“One of us was injured, and is bedridden, sedated, and unconscious,” a tall, dignified man spoke with a strong German accent.
“Name?” Martin asked.
“Adenauer. Theo Adenauer.”
Martin gave Alex a quick look.
“Dr. Adenauer,” she said, “we will clear the structure first, make sure everyone’s safe, then come back for him. Chances are if he’s unconscious, he will be out of harm’s way.”
“You know who I am?” the man asked, emotion tingeing his voice.
“Yes, we do,” Alex replied. “We’ve done our homework; we’re not here by accident.”
“Have you seen Adeline, my wife?” Blake asked Adenauer with pleading eyes. “She’s five-seven, brown hair, thirty-six years old.”
“No, I’m sorry. That name does not sound familiar. But there are hundreds more, somewhere in this structure.”
“I know her,” a woman said, stepping forward. “I’m Lila Wallace. I am — I was the flight attendant in first class. She was seated in my area.”
Blake grabbed her hand with both his, holding it tight. “Where is she? Is she OK?”
“She’s with the others,” Lila replied. “We got separated when we got to the trucks. But she’s fine, I am sure. She wasn’t among the…” Lila choked a little, and then continued. “You’ll find her, you’ll see.”
“Among the what?” Blake asked quietly, his face petrified with fear.
“Umm… the test subjects,” Lila whispered, a tear rolling on her cheek. “But she wasn’t, I’m sure she’s OK.”
“Oh, my God,” Blake whispered, turning a sickly shade of pale.
Alex felt her stomach turn. She’d been right in her theories. Whoever had taken flight XA233 wanted the researchers to develop a nerve agent, and needed test subjects. Instead of feeling redeemed, all she felt was an unbearable sense of revulsion, of loathing, and a bubbling anger, driving her to want to draw blood with her own hands from the motherfucker who’d tortured all those people. It will come, you’ll see, she thought. I’ll find you, you sick son of a bitch, and when I do, you’ll wish you were never born.
“Umm… excuse me?” Lila’s voice got their attention.
“Yes,” Martin replied. “What is it?”
“That man over there,” she said, pointing at a silhouette crouched against the back wall, “is the sack of shit who brought us all here. He’s the pilot.”
Two of Martin’s men went to get him, their faces not promising anything good.
“I want him alive,” Alex called after them. “I need to find out who’s behind this.”
“We’re moving,” Martin’s voice called her to attention.
They continued to inspect the structure and found no one else on the main level.
“Bravo Two, this is Bravo One,” Martin said into his radio, and it crackled to life immediately.
“Bravo One, copy.”
“Bravo Two, we’re going underground.”
“Copy that. On your six, Bravo One.”
They made their way underground, descending through dark, humid, moldy-smelling stairways, and feeling the temperature drop with every step. Then they reached another curved corridor, and started following it, like they had the one above.
Within a few yards, they surprised a Russian taking a leak in a doorway. He opposed no resistance, and relinquished his weapon immediately.
“Where are they?” Martin asked.
The Russian pointed ahead.
“The first door over there, the big one. The big circle.” He spoke in a raspy voice, his accent harsh.
“How many Russians?”
“I–I don’t know.”
One of Martin’s men hit him in the stomach. “Think again, asshole.”
“Three, maybe four.”
“Thanks!” Martin replied, then knocked the Russian unconscious with the butt of his weapon.
They soon found what the Russian had told them about — an access way leading to a large, tall, metallic, double door, covered in rust, and guarded by an armed man who didn’t even see them coming. That Russian went down silently, taken out by a lethal stab in the neck.
Team Bravo Two caught up with them, and Martin gave them the signal to stand fast and silent.
Martin cracked the door open as gently as he could, then peeked inside.
“Fuck,” he muttered, then closed it.
He signaled his people to approach. Alex, Lou, and Blake joined them.
“This is the ingress point to the main silo. There are hundreds of hostages in there, and the Russians are scattered among them, on elevated positions. We risk extensive loss of lives if we go direct. They’ll start shooting, and scythe the hostages down in the crossfire.”
“What do you want to do?” Blake asked, turning pale.
“We might try to draw them out. Or we might get one of the Russians we captured, wake him up, and force him to call them out.”
“I have an idea,” Alex offered. “Some of us can go in, without our gear, wearing plain clothes, and carrying knives. If the Russians are scattered in the crowds, they won’t notice us. Then we take them out, one by one. In the crowd there is inherent cover.”
Martin stood silent for a few seconds, weighing his options. Then he started taking his tactical vest off. The rest of the men followed.
“I need two of you to stay here, and cover our asses in case this goes bad,” Martin said. “You and you,” he pointed at two men. “If this goes south, remember they’ll have to come out at some point. Take them out one by one; don’t risk the hostages’ lives.” He then turned to Alex and added, “You should stay here too, ma’am.”
“In your dreams,” Alex replied dryly.
She’d taken off her vest, and she rubbed her back against the decrepit walls to get her tee shirt to look dirty. Some of the men did the same, even rolled on the floors covered in debris to look the part, then wiped most of the camouflage paint off their faces.
“Blake,” Alex said, “You’re staying behind. You have to.”
“What?” he asked, surprised. “Why? No way I’m staying behind.”
“If Adeline sees you, she’ll react. There’s no way we can control that, and we shouldn’t risk it.”
Blake lowered his head, accepting her argument. Then he lifted his eyes, locking them with hers. “OK. Then you bring her to me, all right?”
“I promise,” she replied, touching his shoulder. “Ready,” she announced.
“Roger that,” Martin replied. “This is a round structure. We enter one by one, and quickly take cover in the crowd. Let’s work it in concentric circles, starting from large to small. We’ll take the smaller circles, where we think the most Russians will be. Lou and Alex, you take the outer circle, closest to the wall. Alex walks west, Lou walks east. Walk slowly, casually, don’t draw attention. Stop, sit, observe. Find your Russian, and plan your moves. Keep chatter to a minimum. Earbuds should do it in there, and cover your mouth when you speak. The laryngophones will capture the quietest whisper. Just mark your man, and wait for my signal.”
“Got it,” Alex confirmed.
They snuck in, one by one. Alex was among the last, and she felt her heart in her throat when she approached the ajar door. She took a deep breath, then stepped through the tight opening.
She took a few quick steps to reach a group of hostages, then stopped, to absorb and process the information she was seeing.
The structure was vast, with a high, dome-vaulted roof that had hatched openings at the center. It was hard to tell what that space had been used for; it resembled a huge arena or a circus of sorts, in a terrible state of decay. The floor was concrete, covered in dirt and debris. The smell of human sweat and waste was pervasive, almost suffocating.