Page 6

“Alone?”

The guard shakes his head. “Waiting for you.”

That was not in my planned timeline.

My heart rate rises and my mouth dries, neither of which improves the situation, so I continue walking.

The route to the cellar passes three guarded doors and a narrow stairwell. Twelve men see me, but none follows because Pike does not allow witnesses downstairs unless he intends them to become part of the entertainment.

I descend.

The cellar smells of damp stone, old blood, and human waste, while a row of electric lamps throws weak pools of light along the walls. At the far end, the floor drops into a sunken storage vault. An iron cradle hangs above it from the winch cable, fitted with leather straps darkened by use.

A chain scrapes over stone below.

I let my gaze snap toward the sound and stop one pace short of the vault. Surprise is difficult to perform without making it theatrical.

The infected stands at the bottom of the steps, held there by an iron collar and a chain running through the floor ring. Pike stands beside the winch cabinet with the key hanging against his shirt, watching me instead of it.

“You’re late,” he says.

I don’t answer, still looking at the chained infected.

“Nothing to say, Secretary?”

“You keep odd company.”

“You didn’t know.” His smile widens when I say nothing. “I wondered if there was anything left in London you didn’t know.”

“Apparently you found it.”

He accepts the lie.

“Coat,” he says.

I take it off and fold it over the back of a chair. My blouse has long sleeves, and it is cold below ground even in summer.

“I have the name you wanted.”

That interests Pike. It always does.

“Who?”

“One of the signals officers. He has been passing your convoy routes to Vaughn.”

Pike’s gaze sharpens as the infected jerks against the chain below us, rattling the links over stone. “Name.”

“Depends on what you trade me for it.”

His smile returns without warmth. “You forget who you work for.” He taps the empty cradle with one finger, setting it into a slow turn above the vault.

“All five of you, according to whichever one is asking.”

He laughs, then catches my wrist.

“I know you were behind the depot,” he snarls.

He doesn’t give me time to wonder how. Pike reaches for the pistol at his hip as I seize the key cord and pull, snapping it. For one second neither of us moves, then he hits me.