Page 40 of Into the Gray Zone (Pike Logan #19)

We drove by the same policeman who’d seen us entering, everyone in the vehicle holding our collective breath, but he continued

blowing his whistle and waving his arms ineffectually at the insane traffic, ignoring us completely. I couldn’t believe he

didn’t recognize us and wonder what the hell had happened to our SUV.

We rolled past him, then turned into the drive leading to the fort. Brett pulled over and we did a fire drill, Brett and me

spilling out the front and Jennifer jumping in the driver’s seat.

Veep was in the back, sitting upright, conscious but in pain, his wound covered by a rain jacket. I said, “Can you use a phone?”

He nodded and I said, “You’re going to have to coordinate your medical treatment while Jennifer drives.”

He let a weak grin slip out and said, “I would expect no less.”

I patted him on the arm and closed his door, moving to the front and leaning in Jennifer’s window. “Don’t stop for anything.

You’ve got about a three-and-a-half-hour drive to New Delhi, plenty of time to coordinate for Veep, but remember, those final

two assholes are still on the loose. Keep an eye out for them.”

Jennifer flicked her eyes to her Staccato on the seat next to her and said, “We’ll be okay.” She returned to me and said, “You remember the same thing. We’re driving out of the blast radius. You guys are still in it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

I smiled and said, “Probably a foregone conclusion.”

She put the car in gear, saying, “Don’t forget what I said about the crypts. That’s where I’d go for a meet.”

I said, “I got it, now get out of here.”

I turned, nodded at Brett, and we began jogging up the road, entering the line for the fort. I’d told Jennifer it was “probably”

a foregone conclusion that we were going to do something stupid, but it was more than that. It was an absolute certainty because

we were both carrying our pistols concealed in our waistbands and we were going through a security checkpoint with a metal

detector.

I’d been through multiple metal detectors while in India, as they were in just about every hotel, train station, metro, ferry,

or museum, and in all of them, no matter what happened, the security guards just let the person continue on. Nobody ever emptied

their pockets, instead going through the detectors with cell phones, keys, change, and whatever else, and because of it, the

machines consistently went off. The men manning them, when confronted by a mass of people trying to enter or exit, just let

the offender go on, wanting to facilitate the flow of people more than the art of security.

I hoped it was the same here but wasn’t sure. The line went swiftly, and as we approached, I relaxed. Security was treated

just as important here as it had been everywhere else—the magnetometer flashing red and buzzing, and the person just being

waved on. The only thing extra was that purses and backpacks were searched.

We reached the end and I went through, hearing the detector go off. I looked around, acting surprised and confused as to what

to do next, and was waved forward by the guard.

Brett was next, and he received the same treatment, only having to have his backpack searched, but that was fine, as it had nothing incriminating in it. He caught up to me and we swiftly began walking, me saying, “Get that GPS out and let’s get a lock.”

He did so, saying, “What do you hope to find here anyway? If it was a meeting, it’s long over.”

“I was thinking about what Jennifer said to me, about how a meeting past security makes no sense when they could have it right

outside the gate—or in a hotel room, back alley, or whatever. Back then, I figured it was to ensure that neither party was

armed, like conducting a personal meet past security in an airport, but after what we just did, that’s probably not it either.”

He said, “I got a lock. This way.”

We started moving again and I said, “Now I’m thinking it was a cache. A dead drop for one of them to find.”

We speed-walked by two weirdos with chipmunks crawling all over them, one coming my way holding out the ball of fur. I waved

him away and Brett said, “But that’s the same problem. Why not just do that outside?”

“I think because the attack is going to be launched from here and they couldn’t get a drone past the security line. It has

to be in a backpack, and all of this area, to include the Taj Mahal, is a ‘no drone zone.’ It would get confiscated.”

“But they already had the drones. We saw the boxes in the safe house in Delhi. Why a dead drop?”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s something like that. Whatever it is, I think the Chinese set it up. They would have the expertise

and capability to do it, and I don’t think they trusted their chosen killers to be able to execute the mission by bringing

the equipment in on their own.”

We went through a large arch, finding ourselves in a courtyard surrounded by a large stone wall with turrets on the corners.

Brett stopped, getting a bearing with the GPS and saying, “It’s in the far wall according to this satellite image.”

“Inside the wall?”

“The dot is centered on the wall, but I don’t know if it’s up or down.”

I looked up at the wall and saw people walking back and forth along it, looking at the view of the river on the far side.

I said, “It’s not up. It’s got to be down, in the crypts.”

We went to the location on the wall, and he said, “It’s about twenty feet in front of us, right through the brick.”

I said, “We need to find a way down. Let’s start walking the wall.”

We’d gone about seventy meters and came across a marker titled “Subterranean Apartments and Gallows (1569–1658 a.d. ).” The description described a gallows, separate rooms, and how they ran all along the fort wall, with slits for ventilation

and lighting, concluding that everything I’d just read was speculation, and it was a mystery as to why they’d been built or

how they’d been used. It ended by saying they had been closed to public viewing.

I said, “This is it. The marker is probably placed near the entryway. We need to find it.”

Brett pointed to a small iron door on the other side of a barricade, looking not unlike a basement entrance on a farmhouse

in the Midwest. I looked closer, seeing a padlock on the ground next to the latch. I said, “That’s it. Let’s go.”

We quickly crossed the stone barricade, crouched down, and pulled open the door, and it screeched in anger at being disturbed.

In front of me a set of narrow stone stairs led down into the darkness. I glanced around, saw nobody paying any attention,

and said, “Go, go.”

Brett pulled his pistol and entered, flicking on the weapon light to see. I followed quickly, bringing the door down behind

me.

Brett led the way, stopping every few meters to listen. We heard nothing. In short order, we were on a dirt floor, Brett saying, “The GPS isn’t any good down here.”

“We know the grid is back the way we came, and there aren’t multiple levels. Start that way.”

He turned and started walking, our weapon lights splitting the darkness, showing a narrow, arched passage made of stone. Eventually,

the tunnel opened up into a room with a wooden beam crossing a black pit. Brett shined his light in and saw it was only two

feet deep with a dirt floor. His light caught something and he bent over, pulling out a box. He shined the light on it, seeing

the label for a DJI Mavic drone just like the ones in the safe house.

I saw something else in the pit and reached down, removing an empty canvas bag. I said, “I’m betting that drone is armed,

and he’s after Thakkar right now. We need to find him.”

Brett said, “We know he’s got to hit the Taj Mahal, and there aren’t too many vantage points for that here at the fort. All

to the southeast.”