Page 16 of The 9th Man

He had no idea. Definitely underground, though.

The museum’s emergency door banged against the side of the garbage bin. Police? Or more hostiles? Either one was bad.

“Welcome to the frying pan,” he said. “We need to go.”

Jillian bent over, retrieved a chunk of loose stone from the ground, and tossed it to him. Half a dozen blows was all it took to break the latch. Luke tugged at the gate, which didn’t budge. He whacked at the hinges with the stone, showering the ground with powdered rust until Jillian was able to wrench the gate open.

“After you,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Not really. But we have no choice.”

He handed her one of the 9mms, then she crawled inside.

He followed.

7

LUKE USED HIS FULL BODY WEIGHT AND MANAGED TO RETURNTHEgate to its original position, or at least he hoped close enough to pass a cursory inspection. The problem was he had to enter the tunnel feetfirst, lying on his belly, in order to make that happen. Now, backward, he wiggled his way forward, following Jillian. The confines were tight. No question. Luckily, claustrophobia had never been a problem for him. They’d covered roughly twenty feet when he heard the garbage bin’s steel wheels rumbling on the concrete behind them.

“They’re out,” he whispered.

“Any idea where we’re headed?” she asked.

“Nope. But wherever it is, we need to get there in a hurry.”

The tunnel canted downward, which helped his efforts, dropping them below street level. After another twenty feet or so the path emptied into a larger underground reservoir with brick walls about five feet high and three feet wide, their ankles in a few inches of brackish water.

“Drainage system,” he said. “At least it’s not a sewer.”

Back the way they came, he heard a shout.

He retrieved the gun from his waist, ejecting the magazine and finding it full, fourteen rounds, plus one in the chamber. He also had the magazine from the other gun he’d obtained back in Genappe.

Good.

He snapped it back into place.

“You keep going. First turnoff you find, even if it’s a bump in the wall, flatten yourself into it. Chances are good we’ve got some rounds headed our way. If you find an exit to the street, take it. Walk, don’t run. We’ll meet up later.”

“I don’t want to do that, Luke.”

He realized she was no damsel in distress but still, “We don’t always get what we want.”

“I know what you’re doing, trying to slow ’em down. But—”

“This is what I do,” he said. “I’m trained for it.”

He’d shared with her in past communications that he worked for the Magellan Billet, which may have been another reason why she’d called him.

“Look,” he said, “we have a better chance separated. Now would you please go.”

She didn’t keep arguing and, instead, headed off down the channel of water into the darkness, using her phone light to guide her. He crept back to the tunnel through which they’d come and saw a man-shaped figure crouched before the bars, fifty feet away, in the light of day. But it was still hard to tell who it was. For all he knew the figure was a cop or another first responder, and he didn’t want to shoot either. From their vantage point this was a black pit.

Had he been spotted?

The figure was joined by a second man and together they tugged at the gate, which gave way. A third man appeared and shoved a gun into the opening. Luke pulled back to the side of the tunnel just as a round snapped past his ear and gouged the brick wall behind him.