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I zoom in on something behind the jars. Hmm, there’s a metal a handle. It’s a door. Oh. There’s likely another chamber. Pulling the camera back out, I wind it around my cell, then slide the whole thing into my jacket.
Sitting up, I swing around, drop my legs over the mouth of the opening, and—
Sean grabs my arm. He shakes his head and mouths,Let me go.
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go.I’m not helpless,I mouth back as agitation tightens my brow.
After a moment, with a curt nod, he lets go.
Heart rocking harder than a grunge band, I take out my Glock, flick on my NVGs, then drop.
My feet hit compact dirt with a thick thud that bends my knees. Lords and ladies, a firefight in an underground lair would prove a challenge.
I spin around, rechecking the area, then flick up the NVGs. They’re not helping, because they require more ambient light to work properly. Raising my gun, I hit the light on the short scope, then run the beam along the ceiling. It’s lined with wood rafters. This place is well built and cold enough to be a meat locker.
Swiveling back, I check the door behind the shelves. The handle and lock look new, so chances are high this place is still in use. Now to see what’s behind the door. We’re going to need to move the shelves.
Sean lowers himself down. His feet reach the ground while his hand is still on the top rung. And though I can stand in the space, which is just over six feet, he has to bend his six-foot-seven frame at the neck. He adjusts his headlamp and joins me by the door.
As soundlessly as possible, we visually inspected the containers. No trip wires. No sensors. The shelves have holes where each glass jar sits that are the exact size of the bottom of each one. I scan the legs of the shelving unit. It’s on wheels.
Reassured that we can move it without breaking anything or setting off a hidden alarm, I use my hands to demonstrate what we need to do.
Sean nods, but stops me when I try to help him move the shelves. He mouths,I got it. Keep ready.
I see the wisdom in his plan. He’s obviously capable of moving it himself, and it’s better for me to be prepared for whatever or whoever might be back there.
I step back, take a defensive stance, and ready my weapon.
Sean mouths,One, two, then swings the door open onthree. The jars clank and the metal rattles, but the shelving system works as designed, so nothing falls or shatters.
Once he’s cleared the door—my hands sweating in my gloves, heart pounding, mouth dry—I scan the door for any cameras or alarms. Again, there’s nothing.
Obviously, no one expects company in a place in the middle of the desert, miles from humans, hidden under a shrub. No wonder Geraldo never found it.
Sean reaches for the handle, and I keep my weapon raised, but the door doesn’t budge. Locked.
Dropping my backpack, I unzip a side pocket and take out my lock-picking kit. It takes me long enough that sweat beads on my forehead and my molars ache from grinding them before I hear the click. Finally done, I step back.
With a signal to Sean, I raise my gun again, providing him cover.
Gripping the handle, he yanks the door open.
A burst of rotting and rancid air rolls over us.
I gag. Though my eyes water, I keep them open and focused on the doorway, but no one comes out.
Nose buried in the crook of his elbow, Sean issues a low, angry growl.
Looks like I’m not the only one acquainted with the smell of death.
Behind the door is another tunnel that slopes dramatically, almost like a slide, preventing my light from showing what’s down there. I wait a beat, listening for any noise or for anyone to come out.
Everything remains silent and unmoving, so I drop my weapon and pull out a tactical medical kit from my backpack. With a click, I open it and take out two heavy-duty, copper-lined filter masks that are better than nothing.
After we put them on, I signal to Sean that I’m going first. He squares his shoulders in a dramatic way that seems to indicate it’s taking everything in him to let me take the lead. With that settled, I crouch-run down the ramp with the light on my scope leading the way.
Sean follows, forced to slide on his butt thanks to his size.
