Drake typed a code into the door’s digital lock, took a last look at the empty alley behind him, and carefully slipped inside the building.
Hugo Voggell’s office was in a former slaughterhouse located half a mile from the South Brooklyn Marine Terminal. Although the antique dealer lived in a multi-million-dollar condo in Manhattan, he operated his business from the derelict depot overlooking the dark waters of Upper Bay. It allowed him to engage in some of his less than savory enterprises away from the eyes of the law, including the private auctions he routinely held for his black-market clientele.
Drake had discovered the code to the door some time back, when he’d first taken on a job for Voggell. He liked knowing where his clients lived and worked. Though he’d never officially been invited to Voggell’s office before, the antique dealer preferring to hold their business meetings in hotels, Drake knew the approximate floorplan of the place from a trip to the NYC Department of Buildings two years ago. He hoped not much had changed since its original construction in the 1920s.
Beyond the door was a dimly lit corridor that stank of mildew and rat droppings. He ignored the digital cameras covering it and enabled the automode of the multispectral night vision function on his smart glasses. The retro-reflective hooded suit he wore and the low lighting would be enough to camouflage his presence on the video recordings.
He made his way down the passage to an intersection, took a left turn, then a right. A steel door bearing an industrial-grade electronic lock appeared at the end of the corridor. He slipped his knife out of the sheath at his hip, made sure his body screened the lock from the cameras at his back, and carefully removed the inner module. He connected a slim chip and transistor board to the exposed connectors and watched as the custom-made device cycled through hundreds of combinations. A soft electronic beep sounded a minute later.
Drake pulled the steel door oh-so-slowly open and slipped through a narrow gap into the room on the other side. He paused and looked around.
Locked away behind bulletproof and temperature-controlled glass and steel cages bolted into the walls and floor of the storage chamber was an extensive collection of antiques and rare objects. Drake’s fingers grew itchy as he eyed the priceless items on display under a battery of small spotlights. He sighed.
Now is really not the time to be thinking about stealing things.
He passed two more similar storage spaces as he headed for where he thought Voggell’s office would be. Pipes rattled overhead and around him when he entered the oldest part of the building, the central heating working overtime to fight the biting cold of a New York winter. He was navigating the shadowy fringes of the empty slaughter hall when the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
A low gasp left his lips and he ducked beneath the fist aimed at the side of his head. He spun on his heels and rose to face the attacker who had crept up behind him.
Serena Blake’s cold expression appeared in washed out grays and whites on the night vision view of his smart glasses.
Drake cursed under his breath and danced out of the way of her lightning-fast blows. He blocked a knee strike to his groin, winced when her knuckles glanced off his jaw, and stopped her hand an inch from his left temple.
“It’s me, goddammit!” he hissed, snatching the reflective hood off his head.
Serena froze, pupils dilating. She recovered, scowled, and brought her face up close to his.
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
“Same thing you’re probably doing,” Drake muttered. “Looking for information on Park.” He let go of her hand, straightened, and looked around. “Where’s Nate?”
“I’m here,” the giant murmured behind him.
Drake twisted around. He hadn’t heard the man move in behind him.
He grimaced. “What are you, a cat?”
Nate shrugged. “I’m light-footed for a big man.”
Drake frowned. He was pretty sure there was more to it than that. And he was certain it had everything to do with what he had witnessed these two do in the warehouse in Chicago the night before.
“You found anything yet?” he said, checking the gloomy space around them to see if their scuffle had attracted any attention.
Serena shook her head. “We just got here.”
“Voggell’s office is that way,” Nate said.
He indicated a corridor that led toward the far side of the building.
“How do you know that?” Drake asked suspiciously. “You guys been here before?”
“No,” Nate said. “There’s a light on at the back. And his car is here.”
Drake stilled.
“What?” Serena said.
“That light wasn’t on before, and his car wasn’t on the premises.”
Serena frowned before reaching for her gun. “You sure?”
“I’ve been watching the place for the last two hours,” Drake said quietly.
He slipped his own weapon out of the holster on his thigh.
Unease coiled through him as they made their way toward the back of the slaughterhouse. He had yet to see any sign of the three guards he’d observed come on the night shift an hour ago. Although the men could very well be sipping cocoa and watching a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life in a security room somewhere, the eerie silence inside the building told him otherwise. The gloom dissipated as they approached an opening into what looked to be Voggell’s auction hall. They hugged the walls of the concrete passage and inched slowly forward. A low murmur of conversation reached Drake’s ears as they approached the corner. His skin prickled.
One of the voices rose in volume, its tone growing more agitated. A scream rent the air in the next instant. Serena stiffened beside Drake.
They dropped on their haunches and peered around the edge of the wall.