The Unwanted (41 page)

It looked at though it had been decades since anyone had used this route into the underground facility. Twenty feet in, there was a door all but rusted shut. But time had weakened the metal so much they were able to wrestle it open without breaking out any of their gear.

Using flashlights, they made their way down a set of stairs that had been cut into the earth, then covered with a layer of concrete that had long ago started to crack. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel had also been reinforced, but weren't doing any better. There were patches where concrete had fallen and broken into pieces on the steps.

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 door, 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.