Page 17 of Lethal Vengeance

There’s no answer, of course.

The return is quicker than I anticipated, but I decide any extra is just buffer. When I come out of the brush, Sterling is crouched by the entrance to the tunnels, looking at his watch.

Green eyes assess me from head to toe. “Did you get the intel?”

“Most of it. Raider’s going to time the interior,” I confirm, stepping down into the shaft. After clicking on the headlamp, I wait.

“Raider?” he asks a minute later when he joins me.

“He arrived a few seconds before I left,” I tell him. “Didn’t you see him?”

“Hmm,” he says noncommittally, taking off down the tunnel.

The scene with Raider plays in my mind. I didn’t expect the amusement. Not between us. “Do you know what mon petit oiseau means?” I murmur to Sterling.

He stops abruptly, shutting off his light.

I do the same. Barely breathing, I listen. A flood of swearing echoes loudly in the tunnel ahead of us.

Hard lips press against my ear. “I’m going to try to get us past them on the right, but I can’t be sure of their exact location. Keep your headlamp off. If I’ve counted correctly, we should take a slight right into a parallel tunnel in about a hundred paces.” He grabs my hand. “I’ve got you.”

Paces? Military? Quietly, I follow him. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark, but not enough to move quickly. I can’t help but worry it’s taking us too long. Every few feet, we pause to listen again, then move forward.

The voices are getting louder.

We’re close to making the turn when a long, loud whistle comes from the shadows on my right. A young man steps out of a small alcove and shines a flashlight on us. A lookout. And by the sound of rushing feet, his buddies heard his warning.

Sterling shoves the guy hard into the wall, and we take off running toward the others. Lights bounce against the walls in front of us. I start to slow, but he quickly grabs my hand and turns right into the other tunnel.

We run for about a quarter mile. By my calculations, we should be close to the entrance. Maybe forty feet? I try to think of how long the first tunnel was, but I can’t remember. I’d been distracted by the sight in front of me.

Shouts come from behind, and I turn to see they’re close. Doubling down to run harder, I swivel back around and run right into Sterling, who’s come to a dead stop.

He rocks hard on his feet but remains standing.

I peer around him and find three men blocking our exit.

“Fuck,” I whisper. I dart a glance behind me. “Two more. Six o’clock.”

“No guns unless you have no choice,” he orders softly. “The entrance isn’t far, and we don’t want to bring anyone else down here to investigate. We can handle five.” A bright white smile flashes. “Have a little faith.”

Confidence in spades. With a deep breath, I squeeze his hand and pull my knife out. Shrugging my shoulders, I let the straps of my backpack fall to one elbow and wait.

A bright light shines in my face, followed by a stream of Spanish. I shrug my shoulders and smile. Taking off my headband, I let it drop to the ground. If I can’t use the light, the strap becomes a weapon for them to use against me.

“Hola, no hablo Español,” I say, then pause. “A local told us about some catacombs, but we couldn’t find them. If you could point out the exit, we’ll head back to our tour.” Straws based in truth. This is a popular scam to isolate tourists. Maybe if they think someone is waiting for us, they’ll let us pass.

“Black fatigues. Headlamps. I don’t think so,” a deep voice replies with a chuckle. “Tourists or not, the boss doesn’t like strangers in his backyard. He pays us to make sure nobody gets out of here alive.”

The boss, that’s… interesting.

Is Armando trying to keep people from the facility, or is he using the tunnels for something else? I don’t have time to think about it because the man in front of me reaches toward my face.

“Don’t touch me,” I warn him, letting the backpack slide off.

I catch it with my left hand and swing it into the face of the guy next to him. At the same time, my knife slashes forward to slice the first guy’s hand. He bellows in anger and drops his flashlight on the ground.

Air moves behind me, indicating Sterling is also in play. Taking advantage of the dark, I crouch down and shuffle slightly to the left. When the guy I hit with the backpack rushes forward, I come up on his right. Using all my force, I slam the knife into his stomach, twist, then yank it out. Screaming in pain, he bends over and grabs his stomach. In seconds, the knife is gliding smoothly across his throat, silencing his screams.