The Brain Vault (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 3)

by Lawrence Kelter

  The walls were painted an indigo blue, and with the lights dim, you could hardly notice the large black air vent in the far wall. The vent was ornate, constructed of iron and intricately fashioned in an oriental pattern; a reproduction from the Han Dynasty, but as I said, it rarely got the attention it deserved from the restaurant patrons or anyone else, and certainly not from Bennett and Paola who were already holding hands.

  Behind the vent he waited, patiently and quietly, watching normal everyday folks who had come to dine and socialize. He was a stranger to this world and completely envious of all that shunned him. Air whistled through his occluded nasal passages; heavy breathing, adenoid breath, his to listen to for a lifetime. He opened his mouth to gather sufficient air to fill his deprived lungs.

  He sat on the ground hugging his knees, focusing through the spaces in the vent at the people sitting close by, smelling their food and perfume, and listening to their conversations. He had unobstructed vision in one eye, which was trained on a young man with crew cut hair doing a poor job of eating Pad Thai noodles with chop sticks. Pakpao kept them in supply for the tourists, despite the fact that the Thai people eat their noodles with a fork. The man he was watching had a cleft chin and sharp features. His hair was so short that the suture line between the occipital and temporal bones were clearly visible on the back of his head. He focused there, at the perfectly formed skull. His pulse jumped to a hundred and forty beats per minute and sweat began to trickle down his temple.

  The restaurant’s air conditioning cycled off, and the intake of air through the large vent quit immediately.

  Paola subconsciously heard a few seconds of heavy breathing, but was uncertain of what she heard or where it had come from. She pulled her hand from his so that she could take a look around, but there was no one close enough to have been the source.

  “Is everything alright?” Bennett asked.

  She no longer heard it and chalked it off to the loud noise level in the restaurant and the bad acoustics. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She put her hand back in his. “I hope they bring out our food soon. My stomach is growling.”

  Thirty-Two

  “How long is it going to take to get that truck into place?” I was holding my safety helmet under my arm and waiting impatiently for the MTA to yank the ventilation grating out of the sidewalk.

  “Patience, Chalice,” Ambler said. “They’re almost ready.”

  The MTA truck seemed to be moving in slow motion as it backed up, positioning its winch over the ventilation shaft. Doyle was there, looking on unhappily, no doubt worried that his wife wouldn’t keep his dinner warm and his beer cold while I wasted his time looking for cooties in the ventilation shaft. A workman stood behind the truck directing the truck as daylight faded in the sky above us.

  “I didn’t want to go down there in the dark,” Lido said.

  “You? I’m a girl, how do you think I feel?”

  “You’re the toughest girl I know.”

  “No doubt,” Ambler quipped.

  We had set up a mobile command post. Zugg was within, conserving his energy while we waited for all the fireworks to go off.

  Doyle could hold his tongue no longer. I could see him building up a good head of steam as he approached me. “You couldn’t wait until morning? What do you think you’re going to find down there in the dark? Waste everyone’s time. Someone could get hurt down there.”

  “That’s what they have lights for, Doyle. No one asked you to stick around. Go home, we’ve got it covered. You’ll get credit if something good comes of it. Trust me, we above ground cops are good that way.”

  “You just don’t want to listen. You haven’t been underground in the dark—accidents happen, especially in old tunnels like that.”

  “According to you, there’s nothing down there. If that’s the case, we’ll be in and out in ten minutes.”

  I’d been so focused on Doyle that I didn’t see that the MTA crew had the grating hooked. The winch tightened and the grating came free with a loud creak. The truck rolled forward and laid it down on the roadway where it was out of the way. The MTA guys moved cautiously setting up the ladder and emergency lighting. It took some time until they were satisfied that the vent could be explored safely and then the safety engineer descended into the vent. We stood around anxiously waiting for the okay to proceed. And then it came, the all clear. Lido, Ambler, and I put on our safety helmets and began climbing down into the earth.

  Thirty-Three

  We’re never truly sure at which moment sleep takes us. It’s in the moment we return to consciousness that we determine how well we slept. Did we sleep soundly? Did we awaken refreshed? Did we dream or toss and turn? It’s at that instant of awakening that we judge our night’s work. For John Doe, the night had lasted several days, but when consciousness finally returned, he was immediately aware that he was out of danger.

  How long have I been asleep? He laid silently for a long moment and then a thought formed in his mind, I’m back. He was immediately aware of his physical condition. He was aware that his mouth was parched and that his shoulders ached, but he was otherwise free of pain. His wrists were unrestrained and although his vision had been reduced to no more than shadows of light and dark, he knew that he was no longer in the cube-like white room in which he had been imprisoned for so long. I’m free.

  He was still motionless as he began to recall the events of the evening on which he had escaped, and replayed them all in his mind, beginning with the squirreling of the pills in the pouch of his cheek to his emerging from the subway and entering Central Park. He remembered lying on his bed for a great while playing possum, until he was sure that he was alone and could attempt to pull the bars free of the window before his captor returned. He was lying just so now, awake in his hospital bed playing possum, looking no different than while he was in his coma, except for the small amount of light he allowed to enter through the slits that formed under his eyelids. No more darkness. No more darkness.

  He was aware that he was in a large room and could sense others around him, moving and performing tasks. He heard the clatter of small metallic objects and was aware of the room’s smell, a clean, antiseptic smell, and of low level voices around him. His mind was struggling to piece it all together. Lie quiet. Lie quiet until you’re sure. His mind went back to the park, the last place he could remember. He remembered the warm blood running from his ankle where he had cut it on the window’s jagged glass, and the feeling that life was evaporating from his body, leaving him with every labored breath. The sounds of the night, darkness and shadows, and the cool breeze playing against his skin, were all he remembered from his night of liberation. He could still feel the air playing against his skin, and the feeling of freedom it had given him.

  He was still terribly disoriented when he felt a light pressure on his wrist and then understanding broke through the barrier. I’m in a hospital. Someone’s taking my pulse.

  “Welcome back.”

  He felt a light pressure on the apex of his arm, and then a warm sensation coursing throughout his body. He tried to speak and made a hoarse whisper before remembering that his vocal cords had been destroyed. And then, once again, he was gone.

  Thirty-Four

  God bless Lido, I could feel his eyes on me, safeguarding my every step as I climbed the ladder down to the bottom of the ventilation shaft. Doyle may not have been justified in trying to postpone the tunnel’s exploration until morning, but he had been right about the darkness and the dilapidated condition of the old structure. Despite the helmet lights and the strong beacons we carried, I was very aware that we were out of our element and that our visit here could prove treacherous with as little as a single misplaced step in any direction.

  Sal, the MTA safety engineer began to lead us as we advanced into the darkness. There was much less space here than I had imagined. The tunnel’s ceiling was low and added to the feeling of claustrophobia. I took a deep breath and followed directly behind him. The air was da
mp and I could feel it sticking to my skin. The ground beneath my feet was covered with debris, pieces of wood, and bits of brick that had come free from the tunnel walls. I panned the darkness before me with my beacon, checking the floor for anything I might trip on and of course for clues. The walls around me looked unsafe, as if the bricks had grown tired from the century long burden of holding their brethren in place and were exhausted and were ready to give up their struggle. I scanned the wall before me with my searchlight and immediately felt something run over my boot. Don’t think about it. Move forward. I hesitated and slowly moved on. Odd noises surrounded me, the hissing of steam through underground pipes and the movement of rodents lurking beneath the debris. More worrisome still was the sound of the tunnel settling around us, a tunnel that had not entertained visitors in nearly one hundred years.

  Water dripped from a dozen spots in front of us. Searching the tunnel’s roof, I could see where the water had compromised the tunnel’s skin—a fissure in the mortar between the bricks had developed as a result of the leak. Cracks had spread across the tunnel’s arched roof.

  Progress was slow. The engineer advanced with caution. I was hoping to see more beetles down here, but spotting them in the darkness was impossible.

  After several minutes, we came upon a large air exchanger.

  “Wait here,” Sal said, as he climbed up a rubble embankment to get a closer look. I could see him as he advanced cautiously toward it, shining his light through. He studied it for some minutes before returning. Surprisingly, he had a smile on his face. “You’ll want to see this.”

  “Beach’s subway station?”

  He nodded. “It’s not in great shape, but yeah—I can’t believe it. The vent is an air exchanger for the subway station—pretty cool stuff.”

  “Jesus Christ, Chalice, you’re a goddamn witch,” Ambler said. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

  Lido smiled at me. His expression read, way to go!

  “I want to get a look in there.”

  “That should be okay if we go one at a time. That pile of rubble is pretty unsteady. I don’t think it’ll support much more than that.”

  I carefully navigated over the debris to the vent. The engineer was right, as it felt unsteady beneath my feet. The vent was a crossed grill of iron bars approximately four feet square, set into the tunnel’s old brick wall. I pressed my face and my beacon to the iron. Beyond it was the subway track and the platform. It was completely black in there and I could only see the small area that my beacon illuminated, but there was no doubt that this was Alfred Beach’s pneumatic subway station. The far wall was covered with ages of soot, but I could just distinguish on it, a small area of a fresco. I was hungry for more detail, but my vantage point was poor. Nonetheless, I lingered for several moments hoping to stumble across something, anything. “We’ve got to get in there.” I began carefully back toward the others.

  I could see that Sal was deep in thought. “That’s a tall order, Detective. We pull that vent and there’s a good chance the tunnel could collapse around it.”

  I had no desire to be buried alive, but there was no way that I was going to leave empty handed after coming this far. “There’s got to be a way.”

  “Gotta be done,” Ambler said. “Find a way.”

  Sal pulled out his radio. He held it under his chin for a moment. I could see that he was solidifying his thought process. He finally pressed the talk button. “Tommy, you there? I need lumber and an oxy-acetylene torch.”

  I smiled at Lido—we were going in.

  Thirty-Five

  “So you’re a singer?” Bennett asked. “What kind of stuff do you do?”

  “Crossover Latin pop. I did the Warped Tour, two years ago,” Paola said, in an effort to establish credibility as an entertainer.

  “Crossover Latin, what’s that like?”

  “A little like J-Lo…more like Shakira.”

  “Shakira—can you dance like her? She’s hot.”

  “Exactly like her.” Paola played with Bennett’s fingers.

  “I have a colleague who’s an entertainment attorney. You should meet him.” Bennett’s only connection to the aforementioned entertainment attorney was as an adversary in a legal suit. It was his lawyer’s spin on, I’m a movie producer and you’d be perfect for a spot in my next film—all he needed was a casting couch.

  “Really? That would be so cool.” She smiled and then leaned across the table. “Come here,” she said, beckoning with her finger. “You’re a good guy.” Bennett had never kissed a Latina before. She was much more accomplished at the art of persuasion than he. While their lips were still together, Paola picked up on the sound of wheezing coming through the air vent and pulled away momentarily. “Do you have a cold?”

  “Me? No, why do you ask?”

  “I thought you were wheezing.”

  “Excited, yeah, but no wheezing. Give me another.” He leaned back across the table, tongue breaching lips before he renewed contact.

  Paola listened for the wheezing noise, but it was gone. Satisfied that Bennett was not going to infect her with the plague, she put her hand under the table and rested it on his leg.

  Thirty-Six

  We had to clear out of the tunnel while they worked on the vent. As I mentioned, the tunnel was narrow with a low roof and didn’t permit more than a few people at a time. Sal had measured the vent and was in the process of having lumber cut topside to support the vent’s enclosure before he cut through the metal.

  I watched as the precut two-by-fours and planks were fed into the tunnel.

  “Sal’s a good man,” Lido said. “I think he wants to get through that vent as badly as you do. Thank God they’re not all like Doyle.”

  “Amen.”

  Ambler was in the mobile command post grabbing a little R & R with Zugg while the MTA did their thing. “I’m worried about Zugg. He looks weak. I hope he’s not overdoing it.”

  “I know. He looks pale.”

  “Ambler asked him if he wanted a ride home, but he wouldn’t hear of it. The man has a serious level of commitment.”

  My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and checked the incoming number. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a 212 area code with an uptown exchange. “Detective Chalice, who am I speaking with?” It was a night nurse at Lenox Hill.

  Lido must’ve seen my unhappy expression and began prodding me for information before I hung up. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s not good,” I whispered. I was off the phone shortly afterward.

  “Doe?”

  I nodded. “That was a nurse at Lenox Hill—Doe’s breathing is very weak. They don’t expect him to make it through the night.”

  “Shit.” Lido rubbed his chin. “There’s no point running down there now.”

  “Too bad we never found out who he is. At least he could’ve had family and friends with him.”

  Lido nodded. “Maybe it’s for the best. I mean the poor guy’s been through so much. What kind of life would he have?”

  I shrugged. “The human spirit can be pretty strong. Look at Zugg. It’s too bad he’s not going to be around long enough to see his captor brought to justice. I wish we could’ve at least done that for him.”

  “Maybe he’ll hold on a little longer.”

  Lido noticed something and was motioning for me to turn around. Sal was on the ladder, his head and shoulders peeking out of the tunnel and he was smiling. “We’re ready for the torch,” he said, and gave me a big thumb’s up.

  Thirty-Seven

  When I got back into the tunnel, I could see that Sal had reinforced the area around the vent with lumber to support the weight of the brick tunnel that surrounded it. The vent itself had been cut out with an oxy-acetylene torch and had been propped up against the wall alongside the newly created passageway. Sal and his crew had cleared the debris from the floor in front of the vent.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to find on the other side, so be very careful
. I would try to be as unobtrusive as possible,” Sal said.

  “Got it, I won’t touch anything.” At least I said that I wouldn’t. “You’re a good man. I really appreciate it.”

  “No sweat, Detective. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. A discovery like this—I wouldn’t be surprised if they film a documentary down here. Most fun I’ve had in years.”

  “I know, it’s really cool, isn’t it?” Once you learn to ignore the rats and stench and stuff. “I think we’re ready to go in.” Lido and Ambler were onboard, Zugg too. He had taken advantage of a little down time in the command center and was now back on the job. God only knew, he needed the rest.

  “Okay,” Sal said. “There’s a short drop onto the tracks on the other side. There wasn’t enough time to clear away the mess in there, so be careful.”

  “Right, will do.”

  Sal checked his searchlight and went through first. He was waiting for me on the other side and took my hand as I stepped onto the tracks. Beach’s subway had been propelled with the air from giant fans and so the tracks were only there to guide the train. They were not electrified. They were black from creosote and covered with ages and ages of filth. Aside from that, it looked as if the train could still run on them if the debris was cleared away.

  I boosted myself up onto the subway platform and immediately had a sense of how grand and spectacular Beach’s subway station must have been. I envisioned it in operation before the turn of the century. The broken remnants of what must have been the goldfish fountain were still there, and the frescoes that had been painted on the wall were still somewhat visible. I had read an archived article from the New York Herald, a long defunct newspaper, which had reviewed the subway’s opening. It had been entitled “Fashionable Reception Held In The Bowels Of The Earth.” Beach had gone to tremendous lengths to ensure public support for his project. I had read that the waiting room had been decorated with fine paintings and a grand piano, and that Beach himself conducted tours for notables and dignitaries. I could almost imagine it filled with New Yorkers eagerly waiting for their chance to take a ride.