A tap on her shoulder snapped her attention back. El-Hashim gave her a wave, then turned and walked through the now open doorway. Once Alex was inside, Teterya shut the door behind them, the creak once more setting Alex’s nerves on edge.
With a click, the doctor’s flashlight came to life, its beam cutting through the darkened space, revealing that they weren’t in a room, but another corridor.
“This way,” he whispered.
Alex turned her light on, and panned it through the corridor as she followed the others. The hallway looked even less used than the nearly abandoned one they’d just been in. What Alex could see of the floor was covered with dust. There were cobwebs along the ceiling, and what paint hadn’t already fallen off the walls was slowly peeling away. There were boxes and discarded furniture and twisted pieces of shelves strewn about, turning their route into an obstacle course primed to twist an ankle at the first misstep.
They came to an archway on the left. The doctor turned, stepped through it, and immediately backed out.
“Sorry,” he said. “Not right way. Next one.”
He found the archway he was looking for another twenty feet in. On the other side was a stone-walled room, with a ceiling so low that Alex found herself ducking despite the fact she had about a half foot of clearance.
The doctor swung the beam through the space, stopping on the back corner, where the stones were built into a six-inch-high, four-foot-square pedestal.
As they drew near, Alex saw a metal grate centered in the top. She shined her light through the slits, but could see nothing. She could, however, hear the trickle of water.
“The tunnel?”
“Yes,” Teterya said. “Down and go left.”
Alex listened to the water again. While it sounded as if it was coming straight up from below, it also sounded as if…
“How far down?” she asked.
“Six meter. Maybe little more.”
Almost twenty feet.
“Is there a ladder?”
Teterya shook his head. “Cable on other side. Metal, yes? Go down maybe three and half meter. Climb down, drop.”
The drop would still be close to eight feet onto who knew what. But if they were getting out, this was the way they were going. And Alex was sure as hell getting out.
After turning off her light, and stuffing it in her pocket, she reached for the grate. “Does this come off?”
Teterya nodded.
Alex gripped two of the thick slats, bent her knees, and pulled upward. The metal groaned loudly as it fought to remain where it was. The doctor gave the flashlight to El-Hashim and bent down to help Alex.
They raised it about half an inch before the doctor lost his hold, and Alex was forced to set it back down.
Resting her hands on her thighs, she took several rapid, deep breaths. “When was the last time…someone…pulled it out of there?”
“I open first time here,” the doctor said. “Two year ago. Think no one open since.”
Two years?
She shot El-Hashim a sideways glance. “You don’t have to just stand there looking pretty, you know. If you give us a hand, we should be able to do it.”
El-Hashim looked surprised at the suggestion.
“I’m not asking you to do it alone,” Alex said. “A little help is all. Or would you rather we just go back and turn ourselves in?”
El-Hashim frowned. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”
“Good,” Alex told her. She took a long, deliberate breath and straightened up. “Shall we try again?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Keeping busy hadn’t distracted Irina as much as she had hoped it would.
While Symon was risking his life for two people they barely knew, she had gone out to the reception desk and tried to work through the ever-present stack of files. Within moments, however, her nerves got the best of her. She stared blankly at the wall, as her mind counted the many ways this could all go wrong, and land her and Symon in very serious trouble.
When the buzzer went off, she jumped in surprise, knocking her knees against the bottom of her desk. She looked toward the door, then the window, then down at her desk before she finally realized the buzzer had come from one of the isolation cells.
She rubbed her knees, calmed herself, and stood up. Before she could take a step, though, the buzzer sounded again.
“Yes, yes,” she murmured. “I’m coming.”
Walking into the back room, she saw the yellow light glowing above one of the cells. As she crossed to the door, the buzzer sounded again.
“I’m coming,” she repeated, this time raising her voice, not caring if the patient understood her or not.
She made a stop at the medicine locker to get a pain pill, filled up a glass of water, and opened the cell door.
“Good evening,” the prisoner said.
Irina jerked back in surprise, some of the water splashing out of the cup and onto the floor. The prisoner was standing right on the other side of the door, an odd smile on her face. She glanced at the pill and cup in Irina’s hand and said, “I won’t be needing those.”
It suddenly occurred to Irina that the woman was speaking Ukrainian. Quite capably, in fact. Flustered, Irina said, “You should lie down. You’ll feel better.”
“Oh, I feel fine,” the prisoner told her. “Excellent, even. How about you?”
She stepped out of the cell, forcing Irina to take a step backward.
“You — you can’t come out here,” Irina cried. “You need to go back inside and lie down. When the doctor returns, I’ll have him check in on you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the woman said. She smiled again. “Your name’s Irina, right?”
Irina’s eyes widened in shock. “How do you know that?”
“I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I didn’t.” The prisoner continued moving forward, forcing Irina to back further away. “I need you to pay attention, Irina. First you’re going to put that cup down before you spill any more water, then—”
Irina didn’t wait to hear what “then” might be. She tossed the cup at the woman’s face and ran for the alarm next to the door. As she was reaching for it, a hand clawed at her shoulder and yanked her back.
“Let go of me!” Irina cried.
The prisoner spun her around and slapped her squarely across the face.
“Let’s not do that again, shall we?” the woman said, her calm, almost unconcerned manner only frightening Irina all the more.
Suddenly someone started pounding on one of the other cell doors, the inmate inside demanding to be let out, to know what was going on. It was the friend of the woman who had gone with Symon and Powell.
The prisoner holding Irina’s arm ignored the shouts. “I need you to listen very carefully to me, Irina. Are you listening?
She was too frightened to respond.
“I asked if you’re listening.”
Irina didn’t trust her own voice, so she nodded.
“Good. Now, here’s what I want you to do. I know your friends are headed for a tunnel. I want you to show me how to get there. Right now. And you won’t be making any wrong turns that might lead to some of your friends working in the building.” She smiled again. “Are we clear?”
This time, Irina managed to eek out a yes.
“Excellent,” the woman said. She nodded toward the door. “After you.”
It was at moments like these that the assassin loved her work. The assigned killing itself was often routine, but it was what led up to it — a series of moves and counter moves that forced her to use her wits and often improvise — that she relished.