Wells pulled over in the Volkswagen minivan. He turned off the engine and they left the van by the kerb, a short walk from the address.
The neighbourhood was quiet, dark, the street lights out of service either side of the building. A dog barked in a yard somewhere. It was an unglamorous part of the city, with old buildings lacking the upkeep of the tourist hotspots.
The block they wanted sat tall and crooked on a steep hill, with half the windows boarded. Driver took out a penlight and shone it on the entrance. The buzzer panel for the apartments was hanging off, with a rusty lock on the front door.
‘You sure this is the place?’ Wells asked. ‘Looks like a drug den.’
Driver shone the light on the building number. ‘This is the place,’ she replied, as surprised as Wells. He shrugged and stepped in front of her. Driver played lookout as Wells opened the lock with a skeleton key tool.
‘Careful,’ she whispered.
Wells pushed the door open with a finger and moved slowly inside, took out a penlight of his own and shone it around the door.
‘No cameras,’ he whispered. ‘And no alarm.’
Driver stepped inside behind him. She turned off her light and returned it to the breast pocket of her black jacket. Like Wells, she drew her sidearm and stayed on his shoulder as they walked with soft footsteps.
It was close to pitch dark. Driver turned on the light attachment fixed underneath the barrel of her handgun. Wells followed suit as they crept around the ground floor, over old newspapers and uncollected mail. They came across two locked doors and a barred window.
‘Looks as if no one’s been here in a while,’ whispered Wells.
Driver motioned up a nearby staircase with her weapon. She led the way upstairs, her gun trained in front of her feet. The spill of the beam lit two or three steps ahead and no more.
‘We could do with some eyes in here,’ Driver said.
‘Yeah, about that,’ Rios answered over comms. ‘We’ve hit a snag.’
‘A snag?’ Driver asked, as they neared the top of the stairs.
‘We can’t make it go,’ Lim said.
Wells groaned. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’
‘Uh, have you tried reading these instructions?’ Rios snapped.
‘Just let us know when you’re online,’ Driver said, coming across a door blocking off the first-floor landing.
She cast her beam on a small white box on the wall, a green light flashing in regular beats on the front panel.
‘Looks like someone’s been pimping their crib,’ Wells said.
Driver handed Wells her weapon. ‘Here, hold this.’
She took a Swiss Army knife from her pocket and opened the blade. Wells raised an eyebrow, shining his light on the knife.
‘Duty free,’ Driver said, prising the front panel off with a blade.
‘They’re selling knives in duty free?’
Driver shrugged. ‘Yeah, can you believe it?’
Wells seemed disappointed. ‘Huh.’
‘What’s wrong, you didn’t buy anything?’
‘Giant Toblerone,’ Wells replied.
Driver smiled as she prised open the panel to reveal a mess of connected wires. She stripped two of the wires and sparked them together. The door swung open.
‘Not just a pretty face,’ Wells said.
Driver pocketed the blade and patted Wells on the arm. ‘No, you make a good assistant too.’
Wells slapped Driver’s weapon in her hand with a sarcastic smile. The pair of them swept the first floor. Found nothing and kept moving up to the second, the third and finally the fourth. There were no more secure doors. Only a corridor branching both ways.
‘Split up?’ Wells suggested.
Driver nodded and stepped to the right, letting Wells take the left. She wandered in the darkness, through an open door.
The place looked like an abandoned squat. A rat scurried across her path and over her foot. It reminded her of Squeak. Driver felt a fondness at the memory of her furry little cellmate and wondered whose cell he was raiding now. Moving around the apartment, she found nothing else but an old mattress and used needles. Driver backed out into the hallway, walked on further and opened a fire door. She heard an echo from the end of the hall.
‘I’ve hit a dead end,’ Wells said over comms. ‘How about you?’
Driver paused in silence.
‘Driver?’
‘I think I hear music.’
Yes, it was definitely music. A tune she recognised. The strains of an aria from the Puccini opera, Turandot.
‘I’m gonna check it out,’ Driver said, speaking quietly.
‘No, wait for me,’ Wells replied. ‘I’m coming.’
Driver edged her way along the hallway, following the siren song of the tenors.
‘Driver!’ Wells hissed in a whisper.
She ignored his pleas, as if the music were drawing her like a magnet, unable to stop herself.
Driver turned off the light attachment on her Glock and moved on through the dark, her slow, steady footsteps masked by the music.
At the end of the hall was a door left ajar.