“You can stay,” Ananke said, “but I’m not going to miss this.”
Quinn was about to argue, but Daeng held up a hand. “It’s okay. I can handle things.”
As Orlando moved toward the elevator, Dani looked at her stomach.
“You should probably stay up here, too,” Dani said.
Orlando stopped. “Why?”
“Just a precaution.”
“A precaution from what?”
“It’s okay,” Quinn said. “Keep Daeng company. If I think it’s safe, I’ll come get you.”
Orlando did not look happy at all, but only said, “Don’t be long.”
“Nate, do you mind shutting the doors?” Dani asked.
While he did this, she stuck the key into the hole next to the orphaned button on the control panel. When she turned it, the button lit up and the elevator began descending.
The trip was a short one. Nate opened the inner gate when they stopped, only to find a set of closed doors on the other side, split down the middle top to bottom. Embedded in the door was a meter with a range from green to red, the needle resting comfortably in the former.
“What’s that for?” Nate asked.
“Just a safety precaution. Green is good,” Dani replied.
When she turned the key again, the doors slid apart and lights came on in the space beyond.
Though Quinn was sure the size of the room was no different than that of the levels above them, it appeared considerably larger since there were no stacks of crates filling it. The only unusual feature was a boxed-off room of some kind protruding from the wall on the other side. Quinn wasn’t surprised when Dani began walking toward it.
Halfway there, they passed another meter, this one mounted to a structural post. It, too, was registering in the green zone.
The walls of the separate room were unpainted concrete. Near the only door — also made of concrete — were two more meters, a monitor, and a control panel. The needle on one of the meters was in the green, but the other one was sitting a bit past the point where green started fading into yellow.
“What is this?” Quinn asked.
“You wanted to know why people were willing to spend so much?” Dani said. “This is it.”
She fiddled with the control panel until the monitor came to life, revealing a shot of what was presumably the room’s interior. Four trunks sat side by side, approximately two feet apart from each other. All were black with gold-colored metal trim and had what looked like thick leather handles. The feed could have easily been of a photograph because the image was completely still.
The back of Quinn’s neck began to tingle. A bunker full of weapons. An isolation room. Strategically placed meters. “Please tell me those aren’t what I think they are.”
“They are.”
Nate looked at Quinn and then the monitor again. “Nukes?”
“What?” Ananke said, moving several steps backward. “Are you saying those are nukes?”
Dani nodded. “According to Marianne, my father considered the trunks his greatest asset. But you don’t have to worry. The room has a thick lead lining and three feet of concrete on the outside.”
“Is that enough?” Ananke asked. She looked at the others. “Does anyone know? There could be a leak.”
“No leak,” Dani said. “The meters are all in the green.”
Ananke did not look convinced.
Quinn said, “Unless there’s something else, I think we should head back up.”
Ananke turned and headed for the elevator.
“There is one thing I need to get first,” Dani said. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”
Quinn eyed her for a moment. “You’re not planning on going inside there, are you?”
“What? No. I don’t have a death wish.”
“Don’t take too long,” he said. “I don’t think I can make Ananke stay down here much longer.”
The walk toward the corner of the room felt unreal, as if Dani were watching it on a movie screen instead of making the journey herself. How many times had she thought about this? How many times had Marianne gone over the details so Dani wouldn’t forget?
Go to the corner left of the chamber.
Run a finger up the south wall and feel for the thin line cut into the surface.
Three inches up, push.
The concrete cracked under the pressure of her hand and fell in small chunks to the floor, revealing a black door no larger than a postcard. She slipped a finger into a depression and pulled the door open.
As she’d been told to expect, in the box was only one thing — a small Moleskine notebook. Though the other bidders would have been interested in the rumored bombs her father had hidden away, Dani knew this notebook was what The Wolf had really been after. She put it in her pocket, not bothering to open it. Either the information was there, or it wasn’t.
“All set?” Quinn asked as she entered the elevator.
“All set.” She turned the key and started their ascent.
“You going to tell us what that was all about?” Nate asked.
“No,” she said.
Though Orlando had been less than pleased when Dani suggested she remain behind, it turned out to be a good thing. The others had not been gone for more than a few minutes when another round of contractions hit.
Daeng had gone off to check on the prisoners and by the time he returned, she was in control enough to hide her discomfort.
She had to get out of there soon, though. The interval between contractions was already down to ten minutes — probably a little less. With Garrett, labor had been a slow and steady process, but this time it felt like Orlando had suddenly caught a brakeless express train to Delivery City.
Several minutes later, the elevator motor kicked in and the car returned.
“Well?” Orlando asked as everyone piled out.
“Be thankful you stayed here,” Ananke said, looking unnerved.
“What happened?” Orlando asked Quinn.
Quinn told her about the four portable nukes, then said, “There’s no reason we need to hang around here any longer. I’ll call Helen. This place is her problem, not ours.” He glanced at Dani. “Unless you have any objections.”
She shook her head.
The discussion turned to whether or not they should leave the prisoners there, but Orlando heard only bits and pieces as her contractions ramped up once more.
“Helen should make that call,” Quinn said. “We’ll leave them down—” He looked at Orlando. “Are you okay?”
She gave up all attempts to conceal her pain and grabbed Daeng’s arm to keep from falling. “Not exactly,” she said, her fingers digging into her friend’s flesh.
Quinn rushed over and put an arm around her to help support her. “What’s wrong?”
She looked at him as if he were insane. “What do you think is wrong?”
Ananke, calm and clinical, asked, “How far apart are your contractions?”
Orlando blew out a breath. “I think about eight minutes that time.” She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, riding out another wave of pain before continuing.
“She’s having the baby?” Nate asked. “Now? Here?”
“Just breathe, sweetie,” Quinn said. “Breathe.”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Orlando said.
“I–I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t mean anything!” Orlando shouted.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Nate suggested. “Shouldn’t she sit down?”
“Do you want some water?” Dani asked. “I’m sure I can find some.”
Ananke slammed her palm against one of the nearby crates. “Hey, everyone. Eyes on me!”
All conversation ceased.
Looking at Quinn, she said, “Unless you want your baby born in a missile silo, I suggest we concentrate on getting her out of here!”