Adler quickly slipped the .45 into the shoulder holster. He stepped over the dead man and went to the cot where the twins were huddled. Tears streaked the small, pale faces. They stared at the stranger talking softly to them in their native language. Their cries changed to whimpers as Adler picked them up, carrying one in each of his arms. Grant snatched two blankets from the cots and caught up to Adler on the landing, taking one of the boys from him. Then, they rushed down the two flights with their penlights in hand, and continued down into the basement. Adler extinguished his light then Grant handed him a blanket. Grant bundled up the little boy he was carrying before handing him over to Adler.
"Wait one," Grant said, as he stuffed the light into his pocket then opened the door leading to the vacant lot. He scanned the darkness before exiting, then quickly went to the alley and checked it out. Returning to Adler, he pulled off his throat mike and earpiece. "Battery's dead." He shoved the unit into his vest then quickly removed the rucksack from Adler's back as he said, "Manfred should be at the designated site." When the old German offered his services to the West, he had been given instructions to locate sites throughout the city that could be used as possible safe places. He found a garage, once used for repairing electric trams and located just one block from the lot. Two large, rickety wooden doors swung outward, allowing easy access. Since the garage was completely empty, the doors were left unlocked.
Grant shined the flashlight on his watch. "It's 0205. If I'm not there by 0230, you haul ass."
Adler immediately started to protest. "I won't… "
"That's an order!"
"Aye, aye, sir." He took a few steps then turned back to Grant. "Don't you go waitin' around for the BWF, ya hear?" Adler referred to the blinding white flash that's caused by an explosive device.
"Roger that. Now, go." As soon as Adler was out of the building, Grant closed the door only part way, planning his escape route. It was time to do it. He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and turned on the flashlight, hurrying over to the stairs leading to the lab. He bent over and flipped the small switch. The bottom rung had barely touched the floor when Grant was already climbing down, the flashlight casting a narrow beam of light. He hesitated halfway down, moving the flashlight beam slowly, checking for any obstacles in his path. He stopped his hand motion as the light fell on a discoloration on the floor by a counter. Making his way across the concrete floor, he got down on one knee, inspecting the irregularly shaped stain, touching it with his fingertips. Dried blood. He moved the light to the right where the blood had trickled under the counter. His eyes caught sight of a crumpled envelope. He reached for it then held it in front of the flashlight, reading the addressee's name. The note inside gave the location of the lab and also read: Klaus Steiner in possession of drug SD-7. "Jesus Christ! Get your ass in gear, Stevens!” It was imperative he contact Moshenko.
He immediately reached up and balanced the flashlight on the countertop, facing the beam toward the middle of the room. There wasn’t any more time to play detective, he cautioned himself.
There was barely enough light for him to work, but he'd opted to not turn on the overhead lights, just in case any visitors stopped by. He opened the rucksack and removed a quarter pound block of C4 and a roll of det cord. At one time when he was planning this operation he was concerned about civilian casualties. Concussion grenades were to have been the explosives of choice. At least everything in the lab would be destroyed. But the buildings and entire neighborhood were civilian-free. The C4 would do a very thorough job in sealing the lab and tunnel.
Working quickly, he made a slash across the C4 with his knife. He tied a stiff knot in the end of the det cord, then pushed the cord into the slash with his thumbs, finally pressing the C4 against it, sealing it inside. He squeezed the explosive around the metal framework supporting the counters. Unwinding the det cord as he scooted farther across the floor, and following the length of counter, he repeated the process around the room until three more blocks of C4 and det cord were in place. He stood by the flashlight, positioning his arm to see his watch. It was nearly 0211 hours. Unrolling the det cord as he walked, he quickly made his way over to the steel door and unlocked it. He jerked the door open and stepped out into the tunnel. Glancing down, he tried to find more evidence that a body had been disposed of through the tunnel system. Dark spots, spaced apart every few feet, led away from where he was standing and toward the river. Whoever he was, he was carried out of here.
Getting back to his task at hand, he glanced at the overhead. All he could do was guess how thick it was and hoped the explosives would cause enough damage to seal off the lab. He prepared the C4 with the det cord exactly as he did in the lab, then reaching as high as he could, attached the explosive to a conduit running vertically near the door. Quickly unrolling the det cord, he took long steps to the opposite side of the tunnel. And last but not least… He opened his vest and grabbed a chemical pencil with a three minute timed delay. Holding it and the end of the det cord together, he carefully molded the C4 around both. At the end of the pencil was an ampoule of acetone which he left protruding out of the upper part of the explosive. He reached up and bent the chemical pencil until he heard the ampoule break. He jumped back through the doorway, when he froze in place. Oh, shit! A board on one of the basement steps creaked. He pulled the .45 from the shoulder holster, cocking the hammer. The flashlight! He was on the opposite side of the room but he had to chance it. Keeping low, he hustled across the floor and grabbed the flashlight from the counter. Just as he shut off the light, a shot rang out, a bullet striking the countertop next to his head. Shards of metal slivers struck his face. The bullet careened off the countertop and slammed into the wall to his right. He leaned slightly forward and returned fire, getting off three rapid shots, aiming at the ceiling opening. He fell back, hitting the wall, as he brought the gun close to his cheek. He waited. But there was only silence. No return fire. Whether or not his bullets found their target was immaterial at this point. He had to get the hell out of the lab now or else he was going to become a permanent fixture.
Crouching, he ran to the steps and stared up toward the opening but saw only blackness and silence. He calculated he had less than ninety seconds to escape. Taking one step at a time, he kept the gun pointed up, swiveling his head, trying to cover every overhead angle. Instinctively, he held his breath as he reached the last step. Keeping low, he slowly brought his head through the opening then scrambled out and immediately flattened his body against the basement floor. The silhouette of the open back door came into his line of sight. A hundred thoughts ran through his mind in one split second. Could the shooter be outside waiting for him? Or was he hiding somewhere in the basement? He didn't remember hearing footsteps after the shot.
Whatever, he was outta there. Time was up. He jumped to his feet and made a beeline for the open door, his mind clicking off the seconds as he ran. A sound of gunfire erupted behind him just as he reached the doorway. He dove for open ground and rolled across the hard-packed dirt. He brought himself to a kneeling position and fired off a round at the dark form of a man rushing toward him. Grant fired again just as the first explosion in the tunnel went off, then a millisecond later, a horrific noise from the explosives in the lab ripped into the night. An orange-white glow spread through the basement, flames quickly engulfing wooden timbers and stairs. The concussion from the explosion sent the man careening forward, a painful groan escaping from his mouth from a burst eardrum. He came through the doorway off balance, his hands pressed against his ears.