by Robert Clark
Shotgun Joe was not at the door, his reign of terror finally over. I trudged down the stairs and headed left towards the gate. If anyone asked, I'd say I was out for a nighttime stroll. Nothing suspicious about that. But of the handful of people I saw, none stopped me or said so much as a word to me. So I ventured onward.
I made my way back to the satellite phone without any problem. I stopped a short distance away and waited in the darkness for any signs of a tail. If Gail had heard me leave - which was entirely likely as I'd made no effort to be clandestine this time - then she could have called for someone to follow me. If she thought I was a flight risk because of the information she had let slip, then she might want to sever the problem before it spread. But in the ten minutes I waited, I heard and saw no one other than the nightly patrolmen. They didn't spot me lurking in the dark. Some security.
I dug up the satellite phone and made the call.
‘It's me, over.’ I said when the call went through.
‘You better have something good to tell me.’ It was Whyte. ‘We're getting impatient.’
‘No,' I said. 'I risked my life and sneaked all the way to this phone just to tell you I had diddly squat. Over.’
‘Don't get sarcastic with me, boy. Not if you want to see your wife again.’
‘Relax will you? I’ve got progress. And are we not bothering with finishing our sentences with Over?’
‘You think I give a damn about all that shit? Just spit it out.’ Whyte insisted.
‘Maddox Cage thinks there is someone in Second Solace trying to turn on him. He thinks someone wants to kill him.’
‘And I should care about this why?’
‘Because he can’t trust anyone. He’s running blind, and he wants me to find his mole for him. The way he sees it, I’m the only one he can trust. I’m the only one in Second Solace that isn’t out to get him.’
‘And another man wrongly puts their faith in James Stone.’
‘It’s given me the freedom I needed to look around. And luckily for you, I’ve found something.’
‘What?’
‘Cage suspects two of his men are against him. Brothers by the name of Jack and Carl Dawson. I managed to track one of them up the mountain and found out they have this underground place up there. I’m not sure what it is. They have it guarded, but I’ll find a way inside and let you know more when I do.’
‘Is that it?’ Whyte snapped.
‘What do you mean? I’ve given you a lot. I’ve been working my arse off here.’
‘To give me information either I already knew or didn’t care about. I don’t give a shit what happens to Cage, so long as he’s dead. And I already knew about the door. It leads to a bunker under the mountain. Noble found that out within a day. She even got inside. You haven’t done shit. What about Noble? What about the device? What about Al-Assad? What have you given me that is actually of any use?’
‘I’m doing the best I can here,’ I snarled down the line. ‘You’ve given me nothing to work with, and I’m doing everything I can. These people don’t trust me. They aren’t going to let me just waltz in here and do what I like. If they are about to launch an attack, then it stands to reason they wouldn’t want some newcomer barging in and wrecking the whole thing.’
‘Listen to me, Stone. I haven’t got time for your bullshit.’ Whyte snapped. ‘We are on a tight deadline here. Whatever these sons of bitches have planned, it’s going down soon, okay? Whatever it is, lives will be at risk. I don’t give a damn if they’re American or elsewhere, I will not allow these gun-toting, tree-fucking psychopaths to end one single life, you hear me? I need progress. You are dragging your heels, and don’t think I haven’t noticed. Whatever game it is you’re playing, it ends tonight. The next time you call, it better be with something I can work with. And if you ever try to disable your tracker again, I'm going to send Sophie down to our toughest super-max prisons and see what our country’s worst rapists and murderers think of her.’
‘What are you talking about? I haven't touched the tracker.’
‘Bullshit. We know you tried to disable it. It sent out an alert an hour ago.’
‘I was eating dinner an hour ago with Cage's daughter. I was gathering Intel.’
‘Then how do you explain the tracker?’ Whyte snapped.
‘I don't know, it's your hardware. Maybe it doesn't work well up here.’
‘If I fired you into space, that tracker would follow you halfway to the sun. You must have done something to it.’
‘I haven't done shit to it. If you've got a problem with the tech, maybe fix it before you stick it in someone's head without their permission.’
‘The tech is solid,’ Whyte barked. ‘It's never failed us yet.’
‘Except with Noble. Unless you were lying to me about that.’
There was silence down the line for a few seconds.
‘If it happens again, I'll feed your wife to the wolves.’
The line went dead.
Less than twenty-four hours and Agent Whyte had gone from being a smart arse to an impatient dick. It had to mean something. Something he wasn’t willing to share with his student. Which either meant I was completely and utterly screwed, or I wasn’t… yet. All I knew was that I needed to make some serious progress.
I didn’t go back to the house. Didn’t have time to waste. Not with Sophie in danger. I had to find a way into that bunker. Noble had managed it, so it stood to reason I could too. I headed back to the wall and squeezed through the gap I’d discovered earlier to get back to the boulder field. If Gail was right, there could be any number of mines ready and waiting to turn me into confetti. But it was a risk I had to take. I’d made it through once before. I could make it again.
I followed from memory the path I’d taken to the first boulder, then the second. My previous footprints were lost to the snow, but I had a pretty clear picture in my mind of the track I’d taken last time. I applied the same logic to the situation. Sought out the same ideal hiding spots. And before long, I was back up at the tree line.
Clouds were thick in the sky, which robbed me of moonlight. I wasn’t too concerned about walking around in the dark. I knew the path was to my left, and figured I could make my way back to the door without much hassle. So instead of ploughing my way through the dense trees, I clung to the tree line and skirted along until I reached the path. A couple more inches of snow had fallen since last it was cleared, but it was still a damn sight better than forging my own path. I hiked up, thankful for the better clothing I had than my last trip up. I kept an eye out for smoke or light, but none was visible. Perhaps the fire was a daytime treat. Perhaps the door wasn’t guarded at night.
When I figured I was about at the right spot, I ducked into the trees and continued left. I counted out the steps in my head, trying to remember how many it had taken last time. When I reached two hundred, I turned north and began a steady spiral further and further out. It was the best way to locate the clearing without having any solid idea where it was.
I found it after another half hour of searching. It was further south than I had previously remembered. I appeared around the same spot I had the first time, overlooking the clearing from the north. The fire had died, and the air was filled with a stillness that left me certain no one was about. Even so, I remained cautious, and clung to the trees as I worked my way round to the south.
And it was lucky I did. Standing with his back pressed up against the door was a guard. Hidden in the recess, he had been practically invisible right up to the moment I was facing head on. He clutched himself like only a man on the verge of hypothermia does. His rifle was leant up beside him. Clearly he wasn’t expecting resistance.
But getting past him was going to be a problem. Unless I burrowed underneath and came up at him from below like some kind of mole man, there was no way I was getting close without being spotted.
Distraction mode, activate.
I looked around for something heavy. A rock, ideally.
I settled for a dead branch about the width of a child’s arm and worked my way around to the side of the clearing. When I was out of the guard’s sight, I threw the branch high into the air, and watched as it came to a stop in the guard’s view. I hustled forwards, aiming to come at the recess from above, but as I neared, I realised the guard hadn’t budged. Either he hadn’t noticed, or was smart enough to not fall for the game.
So I hustled back into the trees to try again. This time, I found a rock. Big enough cave a man’s head in, should you so choose. I settled with throwing it at one of the trees I’d hidden behind earlier. It thumped against the wood and tumbled down through the branches, snapping off the smaller ones as it fell. No one could say it wasn’t loud enough.
I ran back up to the top of the hill and waited. Sure enough, the guard bit. I saw him trudge out from his little hidey-hole with his rifle in his hands. Not up. Not ready for an attack. But only one step behind. I waited just enough for him to clear the recess. Then I jumped down into the gap between us, and made for the door.
It was a large steel affair. The type you’d expect to see on a bank vault. There was no key hole. Probably no need up here. It explained the need for a guard, at least. They weren’t idiots. In the centre of the door was an old wheel. It reminded me of the kind you saw at the helm of a pirate ship, except smaller and made of steel. I gripped it with both hands and twisted it. I heard the bolt lock disengage. No wonder Noble had got in on her first day. I heaved the door open as quietly as I could, then I slid in through the gap and shut it silently behind me.
I was met with a sudden and completely debilitating darkness. No lights. No sounds. Nothing. No idea which way to go. Or more importantly, how to get back. I stood there, lost in indecision. Seconds trickling away.
With my hands outstretched, I felt for the door I had just used. I touched the cold steel with my palms, then I turned slowly around, and shuffled forwards, hands still outstretched. It stood to reason that the bunker must go into the mountain. It also stood to reason that you wouldn’t build a door out that was on an immediate right angle to the path. So with my half-baked assumptions, I crept into the blackness.
The first thing to surprise me was a step. My foot shuffled straight off, and for a second, I thought I was about to fall down a flight of stairs to my doom. But it was just the one step. Just a minor heart attack.
But to save myself from the real deal, I got down onto my knees, and put my hands down in front of me like I was a dog, or an infant learning to crawl. The tactic worked, although I hoped no one would spot me crawling around in the dark. After several minutes, the tips of my fingers pressed into something solid. I felt around and discovered it was either a wall or a door. I couldn’t feel a handle, so I guessed it was the former. I fumbled around some more. No way to go left. Nothing in my immediate way to the right. So I went that way.
Wherein I encountered a problem. Stairs. Not the firm, solid kind built from wood or stone. The loud, obnoxious kind built from iron or steel. I wrapped my hands around what appeared to be a banister and lifted myself up. Going down on my knees would be a killer, so feet it had to be. I inched my foot out, and cast it around for the next step like a fisherman with their rod. The sense of unease grew evermore present in my gut. I found the step and heard the groan as I applied some weight to it. But there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Progress was dreadfully slow. I had a sudden and deep sympathy for the blind. When I finally pressed my foot down onto something that wasn’t a metal step, I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I turned around to resume my crawl when something catastrophic happened.
The lights switched on.
At first, I thought I’d activated some kind of alarm, and my stomach did a somersault. But quickly I realised I hadn’t been the one to activate it. Even worse, the person that had was fast approaching from behind me.
I heard two sets of voices coming from the corridor above. I heard two sets of fast paced boots slapping against the cold, hard ground. I looked around, desperate for some place to hide, but all I could see in the room was a bland concrete corridor leading to a meshed gate at the far end. No where to hide.
I looked back up the stairs. They couldn’t be more than a few seconds away. Then it hit me. The stairs. I looked down and stared past the steps. The space behind them was small and dark, but it was empty. I squeezed around the banister and hauled myself into the tiny recess. And not a second too soon. As my head squashed through the gap, I heard the sounds of boots on the top step, and saw the whole metal structure vibrate. Then I heard the voices.
The first was one I had become all too aware of. Cece.
‘I do not care if they don’t think it is possible,’ she spat. ‘They are not paid to offer an opinion.’
‘Even so, they know what they’re talking about. We should listen to them.’ The second voice was male, but it was not one I recognised. It was deep and had a hoarseness that came from a lifetime of smoking.
‘We don’t have time to listen,’ said Cece. ‘We’re already weeks behind schedule.’
I saw her boot slap down against the step closest to my head. Felt the flecks of cold residue splash onto my face.
‘I know we are, but that doesn’t change anything. We need more time,’ said the man. His boot appeared in my vision. The pair reached the bottom of the stairs and strode across to the gate at the other end.
‘It might be worth considering postponing it,’ said the man as they reached the gate. Cece didn’t look at him. Instead, she thumbed a button off to the side.
‘We are five days away-’ she started, but her voice was lost under the sound of a loud machine. Through the gate, I could see chains moving up and down. Cece continued talking, but the words were inaudible. The man responded. The look on his face was one of concern. I didn’t recognise him. He was short, maybe a stretch over five foot, but built to last. He had an assault rifle slung over his shoulder and wore a baseball cap that covered some light hair hiding beneath. He wore a couple days of stubble that seemed to suit him.
Behind the pair, an old lift rose from the depths. The machine stopped, and silence was restored, but the pair didn’t speak. Instead, Cece hauled the meshed gate aside, and they got into the lift.
Then she turned around to close the gate behind her.
And looked directly at me.
Fourteen
The Search
I froze, held my breath, and stared at the woman opposite me. Two operatives, standing twenty yards away, armed with enough weaponry to turn their enemies into dust. Versus me. Unarmed, alone and seriously compromised. Her fierce eyes stared at me, then she looked away and shut the gates behind her. As she pressed a button inside the lift, the pair resumed their conversation as they descended slowly into hell.
When they were out of sight, I breathed out. My legs felt weak. How had she not seen me? I squeezed out from my hiding place and walked over to the gate. Then I looked back at the stairs. The spot behind them was dark. Maybe so much so that you wouldn’t see a person hiding behind them. But only barely. I doubted she would have been so nonchalant had she spotted me. Her rage was anything but subtle.
I heaved open the gates and looked down. I could see the top of the lift wobbling as it descended deeper and deeper. Up above was nothing but darkness and rattling chains. I watched the cage rattle down below. It had to be one hundred feet down. Maybe more. Then it came to a stop and silence was restored, save for the echo of disturbed chains.
I looked up, then down, then back up. The guard would be back at his post, leaning up against my only exit. I couldn’t think of any way to distract him without putting myself in a world of shit. So the lift was my only option.
But again, I didn’t want to use it. Summoning it up had been a loud affair. For all I knew, Cece and her friend were down below standing right next to it. If I followed them down, I’d be open for an attack. And I had no doubt in my mind Cece wouldn’t jump at the opportunity.
I rattl
ed the chains and tried to gauge how high up they went. From the way the blackness stretched out, seemingly into infinity, I could tell I wasn’t at the top stop. There had to be something higher.
With my heart beating out a violent drum solo in my chest, I wrapped my hands around the chain and committed myself to an utterly foolish idea. The chains swayed as my legs wrapped around them, but nothing snapped and I managed to avoid plummeting to my death.
I had to go up. Whatever lay below would definitely be worth visiting, but with Cece down there, I decided I’d rather take my chances in the opposite direction. And with the lift sitting between me and the exit, I figured it was a wasted endeavour from the start.
My right shoulder throbbed. The bullet wound and botched fix up had left me with a permanent ache. The doctors had told me I was lucky to be alive. I didn’t know if I agreed with the luck part. But it wasn’t the only part of me that hurt. Since arriving in America, I’d been burned, sliced and shot. I’d broken bones. Had a small chunk of my finger severed. And administered an electric shock to myself. None of those injuries had killed me, but all had beaten me down, and turned the once youthful, athletic reporter into a battle-hardened, broken mess.
Using my legs as my main driving force, I thrust myself up the chain. Progress was slow, much slower than crawling down the corridor. And with every inch I climbed, I felt weaker and weaker. I glanced down, hoping to see an enormous amount of progress made, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet from my starting point.
And to make matters worse, as I looked down, the lights switched off.
In the complete, impenetrable darkness, hanging from a chain underneath a mountain with barely the energy to hold on, I began to wonder just how far my life had collapsed. At the age of twenty six, most people I knew were settling down, buying houses, and having children. They were climbing the career ladder, or exploring the world, or learning new skills. They were keeping up to date with the latest hit television shows, or following their favourite sports teams, or walking dogs, or reading books, or jogging, or painting, or anything else normal. They weren’t trapped in an unwinnable situation, surrounded by people trying to murder them. This wasn’t normal. Not even close.