“I am.”
They waited for twenty seconds for their eyes to adjust, then took off running.
They made it past eight ladder shafts — about a quarter mile — before being spotted. A powerful beam of light suddenly pierced the shaft ahead, creating a pool on the floor. Tanner saw it too late, tried to veer into the darkness, but wasn’t fast enough. Cahil stumbled around him and dove into the shadows along the opposite wall.
Rifle cracks echoed down the shaft; bullets sparked on the concrete. Above came the click of footsteps on the ladder. The pool of the light jiggled as the owner tried to keep it focused on the floor.
New plan, Tanner thought. They weren’t going to be able to outrun Litzman’s men. Not only were the topside tunnels wider, but the Germans had better flashlights and no reason not to use them. He and Bear had at least two kilometers to go before they reached the end. Sooner or later they would stumble into an ambush.
He gestured to Cahil his idea. Bear nodded then trotted down the tunnel and ducked behind a pile of timbers. Tanner sidestepped the pool of light and ducked around the corner. He dropped into a crouch. He listened, trying to gauge the German’s descent. When he estimated the German was near the bottom, he yelled, “Run, Bear, go!”
From the ladder there was a moment of silence, then “Scheisse!” Shit! Footsteps began pounding. Tanner peeked around the corner just in time to see the German leap the last few steps to the floor. The man spun, his flashlight dancing off the walls. He carried a 9mm H&K MP-5.
Tanner pulled his head back, held his breath. Come on, Bear.
Down the tunnel there came the scuff of shoes on concrete, then a crash and a moan of pain from Cahil.
The German took off in pursuit. As he passed, Tanner stepped out and palm-punched him. Stunned, the German stumbled sideways, dropping the flashlight. Tanner rushed forward and heel-kicked the man’s wrist, spinning him away. The MP-5 clattered to the ground. Tanner stepped forward, wrapped his forearm around the man’s throat — thumb knuckle pressed into the hollow beneath the ear — and levered his other forearm against the back of his head, compressing the carotid artery. The German struggled for several seconds, then slowly went slack. Tanner lowered him to the floor, then grabbed the flashlight and clicked it off.
Cahil trotted up and collected the MP-5. “Next time you play the hare,” he whispered.
From the shaft a voice shouted, “Johann!”
Tanner muffled part of his mouth with his hand, then called, “Sie laufen!” They’re on the run!
He gestured to Cahil, who fired a short burst down the tunnel.
“Werden Sie voraus von ihnen!” Tanner shouted. Get ahead of them!
They waited until the footsteps retreated up the ladder, then dragged the German’s body into the shadows. “Time to backtrack,” Tanner said.
They were turning to leave when Tanner stopped and returned to the body. He quickly searched the man, but found nothing but a cell phone. He turned it on, called up the address book, and scrolled through the entries. When he found the number he was looking for, he set it to memory, then dialed “0,” listened for ten seconds, and replaced the phone.
Cahil looked at him questioningly.
Tanner said, “Tell you later.”
They retraced their course, pausing at each shaft before continuing. When they reached the shaft they’d started from, Tanner felt his heart rise into his throat. The ladder was all but collapsed, twisted to one side and swaying like a child’s defunct mobile.
“How’re your shimmying skills?” Cahil asked.
“What?” Tanner turned. Bear wasn’t looking at the ladder, but at the far wall and the hatch to the munitions elevator. “Maybe,” Tanner said. “It’s going to depend on the cable.”
They slid open the hatch, revealing a box three feet deep, three feet tall, and two feet wide. Tanner craned his neck so he could peer through the gap between the box and the wall. They were in luck. The box was supported not by a steel cable, but by a rope. It was as big around as a man’s wrist and appeared intact. Cahil reached in and gave it a tug. “Seems solid.”
“Not that we have a choice,” Tanner replied. It wouldn’t take long for their pursuers to begin backtracking. “I’ll go first. If it breaks, you can catch me.”
“Uh-huh.”
They pulled the box down until Tanner could squeeze through onto its roof. He clicked on his flashlight, clamped it between his teeth, then grabbed the rope and began climbing.
Protected by the enclosed shaft, the rope had weathered the decades in surprisingly good condition. They took turns climbing, one of them braced in the shaft as the other shimmied upward, alternating until the uppermost hatch came into view.
Feet and back pressed against the walls, Tanner slid open the hatch. Below him, Cahil inched upward until he was braced in position. “Go ahead.” Tanner placed his feet on Cahil’s shoulders, clicked off his flashlight, then stuck his head through the hatch and looked around. The tunnel was deserted. He closed his eyes to listen. Silence.
Tanner boosted himself through the hatch, rolled onto the floor, then helped Cahil out.
Down the tunnel they saw a glimmer of light. It panned left, then right, then winked out. Faint German voices called to one another. With Cahil following, Tanner crept down the tunnel to the second set of doors, which lay open.
Compared to the relative dark of the complex, the moonlight was painfully bright. Tanner blinked his eyes clear. The Peugeot sat as they’d left it; beside it, the Mercedes. None of Litzman’s men were visible. Tanner was only marginally surprised. With only six to cover the complex, they’d decided to abandon the Mercedes and concentrate on making sure he and Cahil didn’t make it out alive.
Hunched over, they ran to the Peugeot. All four of its tires had been slashed. They moved to the Mercedes. Unsurprisingly, the doors were locked. “Hotwire it?” Cahil whispered.
“We wouldn’t get ten feet,” Tanner replied. Litzman’s men were traveling in style; they’d chosen a brand-new E-class. “Use anything but the ignition key and the fuel system shuts down.”
“Lovely. I don’t like our chances in an ambush.”
“Me neither.” They’d already pushed their luck to the edge. With only one weapon between the two of them, an ambush wasn’t worth the risk. Coming out alive was triumph enough. “I say we retreat.”
Bear said, “Then we’re on foot.”
Tanner smiled. “And so are they.”
He took out his knife, jammed the blade into the rear tire, then the front, then tossed the knife to Cahil who did the same on the other side.
As the air hissed from the Mercedes’s tires, Tanner glanced around, trying to get his bearings. They had to be near Saint Servant, not more than five miles. He picked out a stand of trees he assumed was in the right direction and they started jogging.
17
Oliver, McBride, and Scanlon’s HRT maintained their vigil throughout the night, watching the shack’s interior through the night-vision scopes and listening to the remote microphone they’d slipped between a pair of warped planks in the rear wall.
Both Selmani and Mrs. Root had dozed fitfully, she curled in a ball, he leaned against the wall, instantly awake at her every movement or sound. Scanlon’s snipers were unable to get a better angle on Selmani himself, so all they could tell of the wire around Ms. Root’s neck was that it seemed to lead to the area of Selmani’s left hand.
At four A.M., a cell phone rang inside the cabin. Selmani fished the phone from his pocket, listened for a few moments, then replied in what McBride and the others assumed was Albanian. Selmani’s tone was plaintive, his cadence hurried. McBride knew the linguists at Quantico would give them a translation of the conversation, but it was clear Selmani was agitated. About what? McBride wondered