Chapter Eighty-Three

T HE TUNNEL STANK of a mix of detritus, effluence and fear. Nate knelt in the gunk, with Holt in front and Carson and an NYPD SWAT team behind. The cops moved along noisily, getting into position. At the far end were Bo and Brittany. Nate had tried to get them to stay out of the way, to remain up top in the NYPD mobile command bus on the surface, but they'd refused.

They were in the old pneumatic railway, and if Bo's estimated directions were correct, the mole people camp was around the corner. There was a vague glow in that direction, and when the cops were silent, or at least quieter, Nate could hear things happening up ahead. Chanting, pops and sizzles, fire crackling.

He looked over his shoulder, and saw fear in the eyes of those behind him. He gave a quick hand signal for everyone to spread out and prepare for the assault.

"You believe the girl?" Holt asked.

"I saw Travis," Nate replied. "Anything that could fuck a man up so completely like that's got me willing to believe anything."

"So we're burning them?"

"If a body goes down, it gets burned."

"That's brutal."

"We're in a brutal game, Holt."

"I thought you liked fucked up shit like this," Carson teased.

"I don't like fire," Holt said.

"I'll do your burning then," Carson replied.

"Deal," Holt said.

Nate took a deep breath and tried to quell the unsettling feeling rising from within. He wasn't fond of killing people, despite his almost unnatural predilection for delivering death upon his enemies. Or targets. Nate never felt like he had enemies; most often, the people he was going up against had no idea Nate was even there. They just died. He shook his head, getting back to the present, psyching himself up for what was about to happen.

If it went as planned, his three-man team would take point, sneak in the camp, survey the situation, and try to handle it without bringing in the cavalry that was NYPD SWAT. If the cavalry was needed, they would signal with a smoke grenade and hit the deck.

SWAT then had free reign to shoot anything that moved.

A reasonably simple plan, with just one minor issue. Whatever had happened to Travis could feasibly effect them. And if that occurred, they'd be in some serious trouble since the only good guys left standing would be Bo and Brittany. And Nate wasn't exactly confident they'd be able to handle something of this size.

Holt held out a fist.

"Good to go?" he asked.

Nate nodded, bumping the fist with his own.

Holt smiled, and started off, walking heel toe. His gun was raised and in the ready position. They weren't cops — they didn't ask questions or check for armed suspects. They were there to kill, and sort out issues later.

The three men moved almost as one, cruising down the tunnel in absolute silence.

Ahead, things got brighter. And louder.

They turned the corner and saw the abandoned subway platform brimming with tents. It was bright, both from the electric lights above and fires burning down below.

But there were no people. Noise that sounded like people, sure, but no people.

Holt shot a look over his shoulder at Nate.

Nate indicated that Holt should get up on the platform.

With a nod, Holt hopped up, his gun up and ready in a blur.

Carson followed, then Nate.

A foul smell wafted over the area. Unwashed humans, rank sweat, rotten food. Hygiene was clearly at the bottom of the camp's priorities. Trash seemed to be discarded almost anywhere, though there were small nearly clear walkways between the tents.

Nate made a quick count: fifteen tents. If they estimated roughly four to six people in a tent, they were looking at possibly a hundred people. He signaled for the other two to spread out — the ritual had to be happening nearby, and they needed to find it.

The area wasn't like a modern subway platform since it wasn't long enough to accommodate a modern train. Yet what it lacked in length it made up for in girth, stretching deep into the darkness to where the opposite bound track would have been. And yet, as they looked deeper still, they saw a third platform, and a third track, followed by a fourth, as if this was the meeting point of four lines, a maze of platforms and tracks and dark holes in the walls leading to a panoply of staircases.

It wasn't until the three SOG operators were beyond the tents that they saw the ritual happening on the other platform. A huge bonfire's bright orange flames licked the curved ceiling above. Thick tendrils of black smoke lingered above before disappearing into the blackness beyond.

"Masks," Nate whispered. The black smoke and the big burning timbers had to mean the mole people were burning railroad ties. Railroad ties that were soaked in creosote, which when burned, was deadly. It seemed odd that the ritual would be so dangerous to those involved, but then again, none of the rituals Nate had heard about so far were designed around the health of their participants.

The men pulled on small gas masks that covered nose and mouth but left eyes free to be covered by glasses. They needed full vision, to see things out of the corner of their eyes in case someone was sneaking and needed to get killed.

The three men stalked across the moderate darkness in between the camp and the ritual: Holt to the left, Carson to the right, and Nate straight down the center.

They began to hear chanting, a low guttural noise that got louder with every step they took.

Nate tried to parse out a language, but the noises didn't make sense. It was all very harsh, and the voices echoed off the brick walls. Nate couldn't figure out if the sounds came from the darkness beyond or if they were just reverberations. He had no idea how many people there were in front of him.

Black silhouettes moved in front of the flames in some sort of dance.

Nate could feel the eyes of his men on him. They were waiting for the go command. The order had supposedly come down from the president himself — he didn't want anyone left alive who could, potentially, continue the ritual.

"I am become death," Nate whispered, wondering at what point that had become true.

He nodded, gun to his eye, and the slaughter began.