by Steve Berry
Cotton stopped at a corner in the tunnel. Remnants of incandescent light leaked around the edge, signaling that the exit foyer was on the other side, which was lit earlier when they arrived. He heard nothing save for the whine of the elevator as it rose. A quick glance around the edge and he saw three sets of coveralls lying on the floor, along with three helmets.
“They’re gone,” he said.
Stephanie and Patrycja came up from behind.
He knew from their previous descent that this elevator only went to Level III. They’d switched to it earlier from another that rose to the surface. He pointed at the clothes. “They intend to blend in with the crowd up on the lower levels and just walk out.”
But there was still the matter of the gunshot.
He stepped around the corner, approaching the pile of clothes and helmets. He studied the floor and noticed streaks in the fine layers of ground salt, leading away, toward a dark tunnel to his right. He followed the trail into the blackness, which continued about twenty feet to an offshoot, where he found the body of a man dressed in the same color coverall as Patrycja. Surely, the other guide either forced or bribed into cooperation and the source of the gunshot. Ivan was not the type to leave loose ends.
He headed back to the elevator.
“There’s a body,” he said. “Has the name KONRAD stitched to the coveralls.”
Shock filled Patrycja’s face. “Dawid Konrad. I know him.” She paused. “Knew him.”
So far this attractive young woman had handled herself like a pro, asking few questions. Even when the shot rang out in the chapel, she’d only momentarily panicked, then regained control. Now a murder. That might be too much. He needed her to keep thinking.
“Call the elevator back down,” he said to her.
She stepped over to the control panel and used her fob to activate the UP button, which lit to her touch.
“What are you going to do?” Stephanie asked.
“Cut them off.”
“Should we not have some help sent down? Surely this place has security people.”
He shook his head. “We can’t risk losing that information. This one’s on us.”
He saw she agreed.
The elevator returned.
He unzipped his coveralls. “We have to blend in, too.”
* * *
Czajkowski stood on a sturdy wooden staircase that angled up from Level III to Level II, blocked off for use by the mine manager. From the first stoop it was easy to watch the elevators that led both up and down, unobserved. The chamber that accommodated them was tall, spacious, and well lit with a polished salt floor, white timbers fronting two of the walls forming an impressive latticework of support. Lines had formed behind a rope barrier, the crowd a bit noisy and anxious to end their visit and head up to ground level. Sonia stood beside him as they waited for the lower-level elevator to open its doors. Thanks to the angle of the stairs and their location, none of the crowd could see them.
“It will take time for all those people to leave here,” he said.
“The less attention the better.”
She held a small walkie-talkie that was connected to an ancillary security center on Level I. He’d already noticed cameras, attached to the walls high up and aimed down at the elevators.
“They have this place under video surveillance?” he asked.
She nodded. “That’s a plus for us. There’s nowhere for any of them to go.”
“I want those cameras shut off.”
She stared at him.
“We can’t have a record of this. Surely you can see that.”
And he saw that she did.
She spoke into the radio and told the manager to shut off all cameras. On order of the president of Poland.
The elevator that led down to the lower levels opened and three men walked out.
“The older one is Reinhardt,” she said. “The younger is his hired help, Munoz. The big man is Ivan. The Russian.”
“I assume the plastic pack he’s holding is what we’re after?” he asked.
“Has to be. Safe and sealed.”
They watched as the three men casually turned right, away from the stairs, and stepped over a rope barrier, dissolving into the crowd, waiting their turn for the up elevators.
“Bold,” he said.
“They have no idea we’re watching.”
“Do we allow them to go up first? Or deal with them here?”
She did not immediately answer. He assumed she was weighing the risks.
“Ivan is a killer,” she said. “He’ll do whatever he has to do to get out of here. Better not to challenge him and allow him to go up. We can be there waiting when the elevator arrives.”
That made sense.
“We’ll watch them a little longer, though,” she said. “To make sure they stay here.”
He reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. She returned the gesture and added a smile. For the first time, he believed this might be containable.
The elevator from the lower levels opened again.
Cotton Malone, Stephanie Nelle, and another younger woman dressed as a mine guide stepped out. Malone gave the crowd behind the rope barrier a quick survey.
A gun appeared in Ivan’s hand.
Which was fired.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Eli saw Malone at the same time Ivan had, and he’d not disagreed with firing a shot toward the ceiling.
It generated the desired effect.
People scattered in all directions, oblivious to the barrier that had held them back from the elevators. Like a stampede of cattle they formed a surging wall toward where Malone stood, allowing him, Munoz, and Ivan to join the crowd fleeing in the opposite direction.
They hustled down a wide, lit corridor, their walk alternately on salt and on wooden planks. These paths were nothing like those deep below, the walls polished smooth, the floors even smoother, with plenty of light. The route drained into a medium-sized chamber that displayed wooden chests, carts on iron wheels, and buckets used long ago in mining. The tourists kept going out the other exit, into the next tunnel.
But Ivan stopped.
And assumed a position behind one of the iron carts, gun in hand.
“We deal with Malone here.”
He motioned to Munoz, who crouched behind another of the old carts, armed too. He was about to find his own cover when Ivan said to him, “Stay there.”
Out in the open?
Which meant he was bait.
* * *
Cotton headed in the direction that Ivan and his two cohorts had gone. All of the people had fled, leaving the wood-lined corridor clear. He held the gun in his right hand, retrieved from beneath his coveralls. Stephanie and Patrycja waited back near the elevators. The path was a straight line for about fifty feet, where it drained into an open doorway with darkness beyond.
He approached the entrance and decided, as he had back in Bruges, that rushing in was foolish. Instead he hugged the salt wall on the left side of the portal and risked a look beyond.
He saw Reinhardt standing in the middle of a dimly lit chamber.
But no Ivan or Munoz.
* * *
Czajkowski had watched the mayhem that ensued after the Russian fired into the ceiling. Sonia had radioed the mine manager again and told him to shut off all the elevators going up. Too much chaos was happening to take a chance that their quarry might escape. This way, they were sealed belowground, along with everyone else.
Malone had gone in pursuit.
But Sonia had not insisted they follow.
And he understood.
So far their presence was unknown and it seemed better to keep it that way. But he did not want anyone hurt. Enough blood had been shed already.
He and Sonia had quickly climbed the stairs to Level II and, following the manager’s radio instructions, made their way to where the tunnels began a steady descent back down to Level III, hopefully on the opposite side of where Ivan had gone.
>
With luck, their target would come straight to them.
* * *
Eli froze.
He’d seen a shadow approaching from the brightly lit tunnel beyond, which had abruptly stopped. Then he’d seen a head take a quick look past the portal’s edge. Munoz and Ivan were ready with their weapons.
Malone was obviously being cautious.
He caught Munoz’s gaze and motioned for him to shift positions, placing his man closer to the doorway, on this side of the opening.
“I’m here, Malone,” he called out. “Why don’t we discuss this?”
* * *
Cotton smelled a trap, but decided to not alert Reinhardt. “All right. Let’s talk. Come on out.”
He waited.
Reinhardt appeared from the darkness.
He stayed to his side of the doorway, offering no one on the other side a clear line of sight. If they wanted him, they’d have to come get him.
“I’m a bit surprised to see you here,” Reinhardt said. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
Reinhardt smiled. “A funny man? This is quite a serious situation. Yet you think humor in order?”
He shrugged. “It’s only serious for you. I’m on the side of might and right.”
“Come now, Malone. Can’t we be reasonable?”
“Where’s Ivan?”
“Doing what Russians do best.”
And Reinhardt added a sly smile.
Then dropped to the floor.
Shots rang out from inside the chamber.
Rounds whined past and found the salt and timbers farther down the tunnel, ricocheting off. He hoped Stephanie and Patrycja had taken cover. He stayed glued to the wall at the side of the opening.
Reinhardt crawled back inside.
He heard movement in the darkness beyond the doorway. A quick glance showed an empty chamber.
“Stephanie,” he called out behind him.
“We’re here.”
“I’m going after them.”
“The elevators are not working,” Patrycja told him. “They’ve been shut off from above.”
Which meant something more was happening here.
Stephanie and Patrycja appeared and hustled his way.
“Where does this route go?” he asked.
“It winds back around to the main areas, past the lakes,” Patrycja said. “To the stairs.”
“You two head up, any way you can. Keep these bastards down here. Don’t give them a way out.”
Stephanie nodded and she and Patrycja retreated toward the elevators.
He headed the opposite direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Czajkowski stood inside a chamber filled with lit display cases that exhibited salt crystals in all colors, shapes, and sizes. He’d taken refuge here while Sonia assessed the unexpected situation. He wanted to be in charge, as always—he was president, after all—but realized that he had to keep a low profile. If they managed to contain this he could not afford to be exposed any more than he already was. Bad enough that the mine manager was aware of his presence, and that he’d pulled rank with the order to shut off all the cameras. So the fewer people who knew anything, the better.
“There’s more shooting below,” Sonia said as she hurried into the room. “Visitors have scattered. They’re trying to get them all up to Levels I and II. The mine manager says he can’t keep this quiet much longer. There are safety concerns and his security people are pushing hard.”
He caught the message. This has to end. Now.
“We need to get down there,” he said.
“Janusz.”
He loved when she used his name. Which was rare.
“I can’t risk anything happening to you,” she said. “Don’t put me in that difficult situation. I need to get down there. Will you wait here?”
“I’m the president of this country and your boss. This is not open to discussion.”
She tossed him a quizzical look. “You’re going there? Pulling rank?”
“I am.”
“Big surprise.”
She shook her head, then unzipped one of the pockets in her coveralls and removed a semi-automatic pistol.
She handed the weapon over.
“I assume you know how to use it.”
“Absolutely.”
* * *
Eli followed Ivan and Munoz.
They’d laid down gunfire trying to hit Malone, but failed. It had provided them, though, with enough cover to flee. Now they were in a long traverse that led toward another low-ceilinged chamber displaying ancient mining equipment. They kept moving, unsure of their destination, only that they had to get back to ground level. But how? Malone was on their flank and none of them knew what lay ahead.
Ivan waddled along, heavy-legged but spry for a big man, a gun in one hand, the plastic pack in the other. Good thing Jonty had thought ahead and properly protected the information. Malone had to be proceeding with caution given that he, too, had no idea what was waiting for him.
They entered an open corridor that ran twenty meters straight ahead, sloping upward, a tall salt wall to the right, a wooden railing on the left overlooking a small lake beyond.
A strange sight so far belowground.
The clear water lay still like glass, the bottom illuminated by underwater lights that cast an eerie emerald glow. Obviously there had to be somewhere for all the water that seeped down to go, so lakes seemed a reasonable solution.
Ivan stopped. “We cannot keep running.”
“What do you suggest?”
The big man pointed down at the water and a short set of stairs that led to a tiny dock, where two boats were tied. Eli studied the lake and saw that there were several exits where the water flowed out into black yawns.
“You’re assuming one of those will get us away from Malone?” he asked.
Ivan nodded. “Not us. Me. We need split up. Give Malone choices. I go in boat. You two keep moving ahead.”
“And do what?
“Find way out. Get away. Disappear. Enjoy your money. Our business is done.”
There was wisdom in the strategy. Particularly from his standpoint. Malone had to be after the information, but he’d have no way of knowing who possessed it. Best guess? Not the broker. The Russian. The one who fired the shot.
And he’d not killed anyone, either.
That bullet came from Ivan’s gun. His own gun was still tucked at his waist, beneath the coveralls.
“Do svidaniya,” Ivan said, waving with the gun he held.
And goodbye to you, too.
Ivan stepped over a low gate in the railing, descended the stairs, then climbed into one of the skiffs. At its stern hung an electric motor, which he switched on and used to ease toward the tunnels.
“What do we do?” Munoz asked.
“What he said. Get out of here.”
And they headed off.
* * *
Cotton made his way through the chamber toward its other exit, careful as he sidestepped the old mining equipment on display. At the other exit he saw Reinhardt and Munoz, fifty feet away, rushing down a railed corridor. Then darkness blotted them from sight as they entered another chamber. He turned toward the lit underground lake and saw Ivan puttering away in a small skiff, entering a black tunnel.
They’d split up.
He was betting that what he was after lay with Ivan.
He noticed a padlocked gate. Then stairs and another skiff floating atop the still water. He jumped the low rail and descended, hopping into the boat.
Following Ivan.
* * *
Czajkowski knew how to handle a weapon, but it had been a long time since he’d held one. Solidarity had never been about violence. Weapons had been forbidden, as had been drinking. Never was anyone allowed to participate in official functions under the influence. Never was a knife or a gun allowed at a demonstration. Not that some didn’t appear, but at no time had anyone in any position o
f authority ever sanctioned their presence.
Quite the contrary, in fact.
Visuals had been vital to the movement. What you said and what you did mattered. But what it looked like mattered more. They’d been trying to win the world over to their cause, and no better way existed than for their protests to be nonviolent. They’d not been 100 percent successful, but they’d come pretty close. Solidarity had always then, and now, been perceived as good. The government bad.
But what would the Warsaw Protocol do to that legacy?
Hard to say.
Definitely nothing good.
Quietly he followed Sonia down a wooden staircase, the boards strong and firm under his feet. They were headed for Level III. The mine manager was working to evacuate everyone to the surface from Levels I and II. Last he saw, Malone had taken off in pursuit of Reinhardt and his man, Munoz, along with Ivan, all of them surely still on Level III. Sonia was armed with a map supplied by the manager. But it might not be needed. As they turned on the landing, preparing to head down the last flight of stairs, they spotted Eli Reinhardt, thirty meters away, leaving the brightly lit chamber where the stairs ended and entering another dark tunnel.
They headed in the same direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Cotton navigated the boat across the lake and headed for the tunnel where Ivan had gone. He left the lit surface and entered blackness. If not for another illuminated lake about fifty feet ahead his visibility would have been zero. Things were also a little too close for comfort, as the ceiling was less than a foot away. The small electric motor provided nothing in the way of speed, so he puttered along at a snail’s pace.
He exited out into a lake smaller than the first, the salt walls at its edges rising up fifty-plus feet. Another wooden railing lined one side and bordered another walkway that led past the water. Only one tunnel opened out, so he kept going into another dark abyss. This one tighter, the ceiling barely a few inches above his head as he sat in the skiff. He navigated with one hand on the motor and the other holding the gun. For a guy who hated enclosed spaces he seemed to find himself in them more often than not. This place was bearable, though, given the ventilation and the lights he could see at the far end of the tunnel.