No Way Out (35 page)

66

R
eid stood over the computer, watching the train’s progress as it moved along the rudimentary blue and white electronic map. He hoped the tracks were switched properly to take Vail and DeSantos to the easternmost station, which, if he remembered correctly, was the Whitechapel mail facility.

As he studied one of the monitors, he heard a noise coming from the lift area.

But there wasn’t anyone else down here.

He made his way out of the control room and was met by a dozen armed men from CO19’s SFO unit—Specialist Firearms Officers. Decked out in Kevlar body armor and black PRO-TEC assault helmets, they approached with Glock-17s in hand, their frame-mounted red lasers trained on his torso.

“Get down!” the lead officer said. “Down on the ground.”

“What in bloody hell’s going on?”

“Do you have any weapons?” he asked, his tone stern and forceful.

“Do you know who I am?”

“DCI Reid. Yes sir, we know who you are. Now get down on the ground and interlock your fingers behind your head. You know the deal. Don’t make me shoot you.”

“Bollocks,” Reid said as he dropped to his knees. Bluff and bluster was not going to work with these men.

Two officers shoved him prone and then applied handcuffs, while another walked into the control room.

“Name’s Billingsley. And I don’t have to tell you that I need to know where they are.”

Reid lifted his head. “Who?”

“Look,” Billingsley said, pulling off his goggles, “don’t insult me. We’ve got Cruz and Vail on CCTV entering the Mail Railway with you twelve minutes ago.”

The officer poked her head from the control room. “Clear.”

Billingsley turned to Reid. “Are they on the train?”

Reid nodded.

“Cut the power to the tracks and tunnels,” he said to the officer.

A moment later, they heard a loud click. “Track control relays and circuit breakers for the track blocks are down,” she said.

Billingsley nodded. “You’re already in a heap of trouble, Reid. Tell me where they went.”

“Mount Pleasant. That’s all I know.”

“Why?”

“Can’t be tracked down here.”

Billingsley activated his radio. “Mount Pleasant. Send an ARV. Over.”

Dispatch acknowledged his call.

“All right, get him up,” Billingsley said. When his men lifted Reid to eye level, Billingsley got in his face and said, “I have no idea what motivated you to aid and abet terrorists, Inspector. But it’s something you’ll regret, that much I promise you.”

Reid could not help but laugh. He had experienced a lot of feelings regarding Vail and DeSantos during the past several days, but regret was not one of them.

67

T
he train swayed as it rattled through the tunnel. Vail guessed they had another six miles to go, but as her car passed under the occasional overhead light, she wished she knew their intervals, in distance. She could then count them and figure out how close they were to reaching the end—and forget she was holed away in a metal coffin hurtling through darkness.

After coming around a gentle curve, there was a lurch and the train ground to an abrupt halt.

Vail struggled to push herself up onto her knees, to get a look around. “What the hell was that?”

There was a ruffling sound as DeSantos pushed aside the top covering his car.

“It’s totally dark. Power go down?”

“Looks like it,” he said. “C’mon. I don’t like this.”

Vail climbed out and onto the rough, graveled ground beside the tracks. She activated the flashlight on her phone and moved it in an arc to get a bearing on their location. “Middle of goddamn nowhere.”

“Yeah. Let’s continue in the direction we were headed. No idea how far we got, but there’s gotta be some kind of emergency hatch.”

“Nice thought,” Vail said as they set off along the track. “But this thing only carried mail. Why would they need an emergency hatch?”

“Then a maintenance panel. Anything that’ll get us out of here.”

“I’m all for that.”

They walked through the tunnel, its cement and steel-skeleton walls varying in texture, but largely featuring a honeycomb pattern. Cabling and conduit, black from a thick mixture of soot, dirt, and grease, ran along the sides of the tunnel and continued into the distance as far as their weak flashlights could reach.

DeSantos’s light passed over Vail’s face and he stopped her. “You okay? You’re sweating, and it’s cold in here.”

“I’m fine. It’s just the tunnel.”
And the claustrophobia. And the anxiety.
“Let’s keep going. I—we—have to get out of here.”

They continued for another few minutes when Vail focused her light on what appeared to be an access pane in the ceiling, directly above the tracks. “Got something.”

DeSantos came up alongside her and reached up to get a look. There was an iron handle protruding from the bottom. He pulled, then pushed, but it did not budge.

“Give it a twist,” she said.

He rotated his wrist and the panel moved with the kind of scratchy, metal-on-metal scraping squeal when two iron parts that have not been lubricated in years are forced to pass over one another. After a dozen full turns, it came loose and nearly smacked him in the head. “Heavier than I thought.” Rust flecks floated down across his face. He shooed them away.

Vail shined her light up into the abyss and saw, in the dim illumination, a narrow tunnel with protruding rungs, a space not much greater than the width of DeSantos’s shoulders.

“Uh, that’s not gonna work.”

“You go first,” he said, ignoring her. “I’ll give you a boost.”

“Hector, I can’t—”

He took his face in her hands. “You can and you will. I know this is tough. Think of it as a way to desensitize yourself.”

“Thinking’s not the problem. I can’t
think
this stupid phobia away.”

“Fair enough. But you’re going up into that shaft.” He interlaced his fingers and created a step for her.

“The tunnel’s bad enough, but this tube is—It’s like my worst fear. It—It reminds me of when I was held prisoner behind that closet. I—”

“Karen, I’m here with you. We’re going to do this together. But we have to
do
it. We don’t have a choice.”

“But—”

“I don’t know why the electricity went down, do you?”

She shrugged. “I just assumed it was a power failure. The system’s old; it’s not being used.”

“Or CO19 knows we’re here and they shut it off. Now if that’s the case, they could be on us in minutes. We can’t stay here.”

Damnit, he’s right.

DeSantos gestured toward his cupped hands.

Vail hesitated a second, took a deep breath to calm herself, then lifted her right foot into his artificial step. He lifted her swiftly and efficiently, right into the mouth of the shaft.

She grabbed onto metal rungs that jutted out from the side of the tube. And she ascended into the dark void.

68

“I
see something,” Uzi said.

Rodman disconnected his call before anyone could answer. He leaned forward to examine the dark skies. Pinpoints of light were clearly visible in the distance. “You think that’s our guy?”

“At 2:30 in the morning, there’s no other small, low-flying aircraft around for dozens of miles. I think there’s a good chance.”

“What do you want to do? Head for the Thames or divert?”

Rodman clenched his fingers around the control stick. “GQ and Vail are waiting for us.”

“Does this thing have a weapons system?” Uzi asked.

“Used to have only a .50-cal machine gun mount on the rear ramp. But they’re retrofitting the fleet with remote-controlled 7.62 millimeter miniguns. It’s called something like an interim defensive system—defensive
weapon s
ystem, that’s it. The IDWS. I think I saw the targeting eye on the belly when I was dropping the chains.”

“Try your RAF contact. If he doesn’t answer, we’re going for it. If that’s the crop duster, we’ve gotta take it down before it can deploy the ricin.”

Rodman pulled his phone. “I’ve only got one bar.” He dialed, waited while it rang, and shook his head.

“Okay,” Uzi said, “let’s do this.”

“Roger. Give me a heading.”

Before Uzi could respond, a light turned yellow on the control panel and began flashing.

“No way,” Rodman said.

“We’re low on fuel?”

Rodman slammed his fist on the armrest. “Goddamn it. It was on the flightline for maintenance, they probably hadn’t gassed it up yet.”

“But Trip said—”

“He was wrong. What do you want me to say? That we’re in the shit? Because we are.”

“How long you think we’ve got?”

“Don’t know. But that warning light’s like the one in your car: when it goes on, we’re near the bottom of the tank. What do you want to do? We’re not even sure it’s a crop duster.”

“If we divert to take out this plane—assuming we’re right and it’s our aerosolized ricin—we may not have enough gas to pick up Santa and Karen and make our rendezvous.”

“We may not have enough as it is,” Rodman said. “Veering off course could seal the deal. Every drop counts. Literally.”

Uzi stared off into the distance at the small craft’s taillights. If they did not shoot down that crop duster…how many would die? He was not sure, but he knew it would be significant. Ten thousand? Twenty? Did the number matter?

On the other hand, if they shot down the plane, the extra fuel they used might force them to land before they made it out of the UK. They would be arrested, and they might never see freedom again.

“It’s your call, Uzi. But every second we delay—”

“Shoot the bastard down. We’ll take our chances with the fuel.”

Rodman shook his head. “Hope you’re right. Heading?”

Uzi provided it, Rodman made the adjustments, and the plane banked right and increased airspeed. At 230 knots, they would be at an intercept point in two minutes.

Uzi unbuckled his belt. “I’ll go get ready.”

“The weapons system looks like an Xbox controller with a color monitor. Think you can figure it out?”

Uzi moved out of the cockpit and into the rear compartment. “Did you really ask me that?”

“Sorry. Lost my head for a minute.”

Uzi settled himself in the seat and examined the system. “Forward-looking infrared and 28x zoom. Sweet.”

“Let me know when we’re good to go, I’m going to take us in as close as possible to get a look at that plane.”

“If it’s a crop duster,” Uzi said as he took the controller in his hands, “it’s going down, agreed? No other good reason for one of these to be up this time of night.”

“Roger that.”

Behind him, the million dollar weapon pod deployed below the fuselage, unfolding and running through a self-diagnostic. “Just about ready to engage. We’re over open fields, no houses in sight. Now would be a good time.”

Rodman brought them behind the craft and cut back on his forward thrust. “Definitely a crop duster. An Air Tractor 802, if I’m not mistaken. She’s a beauty, pity we have to destroy it.”

Uzi focused on the monitor, tracking the plane on the targeting sensor. “Bring us up and alongside. Looks like I need a thirty degree shooting angle to clear the rotors.”

“Copy.”

The Osprey rose and Uzi moved his left thumb on the controller, remotely adjusting the minigun’s barrel. The screen displayed the green hue of the crop duster’s aft as they came up alongside it. “Firing on your mark.”

“And…mark.”

Uzi depressed the trigger mechanism and a trail of bright red light exploded forth into the darkness. A second later, the rounds struck the AT-802, pumping holes into its skin. He couldn’t see the impact, but the crop duster veered sharply to the right and rapidly lost altitude.

“Piece of cake. Just like Call of Duty,” Uzi said, referring to the Xbox game.

“Really?” Rodman asked.

“No. Much more satisfying.” Uzi unbuckled and returned to the copilot’s seat, where he watched the small craft disappear from the sky. He threw a switch on the panel and leaned back in his chair. “Get us back on course.”

69

V
ail kept moving hand over hand, pulling herself higher, trying to focus on the task. Somewhere seventy feet above her, in the pitch darkness, was the end of the shaft. She did not know what they would find when they got there—nor did she want to consider the possibilities. God forbid there was a sealed or locked lid. Would they be staring at a CO19 team of armed officers?

Stop it. Keep going up.

Behind her, a voice in the darkness: DeSantos, chatting her up, trying to take her mind off the tight quarters.

She blinked away the beads of perspiration rolling down her forehead and into her eyes. Whatever it was—the physical exertion of the climb, the stress of being trapped in a narrow cylinder, or the temperature of the tube itself—her entire body was coated in sweat.

“Is it hot in here, or is it me?”

“Definitely you. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that before.”

“Huh?” She paused with her hand in midair, the comment finally registering. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

He waited for her to lift her foot before grabbing for the same step. “I wasn’t joking. But this is exactly the time to have a laugh, don’t you think? Reduces stress, keeps you sharp.”

Vail reached up for the next rung—and her hand hit something hard: some kind of metal plate. “I think we’re there.” She felt around to get a sense of the size of the obstruction barring her escape from this claustrophobic’s nightmare. “It’s big—kind of feels like a square manhole cover. Can you reach your light?”

DeSantos slowly removed his phone. Taking care not to let it slip from his slick hand, he shone the beam as best he could toward the top. “Looks heavy, like a hunk of iron.” He shut the handset and shoved it in his pocket. “Think you can push it up?”

“Doubt it.”

“Give it a good shove, see if you can get some movement. Let’s just make sure it’s not locked down. I’ll hold your legs in place. Use two hands.”

Vail pushed overhead, grunted, then gave it another shove. The cover shifted slightly. “This thing weighs a ton. I got it to move a bit, but there’s no way I’m going to lift it off. You’re gonna have to do it.”

“Karen, there’s barely enough room for you to get through. How can both of us fit? And we can’t trade places unless we go all the way back down and start over.”

“Not gonna happen,” Vail said. “You have to get up here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, DeSantos said, “Fine, I’m coming up. Hold on and make sure your feet are stable.”

DeSantos flinched as he lifted himself, scraping his back along the concrete wall of the shaft. If his foot or hand slipped off the rungs, he would likely not survive the seventy foot fall as he plummeted down the narrow tube, smashing his head on not only the iron bars but the rough cement.

He pushed himself up, his face resting against Vail’s thigh as he repositioned his body. “Okay, I’m ready. I’m gonna have to come up in front of you, and reach behind you for the rungs. Don’t move.”

Where the hell am I going to go?

DeSantos grunted and reached between her legs, got a firm hold on the handle, and then shifted his weight and brought his foot up to the next tier. He moved his hand and—

“Hector, that’s my crotch.”

“Don’t move. The sweat’s pouring down my face, getting in my eyes, and I don’t want to lose my grip.”

“Fine. Wipe your face on my pants.”

DeSantos was pinned and had a difficult time moving his hands. He turned his face left and right, Vail’s damp cotton pants absorbing most of the perspiration and clearing his field of vision.

“Another time,” he said, “I might’ve found that enjoyable.”

“Shut up and finish.”

“That’s what my wife says.”

He pushed himself up and came face-to-face with Vail. Their cheeks were touching, his beard stubble rubbing against her smooth, sweaty skin. The wall behind him kept his head pinned where it was.

“I’m gonna bring my arms up to see if I can get that cover off. When I remove my hands and start pushing on that lid, I’m probably going to lose my balance. I need you to put your arms around me, hold me in place. Can you do that?”

“I can do that.” Vail removed one hand and slid it behind his waist, followed, slowly, by the other.

“Okay. Here I go. Don’t let me fall.”

“I got your back, don’t worry.”

“Is that a joke?” he asked as he carefully shifted his hands above his head.

“Just sayin’. You’ve got mine, I’ve got yours.”

DeSantos pushed up on the metal lid. “Finally.”
Grunt—
“Glad to see—”
grunt
—“you’ve—”
grunt
—“come around.”

“Shut up and focus.”

He yelled, then shoved the side of the cover as hard as he could. It moved a couple of inches. He slid the fingers of his right hand through the slim opening and further angled the edge up onto the surface above. “I can see some light. Not a whole lot, but—”

“It’s dark out.”

“Right.”

He twisted his torso as much as he could, his chest rotating into Vail’s breasts and compressing her ribcage, making it difficult for her to breathe.

She heard the scrape of metal on the hard substrate above her, and she knew that they were seconds away from climbing out—to freedom, unencumbered space, and fresh air.

DeSantos gave the lid a final shove and it moved enough to create a sufficient opening. “Go ahead. Hands first. Move them back onto the rungs, and I’ll give your rump a boost out.”

“I think I’ve had enough of your body parts touching enough of
my
body parts for one night. I can climb out of here without your help. I’ve got plenty of motivation.”

Two minutes later, with the lid back in place and abrasions crisscrossing their arms, they were standing in the middle of a street. “I think I know where we are,” he said. “Not far from Covent Garden. We need a cab.”

“Cameras?”

“Across the street. Keep your back to them, and walk this way.” He took her hand and led her down the block, and then pulled her into a dark alcove. “We’ll wait here. Hopefully a taxi will come by soon.”

“We’re supposed to avoid cabs.”

“If I’m right, it’s a five minute ride. And I hate to keep saying this, but we’ve got no choice.”

A couple of minutes later, Vail saw the familiar shape of a black cab approaching. She stuck her arm out and flagged it down. “You sure about this?”

“We’ve got to get to the river, and we don’t stand a chance on the streets.” The car pulled up in front of them and they met it at the curb. “Get in, I’ve got an idea.” He pulled the door open.

As DeSantos settled into the seat, he directed the driver to the Embankment tube station.

Vail wanted to add, “And step on it,” but she didn’t want them getting pulled over for a traffic violation. Besides, on such a short trip, speeding might, at best, gain them mere seconds.

“So what’s your idea?” she asked.

DeSantos grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her close, then brought his lips against hers.

She pushed against his chest. “What the hell are—”

“Shut up and kiss me,” he said by her ear. “No one can see our faces if we’re kissing, not even the CCTV’s facial recognition software. And it looks perfectly normal.”

“Robby’s going to kill you for this.”

“You know, that’s very medieval,” he said as he kissed her lips. “That a man has to fight for his woman. Still, I don’t think he’ll be upset.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. He’ll thank me for keeping you alive.” He pulled back a bit, then kissed her on the lips again.

It was a quick ride, as DeSantos had said.

When the driver pulled up to the Embankment Underground, he said, “Station’s still closed, that bombing—”

“No worries. We’re good here.” He gestured at the Costa café. “Guess we’ll have some coffee and dessert first.”

The driver craned his neck to get a look at the coffee shop. “It closed hours ago.”

DeSantos laughed. “So it did.”

Vail paid the man with the last of her pounds and they got out, shielding their faces with a hand, as Reid had suggested.

“We’ve gotta get across the bridge, and then we can get hold of a boat.”

They climbed the Hungerford Bridge’s wide staircase and headed out onto the walkway.

“I feel very vulnerable. There’s no one else around. We kind of stand out like a red elephant.”

“I’ve got no idea where the cameras are, so we’re blind. Assume they’re everywhere. Cup your hands in front of your mouth and nose, like you’re blowing on them.”

Vail pulled her coat a bit tighter around her chest. “I was going to do that anyway. It’s goddamn cold out here.” As she said that, a light rain began to fall.

Terrific. On the water, in the winter. And in the rain
.
Sounds like fun.

“I’m going to hang back,” DeSantos said, “so it doesn’t look like we’re together. They’re looking for a couple.”

As they crossed the apex of the bridge, a constable passed, headed in the opposite direction. Vail nodded at him and he lingered on her face a bit, but gave her a wink and continued on.

It got her heart going at a gallop, but—

“Hey!”

Oh shit
.

Vail turned to see the cop aiming a Taser at her.

DeSantos grabbed him from behind and yanked back, the darts deploying into dead air. He hooked the inside of his elbow against the man’s neck, applying intense pressure and holding it. The officer tried to resist, but DeSantos was prepared for whatever countermeasures the constable could manage. Seconds later, the man sank to the ground, unconscious.

DeSantos tossed the Taser aside and found flexcuffs on the copper’s utility belt. He pulled them around his wrists and sat him up against the wall of the bridge.

“Let’s get out of here. I have no idea if they patrol in pairs.”

A minute later, they were across the Thames and headed down the staircase toward the Riverside Walk promenade and pier. Ahead of them, the futuristic London Eye Ferris wheel rose into the night sky.

“Now we go shopping for a boat,” Vail said. “Any ideas?”

DeSantos peered into the darkness. “Kind of like what I was looking for when I bought my ’vette. A convertible. Fast and sporty.”