WASHINGTON, D.C.
Ana Thorne could no longer hear anything in her earpiece. She was twenty feet beneath the Third Church of Christ, Scientist, on the first level of the building’s underground parking garage. With her Glock at the ready, she quickly canvassed the space. Two cars were parked along the east wall, near the stairwell. She presumed one of them belonged to the church lady in the blue dress, whom she’d noticed dropping her car keys into her purse earlier this morning. Other than that, the garage was entirely empty. And quiet.
On the north wall, about twenty yards away, Ana spotted an overhead sectional door, about twice the size of a residential garage door. She assumed this was the connection to the building next door, which she knew would be the only way for vehicles to get in and out of here. She studied the door carefully. Did they escape through there? Overhead doors like that typically opened and closed very slowly. Plus, they were designed to stay open for fifteen or twenty seconds after a vehicle passed through. She shook her head and quickly dismissed the idea. The timing just didn’t work. If the woman and man had gone through that door, it would still be open.
They must have gone somewhere else.
Frustrated, Ana retreated to the stairwell and began climbing back toward the main level of the church. A second later, she stopped. Shuffling feet and voices could now be heard overhead. Someone was coming down . . . and fast. Ana quickly backtracked to the parking platform and ducked behind one of the two parked cars. The voices were growing louder.
“Kudy vony pijshly?” she heard a man’s voice say.
“Tudy,” said another.
Moments later, Ana saw two goons with ski masks and machine guns rounding the corner of the stairwell. They were moving fast and breathing hard. They rounded the corner at the first level and continued descending toward the lower levels of the garage without even pausing.
Ana cocked her head in confusion. What do they know that I don’t? When the men were safely out of view, she quickly looked around and spotted the vehicle ramp that descended to the next level. That would be the long way down, she realized. But at least she wouldn’t risk being heard in the stairwell, which was like an echo chamber.
She immediately began sprinting toward the ramp.
“Where the hell is it?” said Mike Califano into his microphone as he made his way south along Sixteenth Street toward the Hay-Adams hotel. Two blocks behind him, a dead Ukrainian thug with a bullet in his head marked the spot where Califano had escaped from the octagonal church a few minutes earlier, through the fire door in the alleyway.
“It’s in the back,” said McCreary over the radio. “Between the hotel and the chamber of commerce building. Look for an alley that runs along the north side of the hotel.”
“Okay, I see it,” said Califano. He quickly crossed over Sixteenth Street and made his way down the narrow alley until he reached a patch of asphalt behind the Hay-Adams hotel. The area was lined with Dumpsters and linen carts and was entirely enclosed by walls except for the alley entrance, which was just wide enough for small delivery trucks to come in and out.
“What exactly am I looking for?” Califano whispered as he scanned the area.
“Probably a metal cover of some sort on the ground,” McCreary replied over the radio. “It might look like a cellar door or a hatch.”
“Hold on.” Califano terminated the transmission and stood still for a moment, trying to discern the direction of a metallic noise he’d just heard. It sounded like it had come from behind one of the Dumpsters. That’s when he noticed that one Dumpster was angled sharply away from the wall, unlike the others. He unholstered his noise-suppressed pistol and stepped cautiously toward the askew Dumpster until his shoulder was pressed tightly against it. He could hear a metallic grinding noise on the other side, and periodic grunts. What the hell is that?
Califano inched along the side the Dumpster until he was at the corner. Then, in one swift motion, he turned and leveled his weapon at a man who was hunched over a metal access hatch on the ground, apparently trying to pry it open with a crowbar. “Freeze!” he ordered.
The man with the crowbar was clearly startled. He stood with the crowbar in one hand and a stupefied expression on his face. He was a large man, with a massive jaw and a crooked nose. He was dressed in blue pants, a dungaree shirt, and a blue jacket with the Hay-Adams logo embroidered on one side.
“What are you doing here?” Califano demanded.
The big man spoke with a slight Slavic accent. “I was told to get hatch open. I . . . I work for hotel.”
Califano wasn’t convinced. But he certainly wasn’t going to shoot a man who might be telling the truth. He was still considering his options when a crackling noise suddenly emanated from the man’s shirt pocket. It was a walkie-talkie.
“Nomeru try, chy htos vyjshov?” said a man’s voice over the walkie-talkie.
Califano immediately trained his pistol at the man’s head. “Drop the crowbar.”
In an instant, the Ukrainian man swung the crowbar at Califano’s head like a baseball bat. Califano fired his weapon and ducked as the crowbar whizzed an inch over his head. The bullet ricocheted off a brick wall behind the Dumpster. When Califano looked up, the man was nearly on top of him, swinging the crowbar straight down toward his face.
Califano dove to his left but could not escape the crowbar as it landed hard on his right shoulder, sending an excruciating burst of pain all through his body and causing him to lose his grip on his pistol. The Glock went skittering across the asphalt.
Califano scampered away on hands and feet, unable to regain his full balance. He turned and fell backward as the Ukrainian barreled toward him with the heavy crowbar raised high over his head. “Zgin vybludok!” the brute shouted through gritted teeth.
Califano had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. A second later, the man brought the crowbar crashing down toward Califano’s head. Califano rolled away and the crowbar clanked violently against the asphalt near his ear.
Califano gained his feet and had just enough time to turn and see the Ukrainian charging toward him again at full speed, grunting like an animal. Instinctively, Califano lowered his stance and tackled the man around the waist, exploding upward at just the right moment to send the Ukrainian somersaulting over his head. As the man flew through the air behind him, Califano searched frantically for his weapon, which he spotted near the Dumpster. He lunged for it and quickly scooped it off the ground.
With his gun now gripped in his hand, Califano spun to see a crowbar swinging viciously toward his face. He arched back and allowed the crowbar to fan harmlessly past his nose. In the next instant, he raised his firing arm and pulled the trigger. A suppressed shot split the air, and the big man instantly lurched backward with a wound in his chest. Califano fired another round, and the man stumbled backward again into the Dumpster, dropping the crowbar to the ground with a clank.
Califano moved in for a final shot. But he saw it wouldn’t be necessary. The man’s eyes were bulging out, and blood was dribbling from his mouth. A second later, his knees buckled and he began sliding slowly down the side of the Dumpster until he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
“What’s going on?” asked Bill McCreary over the radio.
Califano tapped his transmitter. “Company,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. He paused for a moment, making sure the coast was clear. Then he picked up the crowbar and quickly made his way behind the Dumpster.
Time to find out what’s beneath this hatch.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” said Malachi. He was following close behind the woman in the white dress, Opal, as she carefully made her way through the darkened fallout shelter beneath Sixteenth Street. The darkness was nearly absolute, save for a scintilla of flickering light still bleeding through from the stairwell behind them.
“I know you’re confused,” said Opal over her shoulder. “You must have lost some part of your memory. We knew that would be a risk, and I’m so sorry about that.” She stopped at a closed steel door. “Do you have a light?”
“Uh, I’ve got this.” Malachi reached into his breast pocket and retrieved his lighter. He flicked it in one motion, and the metal door before them suddenly lit up in dancing hues of yellow and orange. The letters HA-1 were prominently stenciled in the middle of the door.
“The Hay-Adams,” said the woman quietly. She opened the door and quickly passed through.
Malachi followed the woman through the security door and used his lighter to navigate their way through a short tunnel that terminated at a small, square room. A dead end. Four cement walls towered high above them, with pinpricks of natural light filtering down through some sort of cover at the top. This gave Malachi the impression that they were standing at the bottom of a covered well. “What is this place?” he asked.
The woman pointed to a set of sturdy steel rungs that formed a ladder extending upward, embedded in one of the walls. “It’s an escape shaft,” she said.
Seconds later, they heard footsteps and shuffling noises in the fallout shelter behind them. And they saw the wash of flashlights flitting back and forth across the opening to the shaft. “Hurry,” said the woman, motioning for Malachi to scale the ladder.
Malachi had no sooner stepped onto the first rung than the metal hatch above them began rattling violently, as if someone was trying to pry it open.
“We’re trapped,” the woman whispered.
“What do we do?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment, apparently deep in thought. Meanwhile, the footsteps behind them were getting louder, and the flashlight beams were growing brighter. Above them, the rattling noise was growing even more intense. “Give me the stone,” she said.
Malachi retrieved the lump from his pocket and gripped it firmly in one hand. “I still don’t understand. What is this for?”
The woman looked surprised. “Haven’t you noticed its unusual properties?”
“I have, but . . . I still don’t know what it does.”
The woman took the stone gently from Malachi’s grasp and held it out in front of her with both hands. “Let me show you.” She slowly drew the stone close to her chest and touched it to a black oval pendant dangling from a chain around her neck.
Immediately, something strange began to happen. Malachi could feel it. An aura of light began emanating from the woman’s chest. “No,” he said, slowly backing away.
“Daniel, stay close!” the woman yelled. “This is our only chance!”
No, Malachi thought. This feels wrong. He watched in bewilderment as the swirling light enveloped the woman completely and began spreading toward him. He continued backing away into the tunnel. Then, as the light began encroaching into the tunnel, he turned and bolted headlong into the darkness.
Straight toward his pursuers.