The Dark Hour (26 page)

According to Dumas, they had five minutes before the watchmen changed shifts. While he went to work on the Hilliard rooftop building entrance, Sydney walked to the balustrade and looked down to the street below. It seemed an eternity before she raised her hand, signaling that one guard was entering and the other exiting. He opened the door. She hurried over, being careful not to slip, stepped in, and he followed, pulling the door shut. They waited, not moving until they were certain no one was rushing up the stairs to come after them. If so, they figured they had a better chance to escape via the roof rather than be trapped in a staircase.

Finally, when their sight had adjusted and they felt certain no alarm had been tripped, he said, “Let’s go.”

He flicked his light on, then off, giving them a quick view of the staircase, narrow, steep. Guns drawn, they descended slowly, pausing to listen every now and then. The office they needed was accessed on the ground floor, and when they reached that level, Griffin held out his hand, stopping her to listen for the guards.

According to Dumas’s intel, the office with the computer access was three doors down and to the left. It was locked. They didn’t dare use a flashlight, not here on the ground floor on the same level as the guards, and so they moved slow, Sydney running her hand along the wall undoubtedly to keep her balance and perspective. When they reached the third door, they stopped, and Griffin holstered his gun. While Sydney stood guard, her weapon trained toward the front, Griffin examined the door, using a tiny LED light, no bigger than a half dollar, checking for a secondary alarm system, before turning his attention to the bright brass dead bolt. LED in one hand, he took his lock pick set from his pocket, flipped it open. He used his thumb to slide up the picks he needed, pulling them out the rest of the way with his mouth, handing the case to Sydney. She shoved it in her pocket, then held his light for him.

It took him a couple of minutes to work the pick, teasing it until it unlocked, because the lock was new, more difficult. He slid the picks he’d used in his top pocket, then drew his gun, before opening the door. They stepped in and he locked it from the inside.

The room had no windows, an advantage to avoid being seen from the outside, but not so good from the inside. Any significant light would show beneath the door, giving them away, and he made a quick survey of the room, seeing a jacket hanging from the back of a chair. He pulled it off, then shoved it into the base of the door to keep the light from shining through to the outside. Flicking on the wall switch, he tucked the LED in his pocket, then immediately moved to the computer at the desk, while Sydney started searching the file cabinet, flipping through countless file folders.

He inserted the thumb drive into the USB port, then woke the computer. It was locked with a password. Unfortunately, no one had anticipated this most basic of operations.

Sydney turned her attention to the calendar on the desk, pointing. “ ‘Dispersal P/DC.’ Whatever they’re dispersing it’s listed for tomorrow.”

And before either of them had a chance to ponder the significance of what P/DC might mean, or come up with a viable password for the computer, they heard heavy footsteps outside the door, then the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock.

Griffin drew his weapon, aiming it toward the door as it swung open. A moment later the room was flooded with a light so bright it blinded him. He squinted, tried to see past it.

“Put down your gun,” came a deep voice with its cultured French accent. “There is no escape. My men are carrying high-powered automatic rifles. Your weapons on the floor,
s’il vous plaît
, then slide them over.”

Griffin glanced at Sydney, then slowly bent down, placing his gun on the linoleum tiles. Sydney did the same.

They had no choice. Better this than instant death, and he used his foot to slide his weapon toward the doorway.

“Search them.”

Two armed guards entered, both carrying semiautos, as well as long guns strapped to their backs. The shorter of the two kept his gun pointed at them, while the other kicked both weapons out the door, then approached Griffin, patting him down first before doing the same to Sydney. He removed Griffin’s lock pick set from Sydney’s pocket, opened it, then tossed it on the desk. “No weapons,” he said in French.

The blinding light was shut off, and a man Griffin recognized from intel reports, Luc Montel, stepped into view. He was tall, with gray hair, dressed in a suit, the shirt collar open. He eyed the monitor, then the flash drive in the computer tower. “I presume that is the reason for your presence?” he asked. “What were you looking for?”

“It’s not ours.”

Luc took a gun from one of the guards and aimed it at Griffin. “
What
were you looking for?”

Griffin said nothing.

Luc pointed the gun toward Sydney, while keeping his gaze on Griffin.

And Sydney said, “Proof. Computer files.”

“Proof of what?” When neither answered, Luc nodded toward the guard, whose gun he took. “See what they’ve got, Arnaud.”

The guard stepped forward, typed something on the keyboard, undoubtedly the password Griffin had needed. He prayed the guard wouldn’t recognize the file.

Griffin kept his gaze on Luc, hoping to keep his attention fixed, saying, “There’s nothing on there.”

“Indeed. Arnaud?”

“It contains a file.”

“Open it.”

He heard two clicks as the guard maneuvered the mouse to access the flash drive. “It doesn’t open.”

Griffin glanced at the screen, saw nothing happening. They’d failed. Even so, he wasn’t about to announce their attempt at downloading the virus to Hilliard’s computer. “As I said, there was nothing on there. We didn’t have the password to copy any files.”

“Apparently our security efforts work,” Luc said. “Now what to do with the two of you . . .”

The guard who searched them said in French, “It will be difficult to smuggle two bodies. And DNA if we kill them here.”

“True,” Luc said. “What do you suggest?”

“To make it seem as though they came and went. Tie them up, and toss them below. Shoot them down there. It will be years before they are found, and their bones will be lost amongst the others.”

“Take care of it.” Luc looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have an important meeting I am expected at in a few hours.”

“What are you planning to do?” Griffin asked in English. No sense letting on that he understood every word.

“Is this that moment you get me to confess as a delaying tactic?” Luc gave an exaggerated sigh. “You realize this entire operation was a setup?” The words struck Griffin like a blow to his gut. His instinct had told him as much. Someone was using his dead wife to get to him. And Luc smiled, saying, “If truth be told, you’re much better off dying a slow death in the bunker. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must leave.” He returned the gun to the guard, then walked out of the room.

The first guard took out plastic ties often used by law enforcement for handcuffs. He walked up to Griffin first, saying, “Hands behind your back.” Anger surged through Griffin as he felt the cuffs being pulled tight.

The guard moved to Sydney, cuffed her, then pushed them both toward the door. Griffin stepped out into the hallway, quickly taking in the situation. Everything Luc said was true. They would’ve been killed before they ever made it out, he realized, as the guard gripped his arm, directing him down the hallway past the two other guards with automatic weapons standing on either side of the door.

One of the four guards led the way, another took up the rear, the remaining two each taking custody of Griffin and Sydney, guiding them down a back staircase. The lead guard unlocked the door at the bottom, holding it open so that everyone could pass through. It led into a long hallway that ran the length of the building, dimly lit overhead by a row of fluorescent lights that wavered in intensity as though about to burn out. The floor was tiled in dull gray linoleum, and their footsteps echoed as they walked toward a steel door at the end, its huge rivets testifying to its solid state. When they reached it, one of the guards took out a large key, the sort used in very old jails, and Griffin wondered if the door wasn’t a relic from World War II, opening to the underground bunker Luc had mentioned.

Griffin was half correct. The construction was definitely from that era, but it led to another staircase, again leading down. At the bottom, beneath a lone light bulb housed in a steel cage, was another door, the same construction as the last. The guards halted them at the top, and the lead guard descended alone, using the large key to unlock, then open the door at the bottom. It creaked as he pushed it flush to the wall, before returning to the top of the steps. “Take them into the bunker,” he said.

Griffin’s guard grabbed his arm, then Sydney’s, forcing them side-by-side down the staircase. At the bottom, he pulled them to a stop, saying, “Don’t move.”

The weak light spilled out into the cavern casting their shadows over more steps that descended about four feet into the darkness. Sydney stood stock-still beside him, her mouth hanging open as she viewed the cavern. “Oh my God . . .”

As Griffin’s eyes grew adjusted to the dark, a musty smell wafting in on the cool air, he realized there were thousands and thousands of skulls and bones stretching out at least eight feet in front of him, before dropping off into the blackness beyond. They were looking at part of the underground cemetery, the bone-filled catacombs, undoubtedly that part not accessed by the public on their tours.

Griffin craned his neck around, trying to see who was behind them.

“I said, don’t move,” the guard shouted.

Like hell. He looked at Sydney, mouthed the word
jump
. She looked down at the stairs, the chaos of bones, then nodded.

“Now!”

They flew out the door into the pitch black. Air rushed through his hair, and he landed with a clatter on his feet, then fell back, rolling to his side as he bumped and jarred his way down an avalanche of skeletons that echoed and rattled in his eardrums. His mouth and nostrils filled with dust as the bones continued to fall on top of him.

“Shoot them!” a guard called out in French.

The sound of automatic gunfire filled the cavern, sharp deafening cracks bouncing off the cavern walls.

“Are they dead?”

“There’s no light down there. How do I find them?”

“You idiot. Arnaud, get a light. Close that door. Do not give them the advantage.”

“What if they escape?”

“To where?” the other guard replied. “Those tunnels were closed off a long time ago. Hurry with that light. I want those two killed.”

Griffin heard the door slam with a loud clang that echoed down the tunnel walls.

And then dark and absolute silence.

Chapter 41

December 11

Washington, D.C.

C
arillo and Tex took a seat in the back of the room, while Izzy sat at the computer, all waiting for the moment when Griffin’s access to the lab’s computer system opened the door. Izzy’s fingers danced across the keyboard, his gaze glued to the screen. The only time he paused was to sip from a mug filled with black coffee and four sugars. Too sweet for Carillo’s taste, and the guy was already on his third cup. “Firewall’s still up,” Izzy said, tapping the cursor down the screen.

“Give ’em time,” Tex replied, looking at the clock. “Maybe they haven’t found the right room.”

“What if they can’t get to the computer?” Carillo asked.

Maddie, who was seated at a table near them, her head resting on her arms, eyes closed, looked up long enough to say, “Trust me. I’ve seen Izzy work. He could get in without them.”

“Maybe,” Izzy said. “After hours and hours. This way makes it easier. All we need is for someone to double click that file . . .”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t take hours,” Carillo replied, then nodded his head toward the far side of the room so that he and Tex could talk without being overheard. “What’re you planning on doing with these two when they’re done?”

“Safe house until we conclude the case.”

Carillo glanced at Maddie, who appeared to be dozing again. Her only fault was in having her picture on the wrong guy’s computer. Not that he had time to worry. There were too many facets to this case to feel sorry for any one person at the moment. “How about the reporter that ran that article in this morning’s paper?”

“Other than she seems to get the inside scoop on more stories than every reporter this side of the White House?” Tex replied.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Actually, I—”

“We’re in!” Izzy said. “Yeah!” He tapped away at the keys, his foot, his whole body bouncing as he worked. Apparently the caffeine was kicking in. “I was worried they wouldn’t be able to get into a computer to open the file and execute it. But they must have found one.”

Carillo walked over to the monitor to watch Izzy, while Tex pressed the button on his Bluetooth ear piece, opening a communication with Dumas. “They planted the computer virus,” he told Dumas. “So far so good . . .”

“You find anything, yet?” Carillo asked Izzy.

“Need a couple seconds to get around.”

Carillo waited, trying to follow, but Izzy opened and closed computer windows so fast, Carillo couldn’t keep up. He looked over at Tex. “Any word from Griffin yet?”

“Still too early. They’re not supposed to meet up with Dumas for another thirty. Clearly they succeeded.”

Carillo eyed the clock. He didn’t like waiting on this side of the action, not with Sydney out there facing things like double agents and viruses—the noncomputer type. She was competent, but some of this stuff was beyond her expertise and training. Hell, it was way beyond his, and he wasn’t sure he’d be out there doing the same thing. After about ten minutes, he realized he couldn’t stand the waiting. He had to do something besides watching Izzy clack away at the computer. “Any reason you need me to stick around? I was thinking of running a little background on that reporter.”