“Phin.”
“What is my grandfather going to say? What is your great-uncle going to say? Our Benefactor won’t like it at all.”
Drew grabbed him by the shoulders. “Phineas. We’re going to be okay.”
“Oh, are you as sure of that as you were of that shooting today?”
This kid was annoying the hell out of him. It wouldn’t take much to choke the bastard. He’d like to see his eyes bulge and watch him gasp for air the way he did a moment ago.
But he needed him.
He let him go and spoke calmly. “If the cops get near this place, we’ll know. Don’t you have a police scanner?”
“Of course. I’ve been monitoring it along with the news channel.” Phin waved toward his laptop screen and the 3D image of a radio on it.
“That will give us plenty of warning.”
“But what about—”
Before Phineas could finish, the image on the screen began to crackle.
They raced over to it.
A scratchy male voice came through the speakers along with the static. “Unit ten proceeding to Sweet Water Park...”
Then came a woman’s voice. “Possible location of male and female suspect in this morning’s shooting at Bellwood Quarry...”
Then another man’s voice. “Unit twelve on route now.”
Phin’s lip quivered as he stared up at him. “Did you hear that? They’re coming, Drew. They know where we are. They’re coming for us.”
For the first time, Drew thought Phineas might be right. He felt a tingle of fear ripple through him. Then he shook it off. He wasn’t going to be taken down by the cops again. “Don’t we have hidden security cameras in this place?”
“In most of the halls, but—”
“And didn’t my great-uncle insist on installing some nifty defense mechanisms in the corridors? Don’t you remember designing them with him? They’re a real death course.”
Phin pressed a hand to his head, his brain calculating the odds. He nodded. “Okay, you’re right. It’s an advantage.”
“Plus you’ve got the war room. If anybody gets in, we’ll see them long before they see us. We can control everything from there.”
“Right. Right.” He still didn’t seem convinced.
Phin had never used the war room, but Drew had. It had a whole wall of computer screens. The security cameras fed video to them twenty-four-seven. They’d never had any breach so far. Bored with monitoring the system, Drew had used the screens to play games. It was a way cool setup.
“So we can defend ourselves here a lot better than we can on the road.”
Phin looked up at him, his eyes pleading through his thick glasses. “What about those detectives?”
“What about them?”
“What if they’re with the police? What if they come after us?”
“Then we’ll get the job we were supposed to done.”
Phin turned a little pale. “We were only supposed to kill the one. Parker and Steele weren’t supposed to even know about us.”
He was such a coward.
“So? We’ll kill them all.”
“Our Benefactor won’t like it.”
“What are you talking about? He’ll be ecstatic. Besides we have our secret weapon.”
“The girl?”
Nodding he took a bottle of the elixir from the fridge and started out the door to the prison rooms. “And this time, I’ll make sure she doesn’t miss.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was after midnight when Parker’s Mazda pulled past the gate and into the park, followed by a bevy of cop cars. Reaching the end of the road before their escorts, Miranda got out of the car with Parker and retrieved a couple of maglites from the trunk.
“Shall we wait for them?” Parker asked, gazing back at the first squad car, which had cut its lights.
Miranda shook her head. “We can’t spare the time. They’ll catch up.”
“We’ll have to walk to the site.” He pointed toward a dirt path strewn with fallen leaves.
“Lead the way.”
They had to hike half a mile down the trail in near darkness to find the place. The night air was cool and a little windy. As they went along, above them leaves fluttered in the tall trees and drifted to the ground. Owls hooted in the branches, as if calling out a warning.
The trail was wide enough for a jeep, but any tracks had been distorted by forest debris or footprints of hikers by now. At last, they approached their destination, and Miranda could hear the rushing of a nearby stream.
“Here it is,” Parker said.
They were standing along a chain-link fence. Parker ran his maglite over the structure looming beyond it. Miranda did the same. There was something there, but she wasn’t sure what she was looking at.
Then a cloud moved from behind the full moon and lit up the view.
At the end of a rocky wall stood a stone arch with a wooden frame that looked like it had once been a large entrance. Stretching to the side of the arch stood tall burnt-out spires of old rust-colored brick walls, like spikes pointing up into the dark sky under the moonbeams. Rows of hollowed out rectangles that had once been windows dotted the wall. Moving her light along the length of it, she could see more jagged spikes.
But there was no building. Only an empty frame.
“This is no hideout,” she grunted.
“Not on the surface.”
Did he think there was something they weren’t seeing? The whole case had been like that. They couldn’t tell without a closer look.
Behind them the creek ran nosily over a rocky bed. Before them, the chain-link fence ran around the building, protecting curiosity seekers from falling bricks, no doubt.
She eyed the bobbing flashlights of Erskine and his men as they approached up the hill.
Reaching them first, Erskine took in the situation. “Technically, we’d need permission from the state to go in there.”
Miranda didn’t like that remark. “You get that, Lieutenant. Parker and I will meet you inside.”
And she handed her maglite to Parker, put a foot in a link in the fence, and slung a leg over it.
On the other side she let herself down and brushed off the dark work clothes she’d been wearing since that morning.
“You coming?” she said to Parker.
Handing her the lights, Parker climbed over the fence in his expensive suit as deftly as a leopard.
He turned to Erskine. “Lieutenant?”
“Private investigators,” Erskine huffed under his breath. “Let’s go men.”
“We’ll check out the back,” Miranda said. She didn’t want to wait for them all to get over the fence.
Swinging their flashlights back and forth over yet another leaf-strewn path, she and Parker picked their way around the edifice, breathing in the earthy smell of forest and ruins.
“This structure was built in the late eighteen-forties,” Parker told her as they went along. “It was financed by some of our most illustrious citizens.”
“Including one of your ancestors?”
He nodded. “My fifth great-grandfather, I believe. The surrounding land was home to a hundred workers. It was five stories, the tallest building in the area at the time.”
“What happened to it?”
He gave her a thin smile. “Sherman.”
So it had been war that had ravaged this place. She looked up at the full moon casting its eerie light against the burnt-out spires of the ancient structure. For a moment it reminded her of Tannenburg’s house in Evanston, Illinois. She’d passed out there, and when she woke up she’d thought a falling beam had hit her on the head. But it wasn’t a beam. It was Tannenburg. He’d snuck up behind her and choked her until she passed out.
She could still hear his voice in that musty basement where she’d found him much later. “Don’t you remember the feel of my arm around your neck?”
A chill went through her.
She shook herself. No time for rem
iniscing now.
They had reached the back of the structure. But she still couldn’t see any signs of life. Just the hollow shell of the burnt out building, its floor covered with undergrowth.
“Nobody could keep a hostage here.”
“No,” Parker agreed.
“Wait.” She ran her flashlight over the ground in front of the back wall. It illuminated the corner of a square shape that seemed to be made of concrete. “What’s that?”
She moved to it, rustling through the leaves until she reached it.
She squatted down and found a mat made of artificial foliage covering the spot. Something hunters would use for camouflage. But it wasn’t completely covering what it was hiding.
She pulled the mat up and tossed it aside. Underneath lay the square concrete slab whose corner she’d spotted.
Fixed atop the square sat a round shape. It looked sort of like a large manhole cover, but it had hinges at one end and a handle on the other. If this were part of the mill, she’d expect it to be rusted and broken. But this thing looked brand new, and like it was made of galvanized metal.
Not a material available in the late eighteen-forties.
Parker came over to her side and bent down to run his light over the slab. “Definitely not part of the original construction.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That it’s some sort of entrance?”
“Yeah, sort of a hatch. But to what?” She didn’t want to think about what was running through her mind.
“If so, it’s probably locked from the inside.” Parker studied the handle, no doubt assessing his lock picking skills against it.
As she waited, Miranda noticed a path through the leaves that led across the backyard and up a hill thirty or so feet away. She shined her light in that direction. At the top of the rise, if she was seeing it right, the fence had been cut away.
“Look at that.” She started for it.
Leaving the mysterious manhole cover, Parker followed her.
She hurried across the dirt, climbed the steep incline, and ducked under the fence through the hole. She was in the forest now, tall pines and oaks thick around her, blocking the moonbeams. Overhead night birds cawed in the branches. But a few yards ahead she could make out an odd shape.
Walking toward it, she raised her light. It revealed a large mound covered with leaves and a tarp.
She moved to the rear of it and lifted the corner of the tarp.
There it was. The rear bumper. Camouflage-colored. The tail light. And the first part of the tag number.
PQA52.
Her insides turned icy. “He’s here,” she whispered to Parker.
“Yes, he is.”
What he didn’t say, she knew, was that he hoped Audrey was still alive.
Parker went to the front of the vehicle and pulled up the tarp to see if anyone was inside. Just as he leaned into the driver side window, Miranda heard a scraping sound coming from where they’d been a moment before.
She turned around and saw a tall lanky figure lifting the manhole cover by the handle.
It wasn’t locked after all.
“Holloway,” she hissed and started after him.
“Miranda,” Parker’s commanding voice rumbled behind her.
But she couldn’t turn around.
She had to stop her detective from going in there. She had to warn him. But she wasn’t fast enough. She scrambled back under the fence and down the hill just as Holloway disappeared into the hole.
She couldn’t let him go in there alone. She ran to the cover, lifted it up, and climbed down into darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Cursing under his breath, Parker raced down the hill and hurried to the concrete opening. What was Miranda thinking?
But he knew perfectly well. She was protecting the detective in her charge. The charge he’d given her. Protocol dictated the right thing to do at this point, the correct thing, was to call Hosea for back up.
But there wasn’t time.
Instead he raced to the lid of the opening, flung it open and climbed inside. His foot found a short ladder, then a concrete stair, and his flashlight illuminated the rest of the way. Twenty or so steps downward into the earth.
At the bottom he found himself standing in a short passage with an arched ceiling made of dull brown brick. The construction looked new. At the end of the hall, not more than ten feet away stood a door.
Reinforced steel, so it seemed, Parker thought as he ran his flashlight over it.
This was definitely not part of the nineteenth-century mill. But who had built it? And for what purpose?
His mind raced with the possibilities, but there was no time for speculation now. He had to focus on one thing.
Finding Miranda and Holloway. And Audrey if she was still alive.
They both must have gone through that door. There was no other way out.
Hoping he was right, he reached for the latch. It opened easily, giving him the uneasy feeling they were all heading straight into a trap.
He stepped through anyway, and watched in dismay as it slammed shut behind him.
He was inside a circular chamber about six feet in diameter. The floor was granite. The walls were done in gold. Three gold doors faced him. They were positioned symmetrically at the points of a diamond, taking in the entrance behind him.
As he examined each one, he saw they were split down the middle with a button in the wall on the side. Elevator doors. But there was no indication of floor numbers. Which one had Miranda taken? Which button had she pushed?
As he considered the choice, the doors to his left slid open. Sensing a trap, he remained where he was until they closed again and he heard the compartment descend. He took the door to his right.
But as soon as he stepped inside and the doors closed before him, he knew he’d made a mistake. There was only one button.
Three elevators and only one button? This place, whatever it was, must have three floors, assuming each of the other elevators went to only one. He had a one-in-three guess that Miranda had taken this one.
The odds were not in his favor.
The trip wasn’t long. He could only guess how many feet he had descended. And when the compartment stopped, the doors that opened again were at its rear. His heartbeat picking up and his senses on high alert, he stepped out into a long dimly-lit hall.
Miranda was nowhere in sight. He didn’t dare call out for her.
He’d try another floor. He spun around and heard the compartment moving. There was no button for the elevator. Only a pad to place a hand for palm print identification. That was no good to him.
He was trapped.
There had to be another way to the other floors. He’d find a way to get to her. He had to.
Slowly he stepped deeper into the passage and turned on his maglite.
The space was perhaps twelve feet wide and seemed to be the length of a large banquet hall, though he couldn’t make out the far end of it. No windows, of course. He was deep underground. Narrow slits of light mounted near the ceiling revealed flat stone walls with no adornment. The floor was a similar monotone tile material that echoed as he walked. The air was cool and had a slight mineral scent.
Not good.
He took a few more steps and stopped to listen. He could hear something. A slow whirring sound. And he felt a slight vibration.
Before him lay a large oriental carpet of light and dark browns. The pattern was Isfahan, if he wasn’t mistaken. Costly. But then so was this whole underground structure. He thought of Iwasaki’s gang connections. Built by drug money?
It would certainly be a good place to store and distribute their goods. And that would explain the elaborate security measures. But what did that have to do with the substance Fry had found in that amber bottle?
No time to work through it.
Something was under that rug. He bent down and lifted the corner. It was loosely secured to the floor by tape. He ga
ve it a hard tug. It was lighter than he’d thought, and he nearly lost his balance as he tossed it aside.
When he saw what was under it, he was glad he’d caught himself.
The floor had been hollowed out, and in the large pit below was a succession of spinning pipes mounted with dozens of deadly sharp spikes. Punji sticks, made of shining steel instead of bamboo. If he had stepped onto that carpet, it wouldn’t have held. He would have gone down with it, and would have been caught between two of the spinning pipes, and stabbed and sliced viciously until he fell through to whatever lay below. It would have been a slow painful death.
Had Miranda fallen down there?
He shined his flashlight into the pit, straining his eyes. He could see no blood. The pit was perhaps ten or twelve feet deep. There would be a body at the bottom if she had failed to cross it. But who had replaced the carpet?
No, she must be on another floor. Or she’d escaped this trap somehow.
He turned and shined the light on what he had grabbed onto for balance a moment earlier.
A row of embedded metal rungs went all the way up to the ceiling and continued across over to the other side of the pit. Another set along the wall descended to the floor. The safe way across.
Could he trust them to hold?
He’d have to. Shoving his flashlight into his belt, He took hold of the first rung and began to climb. Up he went, then across, hand-over-hand until he’d reached the other side. He dropped to the floor and was relieved to find it solid. He used his light once more to check for blood on the tiles or a body in the pit from this vantage point.
He saw nothing.
He turned and peered down the long cavity before him. There was no exit at that end, but there had to be a stairwell somewhere. Something that led to another floor. He just couldn’t see it from here.
He took two steps toward the far end. Something shot out from the wall right in front of his face.
He ducked just in time to miss a long sharp blade.
His chest heaving, he dared to rise. He touched the blade. It was real enough to put out an eye or worse. He studied the shape and curve of it. A katana. Japanese samurai sword. Katanas and metal punji sticks. Iwasaki was harkening back to his heritage.
Mind Bender Page 17