CHAPTER 56

THE DOOR OF THE octagonal elevator closed on Bree and Sampson, and the elevator dropped for close to fifteen seconds before it slowed to a stop.

Sampson figured they were at least a hundred and fifty feet below the abandoned metal building. The door slid back with a whoosh, revealing a massive bald guy in his early forties and a fit woman with short sandy-blond hair who looked to be in her late thirties. They were about ten feet away in a hall with rock walls. Both held pistols loosely aimed at them.

“My name’s Lucas Bean,” the man said in a clipped British accent. “This is my colleague Katrina White.”

White said in a Slavic accent, “You should know that the elevator and the interior and exterior doors are all biometrically controlled. You cannot open them. If you’re going to ignore that fact and be a problem, the restraints stay on. Will you be a problem, Chief Stone?”

Bree shook her head.

Bean looked at John. “What about you?”

“Not for the moment,” Sampson said.

“Fair enough,” Bean said, raising his gun. “Easy as you exit. Detective Sampson first.”

Sampson studied the bald man as he stepped toward him. The way Bean held his pistol and the way he stood—ankles and knees apart and flexed, his balance rolled toward the toes—said athlete to Sampson at the very least and likely a special forces operator of some sort.

White moved her gun off Bree and aimed at Sampson.

“Hands out,” Bean said.

John extended his wrists. Bean held his gun in his left hand, reached into the pocket of his pants with his right, and came up with a folding knife. He flicked it open and neatly cut Sampson’s wrists free.

“Thank you,” John said. Bean wagged his pistol to the side, and John stepped away.

“It’s a privilege that can easily be revoked,” Bean said. “Chief Stone?”

Bree stepped out. White’s gun swung toward her head. Bean cut her restraints.

She immediately rubbed at her wrists.

Bean said, “You will want to get off your heavy clothes and take showers before eating.”

“Not hungry,” Sampson said.

“I suspect you will be soon enough,” White said.

“What does that mean?” Bree demanded. “Who are you? Why are we here?”

Bean said, “All in good time, Chief Stone. Please remove your parkas and boots here. And don’t bother to look for your phones. We have them.”

“Good luck getting in,” Sampson said. “They’re encrypted.”

“We already have them open.”

Sampson wanted to put his fist right in the man’s smirking face but kept his cool as he removed his parka and boots. After both he and Bree were in their stocking feet, Bean waved his gun again.

“Down the hall, second door on the left for Chief Stone, third door on the right for Detective Sampson.”

John led the way, noting the echo in the hall and the small black boxes set next to the first two steel doors built flush into the rock walls. No handles.

He looked over his shoulder after he passed the second door on the left, saw White step up to the box, flip the lid up, and press her right eye to a retinal scan. The steel door slid back with a quiet whoosh.

Bree looked inside, then over at Sampson. She nodded; John nodded back and started toward the third door on the right. White said something he did not quite catch because of the echo in the hall.

Bean used the retinal scan to open the door to a small bathroom with a shower. “Sorry about the ceiling height,” Bean told Sampson. “Towels and soap on the sink. Slippers in your size. Nothing in there you can use as a weapon, so don’t try. Knock twice when you are done and I’ll get you to your room.”

Sampson hesitated, then ducked inside and slowly stood; he had barely two inches of clearance. The door slid shut.

Lucas Bean stood in the hall for a long moment before pulling out a small radio. “Edith?”

A moment later, a woman with a hoarse voice and a British accent said, “Right here.”

“Tell the boss they’re buttoned up. If you’re sure, I’d say the trap is set and you’re good to transmit.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “Here we go, then. Three-second distorted sat burst with a full degree deflection off the towers above Kimberley. Should put them at least fifty miles off target.”