72 Hours (A Thriller) (35 page)

Grit and debris rained down off the metal surface as he raised it from horizontal.
 
Dust plumed.
 
Tango coughed, turned his head.
 
The tactical light cut through the dingy dust and lingering smoke like fog lights through a hazy swamp.

He shined the light down into the chute.
 
He sat at the edge of the hatch, swung his legs down and felt a cool draft puff across his pant legs.
 
Then he tucked his rifle close against his chest and dropped into the hole.

*
   
*
   
*

Archer skimmed down the ladder, his feet only touching every sixth or eight rung.
 
Water rained down from all four sides of the hatch opening.
 
Lightening flashed beneath the clouds.
 

Archer pushed through a heavy door and saw flickering light ahead.
 
He made his way to the residential quarters of the underground bunker.
 
It looked like a war zone.
 
Thick clouds of dust drifting through the light.
 
Debris and rubble.
 
Ribbons of smoke lingering near the ceiling.

Archer crunched through the destruction.
 
He crossed from one corridor into the next.
 
Spotted Simeon standing in the hazy gloom.

Simeon was staring through the rubble where his library used to be.
 
He shook his head.

“I don’t know if she could’ve survived this,” Simeon said.

“There’s no body.
 
No Blood,” Archer said.
 
“She’s alive.
 
But where is she?”

Simeon crunched through the debris, waved dust and smoke out of his face.

“Looks to me like she scrambled in here and managed to lock the door,” Simeon said, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
 
“That’s why he had to blow the wall.
 
The only way to get to her.”

Archer nodded.

“OK,” he said.
 
“I can see that.”

Simeon took a step forward and stamped his foot on the metal panel.
 

“Then she went down there,” Simeon said.

“What’s down there?”

“Nothing, really,” Simeon answered.
 
“Crawlspace.
 
Doesn’t lead anywhere.
 
Just a low, wide crawlspace.
 
If the mercenary who did all this went down there after her, she’s got nowhere left to run.”

*
   
*
   
*

Tango was nine feet beneath them, squeezing through the ridiculously tight space.
 
Pushing the rifle out ahead of him, the tactical light reeling from pillar to pillar, slicing the darkness a few feet at a time.
 
He hauled himself between the iron struts, progressing a few painful inches at a time.
 
Then he would pause, listen carefully, wait for Lindsay Hammond to make a sound.
 
Eventually she’d make a mistake.
 
Sooner or later he’d have her in a corner, and there’d be no escape.
 

*
   
*
   
*

Lindsay could hear him coming.
 
She could see his light bobbing through the alien-like legs of the iron struts.
 
She had slithered about a hundred feet away, pressing herself against a cool, gritty cinderblock wall.
 
It was as far as she could go.
 
She guessed that the crawlspace was at least as wide as it was deep.
 
But whether she went right or left, the man with the gun would eventually close the distance either way.
 

She took slow, deep breaths.
 
Every move was subtle and silent.
 
She could hear him scraping towards her.
 
She pressed herself deeper into shadow.

The light swam across the tight cavity.
 
She heard him grunt.
 
Heard him cursing her.

Lindsay scooted stealthily toward the corner nearest her, shielding herself from view behind an iron strut.
 
She reached the corner and pivoted, continuing to her left.
 
Soon she was parallel to him.
 
Less than sixty feet between them.
 

She froze as he aimed the beam of white light in her direction.
 
The light fluttered briefly through the forest of struts nearest her and then moved on.
 
She could feel her exhausted arms trembling.

He had nearly reached the rear wall.

Lindsay reached the front corner and began the long terrible return trip to the entrance to the chute.

Tango pivoted in the grime and dust.
 
The light glowing through the cobwebs and iron struts.
 
He had a choice to make.

Lindsay saw him turn away from her and almost came to tears.
 
She inched her way toward the crawlspace entrance.
 
She was almost there when she took a deep breath and sucked some dust into her throat.
 
She could not suppress the tickling sensation, and had to cough.

Tango heard her.
 
He immediately pivoted, maneuvering the gun.
 
He aimed the light through the obstacle course of iron struts and reeled off a burst of gunfire.

Lindsay pressed her body against an iron strut and screamed.
 

Tango hauled himself toward her on his elbows.
 
He fired again, pushing himself through a face full of thickly layered cobwebs.

Lindsay knew she had to make a move.
 
She hauled herself toward the opening.
 
Desperate, clawing.
 
He reached the narrow chute and hauled herself through.
 
Bullets stitching through the darkness behind her.

Tango shouted, “You’re as good as dead!”
 
He held the trigger down, two dozen rounds circulating wildly among the iron struts.
 
Blue sparks flying.
 
A bullet returned in his direction and caught him above the right ear.
 
He dropped the gun and clamped a hand over his face.

Lindsay heard him cry out in pain as she hauled herself up the chute toward the panel door.

*
   
*
   
*

Archer hoisted her up.
 
She hugged him tightly and sobbed.

Archer placed a hand on the back of her head, pressed the side of her face to his chest.

“You’re safe now,” he told her.

He could feel her hot tears on his chest.

“They can’t get you anymore,” he said.

She nodded like she believed him.

“He’s still down there,” she said without pulling away from his embrace.

“We’ll take care of him,” Archer said.

“Kill him.
 
Please kill him,” she said through tears.

Simeon walked into the room holding a metal canister in his hands.
 
He showed it to Archer.

“Tear gas,” Simeon said.
 
“Let him sit down there and suck on this for a while.”

Archer nodded.
 
“Good idea.”

Archer moved Lindsay out of the way and escorted her out into the corridor, a safe distance from the noxious fumes of the tear gas.
 

Simeon straddled the open hatch.
 
He pulled the pin on the gas canister and chucked it through the opening of the crawlspace.
 
Then he slammed the metal panel shut and parked the remainder of the sofa on top of it.

“Sweat dreams,” he said with a smile.
 
Then he marched off to join Archer and Lindsay.

CHAPTER 103

“Tell me how you found this place,” Raj said.

Oscar said nothing.
 
He kept walking.

“Where did you get your information?”

No response.

Raj studied the backside of the enormous man walking ahead of him.

Rain sizzled through the brush and on the smooth rocks staggered along the ridgeline.

Raj held the muzzle of the rifle pointed at the center of the man’s back.

“You will have to talk eventually.
 
Or you will have to die.”

No response.

“Stop.
 
Stop walking.”

Oscar slowed to a halt.

Raj’s short white hair glistened with rain.

“I’d suggest you talk, my friend.
 
Who are you?
 
Who sent you?
 
Who hired you?”

“I…am…the…angel…of…death…” Oscar growled.

Raj rubbed his thumb on the stock of his rifle.
 
Breathed out through his nose.

“Who do you work for?”

“I…am…the…angel…of…death.”

“How much are they paying you?”

“I…am…the…angel…of…death,” Oscar repeated like a mantra.

Raj pursed his lips and stared at the back of the man’s neck.
 
He raised his rifle to his shoulder.

“Was it worth it, to come here and die like this, for nothing?” Raj said, sighting down the barrel at the big beefy target.

A brief pause, then: “I…AM…THE…
 
”

Raj pulled the trigger.

*
   
*
   
*

The motor whirred, vibrating loudly inside the wall.
 
Then the thick steel door lifted, sucking back up into the ceiling.
 
Ramey and Wyatt rushed out, flinging themselves into their mother’s arms.

Lindsay started sobbing, hugging her arms around both children at once.
 

“I thought you were dead,” Wyatt said through tears.

“Of course not,” Lindsay answered.
 
“I’d never leave you.”

“That was so awful,” Ramey said, face streaked and wet.

“I know.
 
But it’s over now.
 
We’re alive, and we’re still together.
 
We made it.”

She pulled away and looked them in the eyes.

“We made it,” she said again.

“Best if the three of you stay inside there,” Archer said, holding a long flashlight against his shoulder.
 

Simeon disappeared inside a utility closet and threw a heavy red breaker switch.
 
Within seconds full power had returned.
 
The corridors were suddenly and unexpectedly bright.

“We aren’t in the clear yet,” Archer told Lindsay.
 
“We are down to three of them, including your friend breathing tear gas under the floor.
 
There are still two that are unaccounted for.”

Lindsay nodded.

The corridors were still hazy with dust and smoke.

Archer crunched through scattered debris and kicked his way past the rubble blown from the library wall.
 
He found Simeon in the camera monitoring room.
 
The room was trashed.
 
The last explosion had overturned the long table, spilling the computer monitors, the television, and all the other assorted supplies and equipment to the floor.
 

Archer stood in the doorway.

Simeon ducked around the light fixture rocking lazily side to side from a twisted ceiling bracket.
 
Archer helped Simeon right the table, lifting it back onto its legs.
 
He crunched through the pebbled glass and crushed concrete.

“Hell of a thing,” Simeon mumbled.

“Does anything still work?”

“Not likely,” Simeon said.

“So the outside cameras are useless to us.”

Simeon shrugged.
 
Nodded.

“Super,” Archer sighed.

Simeon lifted a ruined flat panel display and squared it to the front edge of the tabletop.
 
There was a jagged mouth of glass teeth surrounding the dark cavity where the screen had shattered.

They heard the satellite phone ring.

Simeon glanced up at Archer.

“Help me find it.”

They kicked aside busted equipment on the floor and shoved away the heavy metal rack that had tipped over.
 

“There.” Simeon pointed.

Archer followed his gaze and retrieved the phone from a collection of rubble.
 
The device was grimy with dust and grit.

Archer passed it to him.

Simeon was hesitant.

“What do you think?”

Archer shrugged.

“Is it Penny?”