Chaos (24 page)

“That only tells us how he removed the Bell. It tells us nothing about where he took it, let alone what the Sand Demons did with it.”

I stared at the ground, trying to focus. Every little movement caught my attention. The slightest sounds perked my ears. But my mind wandered. I knew I was missing something. I ran the facts through my brain.

Rictor stole the Bell. He placed it into the Omega. The Sand Demons stole it. They, along with the Omega, vanished.

So, where did they go?

I thought about Jenson’s final words.
There’s a tunnel although it doesn’t look that way.

What tunnel? What was he trying to tell me?

Then it hit me.

“The Sand Demons never removed it,” I said slowly. “It’s still here. The Bell and the
Omega
are still in these tunnels.”

Chapter 39

Chase rose to his feet, picked up the Smith & Wesson Victory Model from his desk, and aimed at Standish’s forehead. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“Put the gun away, Jack. This is ridiculous.”

“You let Cyclone escape.”

“None of this would’ve been a problem if you’d left the guards in the lobby. Calling them up your personal elevator was foolish.”

Chase breathed rapidly through his nose, so rapidly that he thought he might snort flames out of it. “Watch your tongue. You’re stepping on dangerous ground here.”

“I knew something like this would happen.” Standish shook his head. “Cyclone is like an annoying gnat. He just won’t go away. You should’ve let me kill him while I had the chance. Why the hell did you want to have a private chat with him anyway?”

Chase slammed his other hand down on the desk. “He’s the only person who knows where to find that damn journal,” he shouted. “I thought I could talk him into turning it over to us.”

Standish lifted an eyebrow. “I guess you were wrong. And while we’re on the subject, Cyclone told me something strange. He said that you were planning a nuclear attack on Manhattan.”

“Why in the blazes would I do that?”

“I’m just repeating what he told me.”

“Did it ever cross your idiotic mind that he was trying to weaken your resolve? That if he put a few doubts in your mind, you’d crumble?”

Standish shrugged.

“Of course not.” Chase sneered. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let him escape.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Chase placed his gun back on his desk and happened to catch a glimpse of the broken lamp in his trashcan. Anger roared through him and he broke into trembles. He’d always prided himself on his ability to overcome anyone, no matter how big or powerful. His entire sense of self was wrapped up in his ability to dissect people, to ascertain their weaknesses, and to exploit them on the field of battle.

And then, this disgraced urban archaeologist…this treasure hunter…this nobody…had entered his life. When he looked into Reed’s eyes, he thought he saw a man at the edge of his limits. He thought he saw a man looking for a way out. And so he offered one in exchange for Hartek’s journal. It was a bogus offer of course. There was no way in hell he’d have let Reed survive.

But now, Chase realized the error. Reed wouldn’t accept a deal. He wouldn’t let limits constrain him. Even worse, he was reckless, daring, creative, and unrelenting. In short, Reed was a major threat.

A threat to ruin everything.

Deep down, Chase blamed himself. It was his inability to judge Reed’s character that allowed the man to get the best of him on his own turf. It was a humiliating defeat. He wanted to forget it, but knew that would never happen. It would linger on, under the surface, like some kind of festering wound.

In a way, that was a good thing. The next time he saw Reed, he’d be prepared. Next time, there would be no chatter. No deals. Next time, there would be only death.

Chase sat down. “Let’s talk about something else. What’s the latest on Ms. Blair?”

“Our people took charge of her a few hours ago. She’s currently being held in the Jersey City facility.”

“How did she handle the extraction?”

“Not well,” Standish admitted. “She put up quite a fight. Even took a cheap shot at one of our guys with a frying pan. The poor bastard’s got a black eye the size of a pancake.”

“Sounds like everyone’s having a bad day today.”

“When it rains, it pours.”

“Still, it’s good news. With her under our control, we have some negotiating leverage with Cyclone.”

“We have to face facts.” Standish crossed his arms. “The journal’s gone. No doubt he destroyed it the first chance he got.”

Chase frowned. “If that’s the case, it’s over thirty years of work down the drain.”

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“Cyclone didn’t break into your office just for kicks. He had a reason for coming here.”

Chase glanced at his desk and saw the Operation
Die Glocke
binder. He began thumbing through it. “You think Cyclone’s looking for Hartek’s original Bell?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“But where would he look? My men combed the world for years looking for Rictor and his brothers. They never found a thing.”

“That’s because they didn’t think like treasure hunters.”

Chase stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Treasure hunters know that when the pressure’s on, thieves don’t always take their loot with them. Sometimes, they leave it behind.”

“You mean like pirates burying chests of gold?”

Standish glanced at the picture of the
Omega
. “That’s exactly what I mean. Now, you told me that Rictor removed the Bell with a subway car. What happened to that car?”

Chase shrugged. “We never found it. We figured that they scrubbed the train and dumped it off in one of the yards.”

Standish stood up. “Call your men together. We need to search every inch of those tunnels. Unless I miss my guess, they didn’t get rid of the train. They hid it.”

Chapter 40

Mixed emotions swirled within me as I maneuvered my way across the thin concrete ledge. The idea of locating a long-lost subway car, buried deep under Manhattan, carried with it a certain romanticism I found difficult to resist. It was every treasure hunter’s dream, the underground equivalent of finding a sunken ship or a forgotten city.

My cause seemed worthy. Destroying the Bell would save lives. But every second I spent searching for it was another second I didn’t spend trying to find Diane.

I knew Chase wouldn’t kill Diane until he obtained either the Bell or the journal. I couldn’t let either of those things happen. I needed to destroy them both. Then I’d rescue her.

But what if something happens to her first?

Ignoring the thought, I continued to press on through the tunnel. I couldn’t afford to doubt myself. Not now.

It was early morning, yet I didn’t feel rested. I lacked sleep and still suffered from my injuries. But I was too restless to recuperate. I needed to work. I needed to search the Lexington Avenue Line for signs of a hidden tunnel.

I glanced over my shoulder. Beverly walked behind me, her eyes locked on the ground. She looked tired. I didn’t blame her.

Earlier that morning, we’d taken a roundabout path following the Eighth Avenue Line to the Sixth Avenue Line. After another long walk, we popped out around the Broadway–Lafayette Street station, transferred to the Lexington Avenue tracks, and began walking uptown.

It was a long, exhausting walk. I just hoped it paid dividends.

Suddenly, the ledge cracked under my foot. Small chunks of concrete broke loose and fell into the track bed, sending ripples through the quiet water. I stumbled about clumsily for a second before regaining my balance.

“Nice moves,” Beverly said. “Did you ever consider a career on Broadway?”

“Well sure. But I could never contain my talents to one city. I prefer to spread my awkwardness as far as possible.”

She chuckled. “Are you sure we’re looking in the right place?”

“Jenson knew where to find Hartek’s laboratory. That means he most likely saw the Bell being loaded onto the
Omega
. I’m betting the Sand Demons arrived at the same time. After they seized the train, Jenson started following them.”

“But why would they take it this way?”

I sensed the doubt in her voice. “Necessity. As they left the lab, the only tracks available to them were the southbound ones.”

She shrugged. “They could’ve veered off somewhere or even taken it farther south, all the way into Brooklyn.”

“Maybe. But remember, Jenson followed them on foot. And I doubt he could’ve kept pace with the
Omega
for more than a mile or so. As I see it, that makes our search area the southbound tracks between Grand Central Terminal and Union Square.”

After more walking, we passed through the Union Square station. My eyes scanned the area for signs of Jenson’s tunnel. For a couple of blocks, I saw nothing but ordinary walls, occasionally covered in subway script or graffiti.

But a few minutes later, I noticed something interesting. “See that?”

She followed my pointing finger. “See what?”

“The eastern wall continues in a straight line. But the western wall gradually slants farther and farther to the west.”

“I see what you mean. The tunnel gets wider.”

“Only temporarily. Farther ahead, the western wall returns to its original heading.”

“It’s not a perfect line. So what?”

“So the enlarged space allows the tracks to split.”

I lowered myself into the water and waded over to the area. As I turned around, I found myself staring at a concrete wall, notched in such a way that it looked like a sealed, bell-shaped tunnel entrance.

Great. I’m seeing bells everywhere.

“This thing is called a bellmouth,” I said. “Someone planned to build a connecting tunnel here once upon a time.”

“Too bad they didn’t actually do it.”

“Maybe they did. It’s possible that a tunnel existed here some thirty to forty years ago. The Sand Demons could’ve steered the
Omega
inside it and then sealed off the tunnel to make it look like an ordinary bellmouth.”

Reaching into my satchel, I removed my flashlight and studied the wall. I allowed my hands to drift over its surface, noting each fissure and crevice.

“What do you think?” She gave me a puzzled look. “Is this it?”

I removed my hand. “I don’t think so. The concrete’s color and consistency match that of the rest of the wall. This bellmouth hasn’t changed since the original construction of the tunnel.”

I marked the position in my mind and then climbed back onto the ledge. If we failed to find any other bellmouths in the rest of the tunnel, we could always return and give it a closer look.

We continued to walk, passing the 23
^rd
Street station and then the 28
^th
Street station. And as we drew closer to Grand Central Terminal, I began to wonder if I was making a mistake.

There’s a tunnel although it doesn’t look that way.

Jenson had been half out of his mind when he told me that. And slurring too. I couldn’t even be sure I’d understood him correctly.

After another two blocks, I saw the western wall branching out again. I walked a little farther and then lowered myself back into the flooded trackbed.

I traced my beam around the space. This bellmouth looked different from the other one. The sealed concrete surface was cleaner and less marked than the surrounding walls.

I sloshed over to the bellmouth and removed my machete. Carefully, I knocked the end against the concrete. It banged softly and then reverberated in the air for a couple of seconds before fading away.

Beverly arched an eyebrow. “It sounds hollow.”

I shifted my light back and forth across the surface. Then I noticed something etched into the bottom, right hand corner of the wall, just beneath the water line.

I leaned down and studied the marks.

A skull.

Two pickaxes, the tools of the sandhog.

The symbol of the Sand Demons.

A smile creased my face. It was time go to hunting.

Train hunting.

Chapter 41

Reaching out, I pressed the skull and pickaxes symbol.

But it failed to depress.

I pressed again but it refused to budge. I tried another few times before finally giving up. The door-opening mechanism had seemingly been disabled.

Lowering my shoulder, I drove it into the wall. I heard a soft thud. My shoulder started to hurt.

As I yanked myself away from the wall, tiny pieces of concrete came with me, leaving a small gap in their wake.

“Maybe we should look at the rest of the tunnel first,” Beverly said. “I’d hate to see you injure yourself trying to find something that’s not here.”

“It’s here.” I jabbed a thumb at the wall. “You can see the concrete for yourself. This section’s different.”

She sighed. “I guess I’m not sold on your theory. How could the Sand Demons just cover up a side tunnel? Wouldn’t other people notice that it suddenly disappeared?”

“If there’s a tunnel behind this wall, it’s nothing special. Most likely, it was only partly excavated and never used. The kind of tunnel that wouldn’t attract much attention.”

She knelt down and felt around in the water. “I don’t feel any tracks leading to the wall.”

“If you were trying to eliminate all evidence of a tunnel, would you leave the tracks behind?”

She removed a knife from her waistband. “Good point.”

For the next ten minutes, Beverly and I hacked at the bellmouth with ferocity. Her knife and my machete moved like perpetual motion devices, swinging forward and backward, forward and backward. It was almost hypnotic.

Soon, a small, jagged gap formed in front of me. I pushed on, my attention solely focused on widening the hole. I swung over and over again, until my arms began to ache and the scabs on my fingers started to bleed all over again.