9…8….
“Hussein! What was Saddam’s birthday?”
“What?” The young man’s voice was faint, whether because of distance or the venom-induced illness, he could not say. “Twenty-eight, April. 1937.”
Kismet shook his head. “That’s not it. Any other important dates in April, January, July—”
“Fourteen, July! The revolution!”
4…3….
He quickly punched the asterisk, followed by 1, 4, 0, 7 and then the pound sign. The beeping tone abruptly changed to a long single note then fell silent. The numeric countdown likewise ceased.
Kismet sagged against the console, his extremities feeling numb from the surge of adrenaline. When he could breathe again, he looked over at an ashen Chiron, and enunciating slowly and clearly as he might with a wayward child, said: “Don’t touch anything.”
It was nearly fifteen minutes before they heard a distant screeching sound of metal on metal issuing from the tunnel. There was a faint breeze as air was pushed ahead of the arriving mass, and a few moments later, a single flatbed rail car rolled out of the darkness and coasted to a halt against the bumpers. Perhaps owing to their most recent brush with disaster, no one approached the car until Kismet made the first move.
The flatbed was little more than a freight platform. The motors were situated near the wheels and the only part of the vehicle that rose above the flat surface was a metal tower that reached up to make contact with the power lines. There were no creature comforts, nor did there appear to be any means of regulating speed or direction.
“It’s all controlled from the main console,” Kismet deduced aloud. “There’s probably a computer in there to automatically slow it down when it gets to the end of the line.”
“Dare we get aboard and see where it leads?” asked Chiron.
“Since you’ve probably already determined to do that, I guess there’s no reason not to. Go ahead and climb on. I’ll get it started and run over to join you. Hopefully, there’s another control panel at the other end.”
“What if there’s not?” inquired Marie. “Should someone remain behind?”
Before he could weigh in, Chiron once again exercised his veto. “I don’t think that’s wise. Look what happened when we separated before. We should remain together. I trust that Nick is right. Logically, there must be a second set of controls.”
Kismet did not find his mentor’s vote of confidence especially gratifying, but the older man’s certitude seemed vaguely inappropriate. He felt a shiver of déjà vu and wondered once more what Chiron was really up to. “Well, if I’m not, it will be a long walk back. All aboard, everyone. Last call for the Helltown Express.”
Once Hussein, as the last member of the group save Kismet himself, had ascended the platform and secured one of the heavy nylon freight slings anchored around the perimeter, Kismet pressed the green button to activate the rail car motor. After a momentary delay, in which Kismet was unsure if he had selected the wrong control, the vehicle began to roll away from the bumper. Though it moved slowly, Kismet had to sprint to catch the car before it was once more swallowed up by the tunnel. He could feel its velocity increasing as the darkness swelled all around.
They activated several chem-lights to illuminate the journey but there was very little to see. Except for the overhead lines suspended at regular intervals, there was nothing but roughly worked black stone. The tunnel was a long, straight passage driving through the earth’s crust. The narrow dimensions of the tube reflected the noise of the motors and wheels in an endless cacophony that was comparable to a torture session with fingernails on a chalkboard, but amplified to monstrous proportions. Conversation was impossible, and Kismet was left alone with his thoughts which, given the circumstances, were not the best of company.
The featureless tunnel ended abruptly, much as it had begun, and the rail car rolled out into an open chamber similar to the depot at the opposite terminus. Before anyone could react to the sudden arrival, the car screeched to a halt.
Kismet jumped down first, eager to scout the area for further traps. A control panel was situated near the bumper assembly but the security keypad was conspicuously absent, as was the wire strand that might indicate that it was linked to an explosive device. As his companions moved closer, he expanded the scope of his survey.
The chamber in which they now found themselves was much smaller than the first and hewn into a rough rectangle. Although there were several pallets and containers near the tracks, most of the area was vacant. The walls parallel to the train’s approach were broken with stainless steel doorways — two on either side — bolted into the coarse stone and sealed with a thick seam of epoxy. At the end of the chamber opposite the tunnel entrance, a second cylindrical passage, large enough to permit only pedestrian traffic, led into the dark beyond. Kismet withheld comment, but gestured to the nearest framed opening.
At Chiron’s nod of assent, he began walking toward the doorway, but when he had crossed only half the distance, a torturous noise — metal shrieking against metal — caused him to start. He whirled toward the source of the familiar sound and was chagrined to discover that Chiron had held back. Only Marie and Hussein had followed along behind him while the Frenchman had gravitated toward the control panel. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the rail car as it vanished into the tunnel.
“Damn it, Pierre. I told you not to touch anything.”
Chiron evinced guilt with a grimace. “I was looking for the overhead lights.”
Kismet shook his head in frustration as he reached the other man’s side. He toggled the switch that Chiron had used to activate the rail system, but nothing happened. The noise of the car on the tracks continued to diminish as it progressed away from the chamber. “Must be an automatic sequence. We’ll have to wait until it gets to the other end before we can call it back. At least I hope it works that way. Otherwise, we’ll have quite a walk.”
“Time enough to do some exploring,” replied Chiron with a wan smile.
“I suppose so,” Kismet conceded. “But I don’t think we’re going to find what you’re after in here. This looks like it might have been some kind of research facility.”
“Have a little faith, Nick.” Chiron gave his shoulder a paternal squeeze then moved toward the others.
“Faith?” Kismet’s repetition was barely audible and if Chiron heard, he gave no indication. Instead, the Frenchman took the lead, moving purposefully toward the opening, and Kismet had to sprint to head him off. “Pierre, remember. Don’t touch anything. If this was, as I suspect, some kind of weapon’s lab, not only will it probably be wired to a fail-safe, but there might also be some nasty things laying about.”
Chiron raised his hands by way of reply, but the meaning of the gesture was uncertain. Kismet shook his head again, then moved through the open portal. The lintel of the steel doorway concealed an overhead panel designed to drop like the blade of a guillotine and seal the chamber beyond. The thickness of the steel panel, a good thirty centimeters, was more than a little unnerving.Whether it was meant to keep something out or prevent something from escaping, Kismet knew he did not want to be caught on the wrong side of that door if it closed.