Back Track (41 page)

‘I want to look one over before you do it.’

Ryan nodded. Bishop waited as he finished up, then quit out of the internet browser. Bishop saw the desktop contained seven untitled folders that hadn’t been there before. Ryan turned to him and said, ‘Ready.’

‘Move aside,’ Bishop said.

Ryan rolled his chair to the right. Bishop came over and clicked on the third folder down. Inside were about thirty files categorized by date. Each one had a woman’s name as its title. Bishop clicked on one of two named
Victoria
. A page opened up in the format of a purchase order, giving the amount paid, the woman’s full name of Victoria Elizabeth Connor, and the name of the new owner. As if she was a piece of meat. The sheer arrogance of the thing made him sick. And angry. He scrolled to the next page and saw a list itemizing the surgical procedures undertaken by Tatem. The third page gave names and addresses of family. The fourth showed before and after photos. There was more, but Bishop had seen enough.

He closed it off and went through each of the other folders until he found Selina’s file in the very last one. He dragged that file to the trash and was about to close the folder when he noticed the very last file:
Expenses
. Bishop clicked on it and a spreadsheet opened up. It listed outgoings on a month-by-month basis. Fuel. Food. Electrics. The usual. Except there was also a listing for
Police
.

And underneath that was a name. But not the one he’d expected to see.

Levine
.

So he’d been right about the inside man, but wrong about Shaw. It was his senior partner with the heavy-lidded eyes and the relaxed manner. And with the money he was being paid on the side, why shouldn’t he be relaxed? Levine must have entered Rutherford’s place first and closed the windows again to make it look like suicide while Shaw called it in. Another riddle solved. No doubt Kate would find this all very interesting. He’d give her one of these flash drives later for her story. Assuming he got out of this alive. But then you had to stay positive, or what was the point of anything?

‘Okay,’ Bishop said and moved out of the way. ‘Finish up.’

Ryan rolled the chair back and Bishop waited as he transferred everything over to the first flash drive. He repeated the process with the second, then handed both sticks to Bishop.

‘Whatever you’re here to do,’ he pleaded, ‘maybe I can help.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Bishop said, and struck Ryan on the base of the neck with his gun. The man fell forward in the chair, unconscious. ‘But thanks, anyway.’

Bishop entered the ‘office’ and carefully locked the door again behind him. The deadbolt had given him about as much trouble as the last one. He found the light switch and saw he was in a big, cavernous room, about fifty feet by fifty. There was a massive oak desk against one wall, with a computer, monitor and telephone on the surface. Three director’s chairs surrounded it. Another one behind it. That was all. The rest of the room was empty. Every movement of Bishop’s caused a minor echo. He looked up and saw eight circular lights. And no sprinkler.
How about that
?

He checked the time. 00.53. Three minutes left before the guard, Lane, reported in. If he hadn’t already.

Bishop walked behind the desk and moved the chair out of the way. This would be the best place to put it. Where nobody was likely to discover it by mistake. He knelt down and studied the carpet tiles. They were about twenty-four inches by twenty-four. He took the Ka-Bar knife from his ankle holster and inserted it in the one of the cracks and lifted a little. He levered the rest of the tile up with his fingers and put it to one side. Underneath was standard concrete flooring.

It took five more tiles until he found the trapdoor. Bishop smiled. The steel panel was exactly the same size as the tile above and perfectly flush with the floor. The surface was featureless except for two recessed hinges on the left and a quarter-inch hole on the right of centre, about a half-inch deep. He got up and stepped over to the desk. There were two large drawers at each end. The first one he tried was unlocked. It was also empty. He tried the second drawer, but this one was locked. He had it open in less than five seconds.

It was full of keys, like Neeson said. Mostly car keys from the looks of it. There was a strip of white plastic attached to each key ring with a vehicle make and licence number written in marker. Only the keys for the limo were missing. But he kept sifting through until he found what he was looking for. A five-inch long iron key with a triangular handle and a rectangular-shaped end. The kind of tool used to prise open light-duty manhole covers. Or trapdoors set in the floor. He’d expected Hallaran would keep a spare. The man was nothing if not thorough.

Bishop went back, inserted it into the hole and turned it clockwise until it clicked into place. He then pulled the trapdoor all the way open until it rested against the floor. He also saw a large locking bar connected to the inner part of the door, allowing it to be opened and locked from the inside.

Inside, there was a steel stepladder leading down to a narrow, makeshift clearing seven or eight feet below. Bishop took out his Maglite, descended a few steps and shone it around the interior. It was a tunnel. Or the starting point for one.

Hallaran’s personal escape route.

Like he’d suspected. A thorough man would always have a Plan B in case everything went down the crapper. One only he knew about. And this was Hallaran’s.

The tunnel was about five feet wide and pointing north, with concrete foundation pillars every few feet. The Maglite only let him see so much before darkness took over. But it probably led to a grille somewhere beyond the perimeter fencing. No doubt safely camouflaged from accidental discovery. Bishop also saw three heavy-duty flashlights and a large plastic water jug on the ground. And one other item: a bright orange, twelve-gauge flare gun with a spare cartridge affixed to the side.

Bishop took the flare gun and came back up. It all made sense now. Everything. Including this. He was just confirming it was loaded when he caught sight of his watch. It was 00.56 already.

Shit
. He was out of time. He had to get to Vallejo, fast.

Then he heard the sound of a key in the door.

Bishop moved quickly, edging along the wall until he was halfway along. He was side on to the door, which meant they’d have to enter the room before they saw him. Bishop heard the key turn in the lock and cocked the flare gun’s firing pin. Aimed the flare gun at the door.

The door opened part of the way and a man wearing a light blue shirt and jeans stepped into the room. The same man Bishop had seen in the kitchen. His eyes landed on Bishop and he immediately reached for his shoulder holster.

Bishop pulled the trigger. There was a brief flash, accompanied by a sharp
pft
sound, and then the flare was embedded in the man’s chest. He fell back against the wall making ‘uh, uh’ sounds, while his hands scrabbled for purchase on the incandescent, 1100-degree candle burning though his shirt. Dropping the gun, Bishop sprinted forward, closing the distance in less than a second. He gripped the sides of the guard’s skull in both hands and violently twisted it clockwise until he heard the snap.

The man immediately went limp. Bishop checked his pulse and felt nothing. After a few more seconds the flare went out, too.

Bishop breathed out.
So much for making plans
, he thought. Still, they were a man down now. Two, if you counted Abraham. Three, if you counted Ryan, currently bound and gagged in his bathroom.

Bishop got up and shut the door. Then he came back and searched the man’s pockets. The billfold contained a driver’s licence for Patrick Baldwin, one of the rapists Neeson had name-checked at the gate. He put it back and pulled the gun from the holster. It was a black Walther PPS. Looked fairly new. He ejected the magazine and counted fifteen rounds. The holster also held a spare magazine, so he took that, too. And the Midland two-way radio attached to his belt. Then Bishop got up and dragged Baldwin along the floor and dropped the body through the trapdoor. He closed it up and slipped the key into his pocket, reloaded and pocketed the flare gun, then ran to the door.

He opened it a crack, heard nothing, and slipped out. Crouching as he passed the comms room window, he heard the guard in there speaking to somebody on the radio. The plane had to be close to landing now. He checked his watch again. 00.59. He didn’t have much time. He checked the main corridor was clear and dashed across.

Standing in front of the door to Abraham’s apartment, he carefully slid the latches across. After using the pick gun on the lock, Bishop opened the door and quickly entered the room.

The lights were on in here, too. He saw Vallejo sitting on the couch. A woman with the same face as the one in Tatem’s photos sat in an adjoining chair. Both were looking at him. Bishop raised a single finger to his lips as he shut the door, then Vallejo was up off the couch and jogging over to him, a grin plastered over her face.

‘Unbelievable,’ she said, slowly shaking her head. ‘I could actually kiss you right now, Bishop. On the lips.’

‘Better not,’ he said, ‘you’d only regret it later.’ He turned to the other woman, who was coming over to join them. ‘You’re Patricia Tatem?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘How did you get in here? What—?’

‘No time for explanations,’ he interrupted. ‘We’re up against it. You both ready to move?’

‘You bet your ass we are,’ Vallejo said.

Bishop nodded and handed her Baldwin’s Walther and the spare magazine. ‘That makes thirty rounds, including one in the chamber.’ Vallejo pocketed the spare, still grinning, while Bishop took the fully loaded .38 Special from a jacket pocket and showed it to Patricia. ‘This is your husband’s. He ever teach you how to use it?’

She gave a tight smile. ‘More like
I
taught
him
.’

‘Excellent,’ Bishop said. He’d been right about her. Tough as nails. He handed her the gun. ‘Just don’t get trigger happy. Use as a last resort only.’

‘I understand. So are we leaving now?’

He shook his head. ‘Not without the other women. Apparently, there are seven more locked in their rooms, including Selina. Vallejo, I assume you know what this is about now.’

‘Yeah, Patricia filled me in on what this place is. So what’s the plan?’

Bishop passed her the sketch Neeson had made and pointed to their current location. ‘This is us. The numbered rooms are where the women are held, except for 8 and 9, which are both vacant. So to start with, you’ll need to wake them up and drag them back here in batches. There’s no telling how they’ll react after being doped up for so long, so Patricia, you’ll need to stay with them so they don’t freak out.’

‘Okay,’ she said.

Vallejo frowned at the map. ‘No. 7’s easy, but what about these ones at the other end?’

‘Well, Selina’s in No. 3, so you won’t be able to do anything until they’ve taken her out to meet the buyer. His plane’s coming in now. Then you’ll just have to gather the rest, somehow, and bring them back to join the others.’

‘While avoiding the armed goons,’ Vallejo said.

‘It might not be too bad. The head man, Hallaran, is short-staffed now, so they’ll all be busy preparing for the plane’s arrival. That’s the theory, anyway.’ On the map, he pointed at the hangar’s east wall and said, ‘The good news is there’s a passageway along here that runs the length of the hangar, so you can access those rooms without going down the main central corridor.’

Bishop turned to Patricia. Pointing at the office diagonally opposite the room they were in, he said, ‘This is where you want to take the first group of women. There’s a steel trapdoor by the desk that leads down to Hallaran’s personal escape tunnel.’ He gave her the key. ‘This opens it, and there’s a locking bar on the other side. You’ll also find the body of one of the guards down there, so you better take a bed sheet to cover it with.’

Vallejo looked at him. ‘You’ve been busy.’

‘Idle hands,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Patricia, once you get yourself and those women down in that tunnel, you wait for Vallejo and the rest. Arrange a code so that you’ll recognize her when she knocks. Otherwise, keep it locked. Once you’re all together, follow it to the end and out. I don’t know where it leads, but it’ll be better than here.’

‘
If
everything goes as planned,’ Vallejo said. ‘So where will you be during all this?’

‘Going after Selina. She’s the main reason I’m here, remember?’

Vallejo snorted. ‘What? All on your own?’

‘Don’t worry about me.’ From his windbreaker pocket, Bishop pulled out one of the flash drives and a spare cell phone he’d brought along. ‘Keep these safe. If you get into trouble and need to contact me, just speed dial one. I’ll try to—’

Just then, the two-way radio in Bishop’s pocket crackled to life. He brought it out as a voice said, ‘
Grieco, status report
.’ Bishop recognized it immediately. Hallaran.

A deep, baritone voice came back: ‘
Just got off the radio with the pilot, sir. He said he sees the lights and estimated they’ll be on the ground in three minutes or less
.’

‘
Good. You’d better go now if you’re going to meet them
.’

‘
Yes, sir. Out.
’

Perfect. Bishop turned the volume down and said, ‘That’s my cue. Remember, if it comes down to the wire, shoot to kill. ’Cause they’ll do the same to you.’

‘I won’t forget,’ Vallejo said and touched his arm. ‘You be careful, huh?’

‘You too,’ he said and jogged over to the door. He opened it and peered left. Six seconds later, he heard the sound of another door opening and pulled his head back. When he heard footsteps getting fainter, he peered round again. He saw a stocky, well-muscled man in a baseball cap marching down the corridor towards the garage door. He wore one of those nylon hip holsters on his right side and was twirling a key ring around his finger.

Grieco. The man from the comms room.