Afghanistan
The roar was enormous, as if someone had just touched off a cannon. A split second later, there was another, more monstrous explosion that was the C-4 detonating—and then there came the thunder of rock giving way and crashing down. On the shelves, the cases of bottled water sloshed; two flickering lanterns jittered on their hooks. Oh boy. Kate thought of the bottles and jugs in the next room—ether, alcohol, hydrochloric acid, acetic anhydride. A ton of that stuff was flammable or explosive or both. Just what they needed.
She and Gholam pulled Tompkins to a far corner and laid him out on the ground. Still clutching his bloody left thigh, Amir was letting the wall hold him up. No one said anything. Instead, they all stared back the way they’d come.
Where are you, Jack? The air was hazy now, the smell of singed stone and the stronger, motor-oil stink of C-4, and her eyes stung. She strained to hear over the muffled ringing in her ears. Had she only succeeded in getting him killed? Had he been shot as he threw that grenade? In order to toss the grenade the right way, he’d have had to step into the open, if only for a second. A second, though, was all it took.
Lowry cleared his throat. “You think he—”
Six’s ears suddenly pricked, and then the dog clambered to a stand, his luxuriant tail swishing a greeting. Six was too well-trained to bolt across the room to say hello, but she thought the dog wanted to. As Jack jogged into the chamber, she knew she did.
“Can we not do that again?” Jack’s uniform was gray. Dark rills showed on his cheeks where his sweat cut through grit. When he armed grime from his face, a cloud of dust pillowed, and Kate thought of her grandmother beating dirt from a rug with a stick. Unhooking the radio unit from his shoulders, he asked, “How’s Tompkins?”
“Still here, sir.” From his place on the floor, Tompkins raised a hand. “Not enjoying it very much, but it beats the alternative.”
“Roger that.” Jack’s mouth kicked into a grin, but his eyes found hers and asked the question: How bad?
Really, the more accurate question was how much time? Tompkins’s color was better and he was breathing more easily. If they were lucky, his reinflated lung had tamponaded off the bleed. But leakage was leakage and they couldn’t count on that working forever.
“Sooner we get him evaced,” Pederson said, “the better.”
“Second that, sir,” Tompkins added, weakly.
Jack eyed Pederson and then Amir. “How about you two? Doc?”
“I have been better.” Pederson was so pale his eyes looked scribbled on with a felt pen. The blood shellacking his arm was shiny as oil. “If the nerve damage is as bad as I think it is, I’m not going to be playing the violin any time soon.
Or doing surgery. Kate felt a twinge of sympathy for the man.
Lowry was looking around the room, evidently taking in the supplies, the bottled water, the food. “Jesus, what are these guys, preppers?”
“We think this is just for the worker bees. You really want an eyeful?” Kate threw a thumb toward the room’s exit. “Step into the next room.”
“What’s in the next room?” Gholam’s swarthy features were oily with sweat and his uniform shirt showed enormous dark splotches under his arms and across his chest.
“Plenty.” She watched as a frowning Gholam led the way, followed by Jack and Lowry. Gholam had already holstered his pistol, but she noticed Jack had rested his hand on the butt of his M9. They disappeared into the next room. A short silence, and then Gholam spluttered, “What? Wh-what is this?” A note of rising indignation. “You think I...?”
Pederson roused himself. “What’s going on?”
“Plenty. It’s a long story.” She really didn’t want to get into it with Amir in the room. Crossing to the wounded policeman, she unhooked her medic’s bag from a shoulder. “Come on. Stop holding up the wall already. Sit down, let me take a look.”
Amir complied. As Kate cut open his trousers, he pulled in a quick, hissing breath. “That is...” His lips spread in a tight grimace. “Quite painful.”
“Yeah, well. You only got grazed. Sometimes those are the worst.” The wound was a long, angry gash where the bullet had zipped over skin to dig a long, glistening red trough down through fat and over muscle. Streaks of black soot radiated in perpendicular rays, and the wound had a bit of a comet’s tail to it. Peering more closely, she spotted dark-red speckles which followed the bullet’s trajectory. “Hunh.”
“What?” Amir asked.
“Nothing, I just...” The light was dim, but she thought she saw a splatter of small dark dots, too. “You’ve got some stippling.”
“So?”
“Just unusual.” Something nagged, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Here, keep pressure on this.” Pressing on a QuikClot, she placed his hand over the gauze then pulled out a packet of antibiotic powder. “You want something for the pain?”
“No, I should...how do you say it...” Amir made a face as Kate started wrapping his thigh with gauze. “Stay like needle.”
“Stay sharp.” Despite everything, she grinned. Bibi mangled phrases like this. “Or frosty, if you’re a Marine.”
“I like frosty.” Amir managed a grin. “I like cold and snow. In the Pamir mountains, we have many glaciers and snow leopards. Beautiful animals.”
“Yeah? Where is the Pamir?”
“Tajikistan. More peaceful there.” Amir grimaced. “I think I would like a vaca—”
“I had no idea!” Gholam came stalking back into the room. “This is as much a surprise to me as you.”
“C’mon. They’re growing poppies.” Wearily, Jack pulled out his canteen. “A smart guy like you has to know they wouldn’t do that if there wasn’t demand.”
Gholam’s eyes bugged. “You are accusing me?”
“Let’s just say I
’m suggesting you went blind, deaf, and dumb.”
“Suggesting.” Gholam spat the word. “Do not be insulting. Of course, I know the people here grow poppies, but I remind you this has not been under my jurisdiction. It is not as if your drones haven’t flown over this area a dozen times!”
Oh, really? Kate eyed the major. How would he know that?
Gholam was still talking. “If you had checked your records, you would see I had already requested funds to finance both eradication and a reeducation campaign once your troops leave. But that is routine. It’s expected. Of this particular operation, I had no knowledge.”
“Operation.” Amir’s brow knit. “Wait, what is in there?”
“A whole hell of a lot of chemicals and a whole mess of really fine-looking heroin.” She gave him a quick thumbnail. “Tompkins says there are more rooms like that and an exit big enough for vehicle traffic. Has to be how they’re moving product.”
“Well, I intend to make a report!” Pulling out his cell, Gholam began snapping pictures of the supplies, the pallets.
Lowry was running a hand over a wall. “Pretty darned nice job.” He squinted at the lip of rock along the entrance to the next room. “Tool marks.”
Kate nodded. “Yeah, we think this is an old Soviet depot they repurposed.”
“Kind of explains why they were so keen on toasting our asses,” Lowry commented. “They must’ve guessed you’d found something, Kate, when the captain hightailed it out of the shura.”
“When we both left,” Gholam huffed. “I knew something was wrong. The villagers aren’t stupid, and neither am I.” Phone in hand, he stalked into the next room. A second later, there came the insectile click and the wink of a flash as he took another photo.
