Mason put the gun back in his belt and climbed up the ladder to the cab. What the hell, he thought. Maybe they left the keys in this thing. But there were no keys. And he had no idea how to operate it, anyway. He jumped back down to the ground.
As he looked back, he couldn’t see any trace of the entrance anymore. He’d been swallowed by the earth.
“Nick!”
It was all he heard from the Bluetooth. He was starting to lose the signal.
“Here.”
“Can’t see . . . Bad light . . .”
Shit, Mason thought, looking down the tunnel. A faint ring of light, then full dark. Another ring, then full dark. No matter what kind of scope Eddie’s got, how do you see to the other end?
But I’m not letting him get any closer. This is my war, not his.
Mason walked through another puddle of cold water, saw another shadow, this time high along the right side of the circle. As he got closer, he saw that the wall had been cut away and a flight of metal stairs had been set into the rock. He climbed the stairs and went along a catwalk until it came to a door. It was thick metal, with a large wheel in the center, like the door of a submarine. He tried turning it but it wouldn’t budge.
He went back down the stairs to the ground. He took a few breaths to reset himself, the air even thicker here, so wet and filled with the smell of limestone it was like drinking mineral water.
“Where the fuck are you?” he said out loud. His voice disappeared into the void, bouncing off the rock walls and echoing in both directions.
He took off the headset and yelled, “Where the fuck are you?”
Not a smart thing to do, but he didn’t care anymore. He’d come too far. It was too dark in here and Eddie would have to get too close for any kind of shot. Mason’s feet were now completely numb and he was choking on the thick air. He knew he’d never have any advantage on these men no matter what he did. They knew he was coming. They’d see him long before he got close. There was no surprise. They were probably wearing their tactical vests, too. They’d be fools if they weren’t.
No match for Eddie’s rifle, but any body mass shot from Mason’s M9 would be blocked by the Kevlar.
So all they have to do is wait for him. Then gun him down.
If that’s the way they wanted to do it.
Mason thought about it. Maybe they don’t do it that way, he said to himself. Maybe I’ve got one slim chance.
“I’m right here!” he yelled, hearing the words echo again. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
He waited. He listened. Finally, he heard a voice.
“Down here, Mason! Walk slowly! Hands on your head!”
The words reverberated and could have come from either direction, but he knew they had to be coming from up ahead.
You already made your first mistake, Mason thought. You just proved to me you’re gonna do this like a cop.
He put the Bluetooth back in his ear and the gun in his belt, left hip, handle forward. He started walking again. He heard more water seeping down the walls, felt a fine spray of drops hitting his face. A chill ran down his back.
You’re cops, he thought as he moved forward from one dim ring of light to the next.
Dirty cops, clean cops—you are all still cops.
And I know cops.
He saw the slight flicker of a shadow in the distance ahead of him. It was impossible to know how far ahead—three lights, a dozen lights—but there was something up there. He kept moving.
The shadow grew as he continued on. It became bigger and then split into two separate shadows. Mason again shook out his hands to release the tension from his body. He took in deep breaths of the cold, wet air.
In. Out. Breathe. Heart rate down.
As he walked through one more passage of complete darkness, he reached over with his right hand and adjusted the gun on his hip.
Right here. Exactly right here.
He was surprised they hadn’t stopped him yet. Surely they could see him as he stepped under the next light. But nobody said a word. Nobody moved except Mason.
Forward. Forward. Shoes splashing through another icy puddle. He couldn’t feel anything. It was all motion. Reaction.
“I said hands on your head!”
The unmistakable voice of a cop. This is how he’d been trained. He’s done it this way a thousand times. Even if he’s a fucking mile below the ground, getting ready to gun down a man in cold blood, he’s still gonna do it the same way.
It’s a routine to him. It’s practically hardcoded into the man’s DNA. He’ll tell Mason to turn around next. To keep his hands on his head. To walk backward toward him until he’s close enough. Then to get down on his knees.
“Hear them,” said the voice in his ear, the signal almost gone. “I’m coming . . .”