“It’s not yours!” Fay shouted.
“It will be in a minute unless you all want to die.”
“I’m dying already.”
“But Locke and your granddaughter aren’t.”
“It’s okay, Fay,” Tyler said. “Please.”
Fay huffed but started moving. Kiselow kept her in front of him while they crossed. His eyes moved from Tyler to the ceiling and back to Fay.
When they reached the other side, Jess ran into Fay’s arms and grasped her in a tight hug.
Jess pulled away and studied her grandmother’s eyes.
Fay didn’t look frightened. She looked angry.
“You shouldn’t be doing this for me,” she said.
“We weren’t going to let these assholes kill you,” Jess said.
“The bag!” Colchev commanded.
Jess unslung the backpack and gave it to Kiselow, who unzipped it and ran the detector over the opening.
“This is it,” he said to Colchev triumphantly.
“Bring it back,” Colchev said.
Kiselow zipped it up and started to walk back across the chamber.
Jess glanced at Tyler, who gave her a slight nod.
This had been Tyler’s plan all along. We can’t let Colchev get his hands on the xenobium.
She shook her head, pleading for him not to do it, but when she saw the corner of his mouth go up in a lopsided, heartbreaking smile, she knew there was no convincing him otherwise. He was going to stop Colchev even if it meant sacrificing his own life.
When Kiselow was beside the pillar, Tyler wrenched the disk’s handle.
Three wooden beams fell into the column, and bricks began to plummet from the ceiling.
Kiselow, startled by the crackling of the adobe bricks, froze just long enough for Tyler to leap from the platform, his fist aimed at the Russian’s head. Kiselow saw him in time to avoid the brutal punch, but couldn’t keep Tyler from slamming into him. As bricks rained down, they wrestled for the backpack.
A burst of rounds from the submachine gun peppered the wall beside Jess. The weapon was in Zotkin’s hands, but Colchev had shoved the barrel toward the ceiling, sending bullets ricocheting around the chamber.
“Don’t shoot, you idiot!” Colchev yelled at Zotkin. He turned back to the melee. “Kiselow, throw the bag!”
Kiselow wound up to toss the backpack, but Tyler grabbed the top of it. The bag zipped open, dumping the contents on the ground. The xenobium rolled out of the protective apron, flashing its brilliance in the light.
The hail of ceiling chunks was so thick now that neither Colchev nor Zotkin could make a move for it.
Tyler tried to kick the ball of xenobium away, but Kiselow grabbed his foot. While they struggled, a falling brick caught Tyler in the side of the head. He reeled from the blow, and Kiselow kicked him in the chest.
Tyler stumbled backward. He tripped and landed on his back only twenty feet from Jess’s location. If he stayed there, he’d be crushed in another few seconds.
“Get up!” Jess yelled, but he didn’t move.
She had to help him. She shrugged out of Fay’s grip and ran into the storm of bricks.
Kiselow grabbed the xenobium and hurled it away before he was buried by a shower of bricks.
Jess reached Tyler and yanked him to his feet. Debris narrowly missed her head as they staggered back toward Fay, who turned on the lantern to guide her.
Jess pushed Tyler ahead and she launched herself at the opening just as the rest of the ceiling finally gave way, sealing off the main entrance from the chamber and trapping the three of them inside the tunnel.
They fell to the floor. Tyler rolled over and groaned, his eyes fluttering.
“Stay still,” Jess said, stroking his hair. She felt a huge bump on the side of his skull.
“Are you all right?” Fay asked.
“I’m fine, but I think Tyler has a concussion. Did you see what happened to the xenobium?”
Fay nodded solemnly. “It bounced and rolled into the secret passage. Colchev has it now.”
FORTY-EIGHT
As soon as the tear-gas grenades hit the windows on the two homes to either side, Grant sprinted for the target house, Morgan at his side. The tactical team covered them with a barrage of gunfire.
Grant saw a muzzle flash in the window to his right and let loose with a volley of his own, stitching the wall underneath the window with a row of bullet holes. The thin drywall was no match for the high-velocity rounds, and the gunman disappeared.
The headlong rush to the house wasn’t the best tactic, but they had no time to wait. Morgan had already called into the OSI team waiting for the Killswitch that the tunnel exited somewhere on the American side, but without knowing how far the tunnel went or in what direction, there was no way for them to narrow the location down to less than a square mile of stores and warehouses.
Grant vaulted the fence, landing in the tiny front yard. He charged straight for the front door.
Hit with the battering ram of his 250-pound bulk, the flimsy door was demolished. It flew off its hinges, smashing into a gunman hiding behind it. Grant went down onto the door, pinning the pummeled man beneath him.
As Grant rolled over, trying to bring his M4 to bear, he saw a gang member with a bandanna wrapped around his face. The man turned and raised an AK-47 just as Morgan ran through the open doorway and fired a three-round burst into his chest, killing him instantly.
She kept moving forward, sweeping with her rifle for other targets. Grant took the living room, staying low in an attempt to avoid the random shots piercing the thin walls.
“In here!” Morgan yelled.
Grant found her in a small kitchen with a gaping hole cut in the floor, an extension ladder poking out of it.
They both edged over to the hole on opposite sides and crouched. Grant did a silent countdown with his fingers. When he reached one, they jumped up and unloaded their magazines into the pit. Two screams were followed by the thump of falling bodies and the sound of ejected shell casings clinking on the metal steps of the ladder.
The tear gas had dissipated enough that they didn’t need the masks any more. Grant took his off, and Morgan did the same. Both of them reloaded.
They peered into the hole and saw two corpses. Neither looked Russian.
The hole had been dug through the concrete slab into the dirt below to create a pit large enough for six men to stand comfortably. A four-foot-high tunnel opened to the north.
Grant climbed down the ladder while Morgan covered him. Keeping his rifle aimed at the tunnel, Grant hopped off the ladder next to it in case someone was lying in wait inside. He gave the tunnel the same treatment as the pit. Rounds bounced around the shaft. No one returned fire.
He ducked down and saw that the tunnel was empty. But this was no bare-bones prison escape tunnel. A track was laid down its center and electric lights had been strung along the entire length of its ceiling, powered by wires leading back up to the kitchen. The tunnel curved a few hundred yards away so that the other end was out of sight. Walking that far in a crouch would take time they didn’t have.
Grant was happy to see a five-foot-long flatbed cart lay at their end of the track. One of the dead men had fallen against it, and Grant nudged him aside with his foot. A simple lever control protruded from the front of the cart.
Morgan jumped off the ladder and saw the railcar.
“They don’t mess around,” she said.
“This is high-quality construction,” Grant said. “The cart’s electric-powered, controlled either from the cart or from this lever on the wall. They could move a lot of drugs this way.”
“Looks like our two corpses were getting ready for their turns.”
“There’s only one cart. And it’s too far to scuttle.”