“All right,” Hayden took up the reins. “So Germain’s final workplace was a laboratory, you say? Converted to a hospital. Where is it now?”
Lauren reeled off an address not thirty minutes from where they stood.
“We moving out?” Drake asked.
Hayden hesitated. Dahl knew she’d be wrestling with the facts. Hospital or gravesite? Or even this prince’s castle, where Germain had stayed? More importantly, were they even in the right country?
“Workplace,” she said. “So far, it’s all been workplaces. The bedroom in Versailles. The library. The first laboratory. The compositions were removed from where they were written, which was the initial clue.” She looked relieved. “It’s the workplace.”
Dahl liked her reasoning and was anxious to get into gear. “So wrestle it into the satnav and let’s go.” He took the shotgun seat whilst rummaging through the supplied holdall that held the real things.
“Do we think Amari’s cult will make it this time?” Alicia asked. “Missed those little weasels in London.”
“Could be they were watching the old theater,” Hayden returned as she fastened her belt. “Could be they don’t have all the details. Could even be they left London alone as it’s so well guarded and chose—” she nodded out at the hills that surrounded them, the big sky and the small town “—this.”
The vehicle set off, Smyth at the wheel. Forewarned by Hayden’s lateral thinking the team checked and readied weapons. The busy, narrow streets soon gave way to wider, less populated roads and a rolling hillside. Smyth turned the air conditioning up high and tapped at his communication device.
“This thing’s so friggin’ quiet I thought it was busted.”
Dahl agreed. “No help. No info. Not even DC chasing our tails. And Armand? Where’s he? On any normal day you have to make him shut up.”
Hayden double-checked her cell. “You shouldn’t say it out loud. Could be the calm before the storm.”
Drake stared out the window. “Since this is the penultimate clue I’d say you were right.”
“Fuck, yes,” Alicia said. “This would be a good time to stop him.”
“Perfect,” Drake said with satisfaction. “So close but so far. No closure for Webb, ever.”
“And here we are.” Smyth slowed outside the hospital and searched for a parking space. Dahl viewed the structure, finding it entirely incongruous to be at the tail end of what had been a varied but classical journey so far. The walls were square, rough gray concrete, spanning two floors, with dirty, draped windows in uneven lines and a small entrance out front. Patients, workers and visitors used the sidewalks and threaded through parked vehicles. An ambulance filled the road directly outside the entrance, awaiting some calamity.
Dahl pointed out the obvious problem. “Easy access,” he said. “For everyone. But only Webb knows where he’s going. Yes, it’s a small hospital, but where do we start?”
Lauren held up both hands and several sets of eyes swiveled toward her. “Beyond me, I’m afraid. Maybe Karin could have dragged up blueprints from the depths of the Internet. Maybe not. But I sure as hell can’t.”
Dahl blinked on hearing their missing companion’s name. He missed Karin Blake and wondered when she might return.
“Assuming the lab or factory was knocked down to make way for the hospital,” Hayden said. “Assuming Germain was savvy enough to know what might happen, the true lab would be underground. Hidden. And it would still be there.”
“Mahalo.” Kinimaka nodded. “My thoughts too.”
True as it was, it didn’t help them much. “We need the manager of the hospital,” he said.
“No,” Hayden said, now smiling. “We need the janitor.”
*
“Ah, so do you mean the tunnels? Or the secret passageways?”
Dahl stared and seconded Drake’s outburst: “Come again?”
“When you have an old site and you build on top, on top, on top.” The janitor used his arms and fingers to explain just as much as his words. “Soon get . . . many passages. Unused places. Forgotten storage and boiler rooms, sewers and access passageways. Soon—” he threw both arms aloft “—you have warren. Hidden warren. Secret warren.”
Dahl studied the man, who looked as old as the hospital. Rat-faced and clean-shaven from the top of his head to at least his chin, standing wrapped in a protective sheet, he looked a little like a missile. Oddly, he also resembled the manager from the Haymarket Theater to a certain degree. His fingers were uncomfortably long and Dahl wondered if some of the patients had nightmares after catching a glimpse of the janitor flitting up and down the corridors.
“The hospital don’t . . . police it?” Hayden asked, looking like she couldn’t find the right words.
“They have more important things on their minds. So, tunnels or secret passageways?”
Drake’s face took on an expression of intense excitement. “Let’s make it both.”
Dahl shook his head at the Yorkshireman. The child was never far from the surface.
“I am Lars,” the janitor said. “Follow me.”
Hayden fell in behind the odd apparition, Kinimaka not far behind. Dahl respected the two intensely for not letting personal problems get in the way of their work. It had to be tough. And if Hayden’s mind really was made up then she’d already be in another place.
Just like Johanna.
Dahl tried to compartmentalize the conflict of emotions, but struggled. For a short time their crumbling world had started to steady, but again the decline had set in. His heart ached for what it might do to the children.
You’re not the only couple ever to separate. Kids usually do just fine.
But . . . but . . .
Lars the janitor swooped down familiar passageways, passing open doors and locked storage rooms, at home in the clinical white sprawl. Predictably, he seemed to be working his way toward the back of the hospital. As they walked, Hayden quizzed him.
“Anyone else been sniffing around recently?”
The janitor spun with a flourish. “Sniffing?”
“Looking. For the tunnels?”
“Ah, no. It is just me and the ghosts back there, I’m afraid.” He bowed. “But don’t tell the management, eh?”
Dahl found the man more than creepy. Reminded him of some old horror movie, and definitely assimilated with the legend of Saint Germain. If this was the site where the Count worked in his final days then perhaps his specter still haunted these halls. Perhaps it judged them all even now.
He grunted, shrugging the weird feeling off. All about him was real, from the medical rooms to the receptionist’s desk and chair. Unused to the eerie, he concentrated on what he could see and feel. The janitor led them deeper into the bowels of the place, and the lights began to dim. Strip tubing fizzed and popped, and some were empty. Dahl was aware of the incredible weight of concrete above his head, in particular when he saw the wide cracks in the walls. The janitor made no comment, despite the many viewpoints that had a negative bearing on his job.
Through a large archive they walked, threading their way among tattered, dusty cardboard boxes and old desks, then came up against a heavy steel door with a chain and padlock across its pull bar.
Lars shrugged. “Keeps the undesirables out.”
Dahl wondered, but didn’t question. His first thought was: And what does it keep in? But such absurdities vanished from his thoughts in an instant. Lars produced a long key and unchained the door.
“Wait,” Hayden said. “Is there another way into the tunnels?”
Lars rolled his arms and shoulders. “Many ways. Once you get back here the old rooms all have access to the building’s former areas. Long-forgotten they may be, but potentially serviceable. It costs too much to keep them all properly maintained.”
“CCTV?” Kinimaka asked without hope.
“Only where it is crucial. Never back here.”
As Lars pushed through, the team unobtrusively prepped weapons and made
ready. A narrow corridor, still clearly part of the hospital, led past several locked rooms with grimy viewing panels and one open area complete with padded sofas, a wall-mounted TV, and water cooler. Abandonment hung over the area like a stain.
“Love these old deserted places.” Lars smiled happily. “Gives you a sense of belonging. You know? To the past.”
Nobody commented as the man’s supersized fingers flickered toward the way ahead. “To the tunnels.”
“You mentioned secret passageways,” Hayden said.
“Oh yes. Around us now, inside the walls, are two parallel running passages, also leading to the tunnels and formed when the waiting area was built. Partitioned off—” he shrugged “—to make the space feel nicer.”
This put Dahl on his guard. Webb could be around them even now. Listening. Watching. Doing the thing he loved most in the world. A place like this was a stalker’s wet dream. They proceeded down the corridor and came to an intersection. Lars pointed to the right.
“An old staircase takes us to boiler rooms and other storage areas. Then wall access points give to the sewers, electrical inspection tunnels and forgotten corners bricked over and ignored by the new build. To the left are archives and disregarded offices. Which would you like?”
Hayden studied the janitor. “How well do you really know these areas?”
“The truth? I rarely go home.” He grinned.
Dahl swallowed the distaste. “You mentioned places that were bricked over. We’re interested in the history around here. Apparently there was once a factory?”
“You are correct and then you are not.” Lars gently swept his arms forward in a sliding motion. “The factory is still there.”
“Show us,” Hayden said with urgency. “Show us now.”
Dahl knew they could be as little as an hour behind Webb, or a day ahead. If the man had made it they’d be sure to find signs. He moved next to Drake.
“What of these Dubai-based fanatics?” he asked. “Do you believe they’re irrelevant now? Lost?”
“I can’t shake the feeling that they’re still in the running,” Drake said. “Yeah, they’re protected from it, aloof and seemingly unaware of the nightmares they sponsor, but these guys have been watching for years. They’re dedicated. Organized. Obsessive guardians. It doesn’t seem right that they wouldn’t know about Germaine’s deathbed factory.”
“On a brighter note,” Alicia butted in. “Whaddya think of the brand new secret base idea? How cool is that?”
Drake raised an eyebrow. “Dunno, love. Cool is relative. What if it’s in Antarctica?”
“And the new Secretary of Defense is a woman,” Lauren added. “An interesting change.”
At the end of the corridor a staircase rose out of the floor. Hayden stared at its base. “Ummm,”
“We have to go up,” Lars said. “To go down. I thought it odd too, but maybe it serves as a façade.”
Dahl blinked. An odd façade, considering it blended old secrets with new. Such concealments spoke of vast conspiracy and suppression. He shook his head at the follies of men. Always focused on the wrong things.
Up they went, winding around a spiral until Lars brought them onto a wide landing. Ahead a larger spiral twisted down and down, its handrails mostly thick with dust except where the janitor’s fingers had previously touched. To the right an old, forgotten, stained-glass window stared out across the landscape.
Kenzie stepped up to it. “See the patterns in the glass? This kinda thing starts conspiracy theories.”
Dahl approached her, supremely careful not to get too close. “We don’t have time for—” He paused. “Now that’s odd.”
The team halted in their strides, Drake coming over. “What you on about, mate?”
“The seven men stood watching the hospital from the far parking lot . . . they’re all Arabs.”
Drake shouldered him aside. “What?”
Hayden came over too. “Amari? Looking for Webb?”
“I think so.” Drake squinted. “Eyes aren’t what they were.”
Mai nodded toward Alicia. “Clearly.”
“If he’s close—” Hayden said.
“Chaos ain’t far behind,” Drake finished. “And what’s he doing there? What the hell is he doing with his hands?”
“Counting,” Dahl said with a feeling of sudden, freezing horror. “He’s using his fingers to count down.”
“And there.” Drake pointed. “Mercenaries rushing at them. Shit, there’s gonna be a full-scale battle in the car park.”
“No,” Hayden said. “Amari ain’t running. They’re his mercs.”
“But why?” Drake wondered.
Hayden’s phone went off just a second before Drake’s and Dahl’s, and then everyone else’s. Tones of impending doom filled the landing area, grim expressions lining every face.
Argento said it first.
“Amari,” he said. “Has just called in a terrorist act on the hospital you are currently inside. His message: If I can’t safeguard the Master I will destroy every single trace. And that includes your hospital.” The man’s tone was uncharacteristically lacking in enthusiasm, heavily laced with fate.
Alarms exploded throughout the building and the team turned to face one another.
“The mercs were running,” Dahl said. “Because they left something behind.”
“God help us all,” Hayden said.
Argento’s scream: “Get the hell out of there!”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
When a man or woman is faced with death, any death, they can make one of only two decisions—fight or die. To fight might encompass a world of choice—battle, flight, hide, a jump into the unknown. But to die—that was easy. If there’s a choice, Drake thought. Fight!
Fight to live with all your being. The alternative is very bleak.
When the explosions began the whole team listened hard, feeling and testing and listening to their gravity, their depth and range. Drake knew they were deep. Leaning over he saw windows blowing out and mortar crumbling. Shocked, he saw a wide crack traveling from the foundation to the top floor, concrete parting and discharging clouds of dust.
“I’m pretty sure my legs ain’t turned to jelly,” Lauren said. “So that’s the building shaking.”
“Oh . . . what have they done?” Hayden gasped.
Drake couldn’t imagine the mindset of a person who would destroy a hospital full of people to safeguard a forgotten room from another century, but he could visualize his next set of choices.
“Amari’s right there,” he said, swaying. “With a dozen or so mercs, and he’s fast decelerating into insanity. Webb’s probably below us or already moved on to his final undertaking and, knowing Webb, that can’t be good for the world. I’m sorry, guys, but there’s only one decision here.”
“This building’s coming down,” Hayden said.
Kinimaka was already headed for the door, Dahl alongside.
“The people,” Alicia said. “The patients. Oh my God.”
In the midst of all hell, they ran. Chunks of plaster, lighting and plasterboard trim were already breaking free and hanging down, swaying like deadly pendulums. They pounded back to the populated wings of the hospital, saw doctors and nurses running this way and that, patients shuffling along the corridors, and heard the screams of the trapped or the hopeless.
“We get them all out,” Dahl said. “All of them.”
And he darted away.
Drake picked up a nurse who slipped beside them, looked around. “Where’s the . . . hey, where did that bloody janitor go?”
“Slipped away,” Kenzie growled, angry, then quickly changed her expression. “Wished I’d gone with him.”
Alicia swept her aside. “Then go, bitch.”
But the ex-Mossad agent was there with them throughout the terror. Drake set his mind and helped each person as they came along, shepherding those who wept to the exits, herding a six-strong crowd who couldn’t find their way, carrying air-tanks f
or a slight nurse and making sure one of Lauren’s tasks was guaranteeing the consistent arrival of elevators. Mai and Kenzie swept in and out like angels of mercy, aiding where they could and ferrying patients to the elevators or stairs.
A constant stream of people crowded the way down and tried to make way for those racing up from below. Another barrage of explosions shattered even the chaos of noise that filled the hospital, quieting every man, woman and child for just a moment.
Then, like another detonation, the panic erupted once more.
Alarm bells shrieked like desperate banshees. Glass shattered out of windows due to the pressure of failing walls above. Strip lights tumbled. Life-saving machines slid to the extent their wires would allow. A drinks machine tumbled over, its glass panel exploding. Hayden ranged along the corridors, ensuring no one was left behind. The staff fought hard too, toiling and risking it all for their patients.
A nurse screamed for help. The room she stood in suddenly skewed. Kinimaka rushed to help, and the view out of the window changed, becoming narrower as the entire building sagged. The nurse was stuck with her hands under the patient, unable to lift him, frustration creasing her face. The Hawaiian grabbed the man under the shoulder and heaved whilst the nurse grabbed whatever paraphernalia he was still attached to and then the two ran, side by side, toward the stairs.
Drake saw the bent walls, the crumbling ceiling. The halls were empty; a couple of lone doctors checking rooms.
“How are we doing?” he cried out.
A nod, a thumbs up. The elevator dinged, still serviceable but not for long. The risk had paid off, though Drake had originally had his doubts. But without their help almost half a dozen patients would still be up here, stranded, just waiting to die.
Sirens screamed from the parking lot. Drake drove the patients downstairs as they parted for paramedics rushing up. “All clear here,” he told them as the doctors arrived, and relief lit their faces.
“Just the ground floor then.”
Drake inclined his head. “What’s it like?”
The paramedic turned a flinty eye to the roof as several trickles of plaster and mortar rained down. “A shitstorm. How long we got?”
Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain Page 22