Hayden fell in behind the odd apparition, Kinimaka not far behind. Dahl respected the two intensely for not letting personal problems get in the way of their work. It had to be tough. And if Hayden’s mind really was made up then she’d already be in another place.
Just like Johanna.
Dahl tried to compartmentalize the conflict of emotions, but struggled. For a short time their crumbling world had started to steady, but again the decline had set in. His heart ached for what it might do to the children.
You’re not the only couple ever to separate. Kids usually do just fine.
But… but…
Lars the janitor swooped down familiar passageways, passing open doors and locked storage rooms, at home in the clinical white sprawl. Predictably, he seemed to be working his way toward the back of the hospital. As they walked, Hayden quizzed him.
“Anyone else been sniffing around recently?”
The janitor spun with a flourish. “Sniffing?”
“Looking. For the tunnels?”
“Ah, no. It is just me and the ghosts back there, I’m afraid.” He bowed. “But don’t tell the management, eh?”
Dahl found the man more than creepy. Reminded him of some old horror movie, and definitely assimilated with the legend of Saint Germain. If this was the site where the Count worked in his final days then perhaps his specter still haunted these halls. Perhaps it judged them all even now.
He grunted, shrugging the weird feeling off. All about him was real, from the medical rooms to the receptionist’s desk and chair. Unused to the eerie, he concentrated on what he could see and feel. The janitor led them deeper into the bowels of the place, and the lights began to dim. Strip tubing fizzed and popped, and some were empty. Dahl was aware of the incredible weight of concrete above his head, in particular when he saw the wide cracks in the walls. The janitor made no comment, despite the many viewpoints that had a negative bearing on his job.
Through a large archive they walked, threading their way among tattered, dusty cardboard boxes and old desks, then came up against a heavy steel door with a chain and padlock across its pull bar.
Lars shrugged. “Keeps the undesirables out.”
Dahl wondered, but didn’t question. His first thought was: And what does it keep in? But such absurdities vanished from his thoughts in an instant. Lars produced a long key and unchained the door.
“Wait,” Hayden said. “Is there another way into the tunnels?”
Lars rolled his arms and shoulders. “Many ways. Once you get back here the old rooms all have access to the building’s former areas. Long-forgotten they may be, but potentially serviceable. It costs too much to keep them all properly maintained.”
“CCTV?” Kinimaka asked without hope.
“Only where it is crucial. Never back here.”
As Lars pushed through, the team unobtrusively prepped weapons and made ready. A narrow corridor, still clearly part of the hospital, led past several locked rooms with grimy viewing panels and one open area complete with padded sofas, a wall-mounted TV, and water cooler. Abandonment hung over the area like a stain.
“Love these old deserted places.” Lars smiled happily. “Gives you a sense of belonging. You know? To the past.”
Nobody commented as the man’s supersized fingers flickered toward the way ahead. “To the tunnels.”
“You mentioned secret passageways,” Hayden said.
“Oh yes. Around us now, inside the walls, are two parallel running passages, also leading to the tunnels and formed when the waiting area was built. Partitioned off—” he shrugged “—to make the space feel nicer.”
This put Dahl on his guard. Webb could be around them even now. Listening. Watching. Doing the thing he loved most in the world. A place like this was a stalker’s wet dream. They proceeded down the corridor and came to an intersection. Lars pointed to the right.
“An old staircase takes us to boiler rooms and other storage areas. Then wall access points give to the sewers, electrical inspection tunnels and forgotten corners bricked over and ignored by the new build. To the left are archives and disregarded offices. Which would you like?”
Hayden studied the janitor. “How well do you really know these areas?”
“The truth? I rarely go home.” He grinned.
Dahl swallowed the distaste. “You mentioned places that were bricked over. We’re interested in the history around here. Apparently there was once a factory?”
“You are correct and then you are not.” Lars gently swept his arms forward in a sliding motion. “The factory is still there.”
“Show us,” Hayden said with urgency. “Show us now.”
Dahl knew they could be as little as an hour behind Webb, or a day ahead. If the man had made it they’d be sure to find signs. He moved next to Drake.
“What of these Dubai-based fanatics?” he asked. “Do you believe they’re irrelevant now? Lost?”
“I can’t shake the feeling that they’re still in the running,” Drake said. “Yeah, they’re protected from it, aloof and seemingly unaware of the nightmares they sponsor, but these guys have been watching for years. They’re dedicated. Organized. Obsessive guardians. It doesn’t seem right that they wouldn’t know about Germaine’s deathbed factory.”
“On a brighter note,” Alicia butted in. “Whaddya think of the brand new secret base idea? How cool is that?”
Drake raised an eyebrow. “Dunno, love. Cool is relative. What if it’s in Antarctica?”
“And the new Secretary of Defense is a woman,” Lauren added. “An interesting change.”
At the end of the corridor a staircase rose out of the floor. Hayden stared at its base. “Ummm,”
“We have to go up,” Lars said. “To go down. I thought it odd too, but maybe it serves as a façade.”
Dahl blinked. An odd façade, considering it blended old secrets with new. Such concealments spoke of vast conspiracy and suppression. He shook his head at the follies of men. Always focused on the wrong things.
Up they went, winding around a spiral until Lars brought them onto a wide landing. Ahead a larger spiral twisted down and down, its handrails mostly thick with dust except where the janitor’s fingers had previously touched. To the right an old, forgotten, stained-glass window stared out across the landscape.
Kenzie stepped up to it. “See the patterns in the glass? This kinda thing starts conspiracy theories.”
Dahl approached her, supremely careful not to get too close. “We don’t have time for—” He paused. “Now that’s odd.”
The team halted in their strides, Drake coming over. “What you on about, mate?”
“The seven men stood watching the hospital from the far parking lot… they’re all Arabs.”
Drake shouldered him aside. “What?”
Hayden came over too. “Amari? Looking for Webb?”
“I think so.” Drake squinted. “Eyes aren’t what they were.”
Mai nodded toward Alicia. “Clearly.”
“If he’s close—” Hayden said.
“Chaos ain’t far behind,” Drake finished. “And what’s he doing there? What the hell is he doing with his hands?”
“Counting,” Dahl said with a feeling of sudden, freezing horror. “He’s using his fingers to count down.”
“And there.” Drake pointed. “Mercenaries rushing at them. Shit, there’s gonna be a full-scale battle in the car park.”
“No,” Hayden said. “Amari ain’t running. They’re his mercs.”
“But why?” Drake wondered.
Hayden’s phone went off just a second before Drake’s and Dahl’s, and then everyone else’s. Tones of impending doom filled the landing area, grim expressions lining every face.
Argento said it first.
“Amari,” he said. “Has just called in a terrorist act on the hospital you are currently inside. His message: If I can’t safeguard the Master I will destroy every single trace. And that includes your hospital.” The man’s tone was uncharacteristically lacking in enthusiasm, heavily laced with fate.