Hand over hand she lowered herself until she was just a few feet from the end of the line. She peeked down to get a glimpse of the tunnel floor, but without the use of the flashlight, all she saw was black. Hoping there was no stone beneath her that might trip her up, she bent her knees in anticipation of absorbing the shock, and let go.
Barely a second passed before her feet touched the ground. She started to fall to the side, but a quick hand to the stone floor helped her maintain her balance.
She pulled out her flashlight, turned it on, and looked up at the hole in the ceiling. “All right. Come on down.”
She could see only shadowy movement as El-Hashim entered the tube, but could clearly hear the woman’s nervous breathing. At one point, a short cry of surprise echoed through the chamber, and Alex was sure El-Hashim would come crashing down on her. But whatever had prompted the noise, El-Hashim seemed to have gotten things under control, and was soon lowering herself down the cable.
“Just a bit more,” Alex said, “and I can grab your feet.”
“There’s not much cable left.”
“It’s okay. You can go all the way to the end of it if you need to.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t want to—”
“Don’t worry. Just a few more inches.”
The surprised cry again, this time lasting as long as it took for El-Hashim to fall through the air and land in Alex’s not quite ready arms.
Alex staggered back a step, before slipping on the wet stone and falling to the ground. The flashlight skittered away, its beam spinning around a few times then settling on an unhelpful view down the tunnel.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked.
El-Hashim’s hips lay across Alex’s stomach, while her shoulders and head were tipped back against the floor of the tunnel. She groaned, then twisted as she tried to push herself up. “I think so.”
Alex scooted out from under her and climbed to her feet. She could feel the aches from the spots that she was sure would bruise later, but the pain in her shoulder, which had taken the brunt of El-Hashim’s fall, was the worst. She moved it around, trying to stretch it out, and hoped that nothing was torn inside.
When this job was over, she was going to need a month’s stay in the VA hospital to recover.
She reclaimed the flashlight, and turned back to El-Hashim, pleased to see the woman had risen to her feet again.
“Ready?” Alex asked.
“Yes. Please, let’s go.”
Alex consulted the hand-drawn map again, and started down the tunnel.
*
WHEN DOCTOR TETERYA heard the crash, he looked down the hole, but could only see the beam of the woman’s flashlight along an empty patch of the tunnel floor. He was about to call out to them when he heard them speak.
They were all right. Of course, if they weren’t, what would he have done? He certainly wouldn’t have crawled down the cable. There would have been no way for him to get back.
No, the moment they descended into the tunnel, they were out of his hands.
Thank. God.
Never again would he agree to something like this.
He stood up. There was still much to do. The infirmary needed to look like a violent escape had occurred, then he and Irina would take sedatives so they could later be found unconscious. A bruise or two wouldn’t hurt, either, though he wasn’t looking forward to that part.
But first he had to get the damn cover back over the hole.
He positioned himself so that he could pull it into place without lifting it, grabbed the edge, and started to give it a yank.
*
THERE WAS NO trapdoor in the top of the elevator car.
Getting to it had not been a problem. The doors above were old and had been easy enough to pry open. A pair of rags the assassin had found, and tied around her hands, had allowed her to grab hold of the cable and slide down to the top of the car with little risk of injury.
The assassin had then crouched down, put her ear to the wood, and listened.
Silence.
Which was a good thing. It meant the car itself and the room beyond it was empty.
Unfortunately, the absence of a trapdoor made getting into that room a bit complicated.
Not that she minded. This was all part of the hunt. The part she so loved.
It took her less than thirty seconds to find a way in.
There was, she noticed, a gap on either side of the elevator car that would allow her to access the braking tracks. Untying the rags from her hands, she was able to use them to hook the elevator stops and pull the release.
As she had hoped, there was enough play in the cable that the car dropped half an inch. This was just enough to expose the top of the basement opening, the gap the perfect size for her to slip her fingertips through. Setting her feet firmly against the top of the car, she grabbed the lip of the opening and pulled upward, putting all of her strength into it.
The ancient cable groaned as it stuttered a few more inches down. She kept this up until she heard the next set of stop latches engage.
Using the same technique as before, she released them, then started pulling again. It didn’t take her long before the gap was wide enough for her to slip through.
The assassin smiled, feeling quite proud of herself. She took a quick look around, and spotted the tracks on the dusty floor, leading to the doorway. She was happy to see they continued into the hallway beyond, too.
Though there were several doorways along the corridor, light was only spilling out of one. The footsteps, however, didn’t go all the way to the light, instead stopping a doorway short.
The assassin listened at the closed door. More silence. As she was about to open it, she heard a noise from the next room down, the lit one.
She contemplated what to do for a moment, but knew she needed to make sure she left no potential problems behind her. So she abruptly changed course and continued down the hallway.
The light was actually coming through a window in the door. On the other side was a hallway with several more doors along it—a hallway that looked as if it saw far more traffic than the one she was in.
The source of the noise, she discovered, was a guard walking away from her down the hall.
The assassin gently took hold of the handle and tried to turn it. Locked. Just as she suspected. The part of the basement she was currently in was likely little used and mostly forgotten.
Good, then. Nothing to worry about.
She returned to the other door, and turned the knob. Within the first few inches of movement, it squeaked. She paused, listening again, but there was no noise indicating that someone had heard her on the other side. She continued pushing the door open, glad that the squeak didn’t return, and found herself in a dark corridor, save for some light spilling out of a doorway further back.
Choosing each step with care, the assassin moved quietly down the corridor. It turned out the light wasn’t coming out of a doorway so much as an arched opening in the wall that led into a wide room.
At the far end, on his hands and knees, looking at the floor, was the doctor.
No. Not looking at the floor.
Looking through it.
The tunnel entrance, she guessed. That would explain the absence of Powell and El-Hashim.
The doctor suddenly leaned further down, as if straining to see something. After several moments, he put a hand to his mouth. The assassin thought he was going to say something, but he sat back, his hand falling away.
Then she heard a voice. Faint, coming from…below the man.
Definitely the tunnel.
Dr. Teterya repositioned himself, and grabbed on to a grated metal plate sitting nearby. There was no question what he was about to do.
Before he could proceed, however, the assassin stepped into the room and said, “That actually won’t be necessary.”
One of the doctor’s hands slipped from the cover as he twisted around in surprise, throwing him off balance. He fell bac
kward, and managed to miss tumbling through the hole only by inches.
The assassin was on him before he had the chance to get back on his feet.
“What…what are you doing down here?” he asked.
She smiled. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m following you.”
His confusion lasted several more seconds, then his eyes widened in understanding. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Me, what?”
“You. You’re the one…you’re the one who—”
To answer his question, the assassin reached forward and dispatched him with the quick, deadly efficiency that had made her reputation.
After appropriating his flashlight, she took a look into the hole.
It was quiet down there, no sense of movement. She shone the light and moved it around. She could see that an area on the wet ground directly below had been disturbed very recently, the slowly advancing water already starting to reclaim it.
Someone had fallen, she thought.
Good. Maybe that’ll slow their progress.
The assassin climbed into the hole and used the cable to descend into the tunnel. Once her feet were firmly on the stone floor, she masked most of the light with her hand, paused, and listened.
Footsteps. Echoing back.
Coming from…
…the left.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Building Three secure,” Danya said into his radio.
There was a hiss of static, then Plachkov, manning the desk at the prison control center, repeated in a bored monotone, “Building Three secure.”
“Moving to Building Two,” Danya said.
“Moving to Building Two.”
Danya Sosna had long ago stopped rolling his eyes when his messages were repeated back to him, and hardly even noticed it anymore. It was, after all, procedure. But tonight the practice grated on his nerves, like almost everything else.
Because tonight he wasn’t supposed to be here.
This was Danya’s night off. The one night every week he could spend in his beloved Ivanna’s bed and eat her wonderful dinners, two finely tuned skills that had always kept him coming back for more.
But instead of lying in Ivanna’s arms with a belly full of expertly prepared chee-börek, Danya was stuck here in this prison, forced to work another man’s shift.
This was all Vanko’s fault. Vanko, who, at the best of times, was a terrible card player and lovestruck fool. Vanko, who, for reasons unknown to anyone here, had decided not to report for duty tonight, and could not be found in his sleeping quarters.
Danya himself had tried calling the man, but the stupid fool hadn’t answered.
Where had he gotten to?
Danya could only guess. Saw him drunk and sprawled out on a mattress with some local whore, undoubtedly imagining that she was the object of his obsession, the lovely nurse Irina.
Danya hoped he was enjoying himself, because the money he had used to hire such companionship would soon be very hard to come by.
It wasn’t likely that Vanko would have a job after this.
Cursing the man’s name as he checked Building Two, Danya called it in, did the same for Building One, then made his way to Administration. He briefly chatted with the guards at the security point, airing his complaints about Vanko, before heading inside to check and double-check the doors and windows, as he had so many times before.
He was on the second floor when he noticed something wrong. The door to the infirmary was unlocked and no one was manning the reception area.
The empty desk by itself wasn’t unusual.
The night shift would typically consist of only two people—Vanko’s crush, Irina, and one doctor. But when Irina left the desk, she always closed and locked the door.
Had she forgotten this time?
If so, it wasn’t like her. Not only was she an attractive woman—although nowhere near Ivanna’s part of the stratosphere—she was also quite professional and extremely efficient. And, in Danya’s experience, she was not one to forget things. Especially when it came to safety.
Danya waited for a moment, checking his watch, wondering if she would return. He listened, hoping he might be able to hear her moving around back there, but it all was quiet. Too quiet. And as the seconds ticked by, he began to feel more and more uneasy.
Something wasn’t right.
Stepping past the reception desk, Danya went inside and found that the main examination area was still and lifeless, all of the curtains pulled back to reveal nothing but empty beds.
When he reached the door to the back room, he peered through the window. He didn’t see Irina inside—or the doctor, for that matter—but then he couldn’t see the whole room from here.
Putting a smile on his face, he tapped the glass.
No one answered.
Even if Irina had gone to the cafeteria, the doctor would have remained on duty. The guidelines were very clear on that. Someone on staff had to be present in the infirmary at all times.
Danya opened the door a crack. “Irina? Doctor?”
He wasn’t sure which doctor was on duty. Probably Teterya, a cold man who, according to Vanko, was his biggest rival for Irina.
When no one answered, Danya stepped inside, but a quick look around revealed he wasn’t alone.
“Irina?”
Worse yet, the door to one of the isolation cells was open, and there seemed to be some water on the floor in front of it.
As he walked over, he noticed a plastic cup lying to the side. There had obviously been a spill here, but why hadn’t anyone cleaned it up?
“Irina?” he called out, louder now.
At the sound of his voice, someone pounded against one of the other cell doors and called out in English, “Hello? Hello? Who’s there?”
It was coming from the cell at the opposite end.
Danya walked quickly over and moved up to the door. Raising the window slat, he looked in and saw a prisoner staring back at him.
Summoning up his best English, he said, “Is nurse…with…you?”
It was unlikely, but he supposed it was possible that Irina had somehow managed to lock herself inside.
“Only me,” the prisoner told him. “The nurse is gone.”
He processed her words. “Gone? Where gone?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like a fight. What happened, it wasn’t good.”
The word that stuck out to him was “fight.” Had Irina and the doctor had words? Or was it something much worse than that?
“Where go?” he said. “Where go?”
The prisoner shook her head. “I…I don’t know.”
Danya looked around, hoping to find some clue to where Irina or the doctor was, but saw nothing. He ran back into the examination area, and was starting to do the same there, when he caught sight of something he hadn’t noticed the first time.
The rear exit was ajar.
Danya had never seen it left open before, and was sure there was something in the guidelines about that as well.
He pushed through to the corridor, found it empty.
Which way did they go?
Right led to the stairs, the elevator, and the main part of the prison—all just as easily reachable through the main infirmary door. To the left was a handful of storerooms and a few unused offices, none of which held any medical equipment or supplies.
Why would either of them go there?
For a moment, Danya considered phoning for help, but what if the explanation for their absence was something as simple as a medical emergency, or just a bathroom break?
That would not score him any points with his boss.
Danya took a breath. If they went to the right, then everything was fine and they’d show up soon. So, Danya went left, opening each door he passed and checking inside.
He immediately knew there was something different about the storage room when he opened its door.
It was the only room with a light on.
“Irina
? Doctor?”
He stepped inside. Though the room was stuffed with boxes and discarded pieces of what appeared to be telecommunications equipment, none of it looked as if it had been disturbed in a very long time.
“Irina?” he said again as he moved around the end of a storage rack.
Though she would have surely answered if she were here, he kept going, drawn forward by a sense that something was wrong.
The first thing he saw when he passed the last shelving unit was the rectangular hole in the wall. There was a partially open door covering half of it, but the other door had been pried away and lay against the wall, hanging by a single hinge.
The second thing he saw was the foot.
A woman’s foot.
For a full two seconds, he didn’t move, unable to fully grasp what he was seeing. Then he rushed forward, nearly tripping over himself. He gasped.
Irina! Oh, God!
He dropped to his knees beside her. “Irina! Irina!”
Her head was tilted to the side, her eyes closed.
“Irina!” This time, shaking her shoulder.
He checked her pulse, but could feel nothing. He looked at her chest to see if she was breathing, but of course she wasn’t.
She had no pulse; how could she be breathing?
All guards had rudimentary first-aid training, and Danya knew he needed to get her heart going and air into her lungs. He reached over to turn her head so it faced upward, giving him better access to her mouth. But he realized with horror that no matter what he did, he would never be able to bring her back.
Her head flopped in his hands, her neck clearly broken.
Which meant this was no accident. She hadn’t simply fallen.
Someone had done this to her.
Someone had killed Irina.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Where the hell are they?” Deuce said.
It wasn’t the first time he had said it, or even the third, so Cooper didn’t bother to reply.
From their vantage point on the hill, Cooper watched the prison, while Deuce kept an eye on the abandoned building in the ravine. The moment Alex and El-Hashim appeared, the two men would head for the rendezvous point.
Mortal Crimes 2 Page 160