Harper lowered Denise’s body to the full extent of the rope and then he released her and wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s knife hand instead, moving through Denise as she hanged. His left arm smashed Sebastian’s shoulder as his right arm jerked, and the killer’s arm snapped. A sharp crack echoed in the small room and the knife clattered to the ground.
Sebastian bent forward and Harper landed an almighty kick in his jaw. He keeled over with a great cry of pain.
Harper had seconds to act. Denise was choking. He sprang round and grabbed the knife, then jumped and scored the rope. He slashed once, twice, three times until the knife cut through. She dropped and Harper had her in his arms — in his arms, alive.
He kissed her forehead once and then turned to Sebastian.
He stared in disbelief. The killer was gone.
‘Where is he?’ Harper panted. ‘Where the fuck?’
Suddenly, the candle went out and Harper and Denise clung to each other in the darkness.
Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
The Lair
December 4, 1.50 p.m.
The FBI arrived at the elevator shaft en masse, geared up and ready. The HRT team was led by Special Agent Baines. The whole team gathered at the elevator and the elite crammed into the lift shaft and made their way underground.
In the vast dark atrium of Sebastian’s lair, fifteen gun lights cut lines through the darkness. They saw the sickening contents. Hearts, eyes, costumes.
The team moved through without a word. There were over sixteen tunnels leading from the central atrium at the Mace Crindle plant. The men split up. Two teams, one north, one south.
Baines travelled south, moving quickly through the tunnels. In the distance they heard the shouting of the other team. ‘Sewer six clear. Sewer eight clear.’ Baines listened. He and his team approached the end of the large drain.
Baines signalled. He was here in this hell. Baines could smell him. The team of seven agents crouched and made their way down the dark corridor towards the cell.
They found the heavy steel door and heaved it open. There was a narrow corridor leading to another door. They padded through and stopped at the entrance to the cell.
Suddenly, on the signal, the team burst into Sebastian’s cell. A rope from the ceiling. In the corner, Baines saw Harper and Levene, lying together. The harsh lights hit their faces.
‘Where is he, Detective?’
Harper shook his head. He had no idea. Sebastian had cut the light. Baines handed Harper a shotgun and a flashlight. ‘We’ve gotta keep searching. Hold on.’
Baines pointed to a small sluice grate in the floor. The men went across to it and shone torches through. It was big enough for a man, but not a man in gear or boots.
Baines didn’t speak. He took off his gear, helmet, night visor, webbing, boots, body amour. The team followed suit.
Baines dropped to the floor and with difficulty slipped through the gate. He dropped down five feet and then crouched. He signalled for the team. One by one, the hostage rescue team slipped into the sewer in bare feet, vests and combats.
They crouched and shone their powerful torches down into the darkness. Seven separate beams of light flickered around a large arched tunnel. There was a narrow ledge either side of the central stream.
‘How deep?’ Baines asked.
Agent Santana didn’t wait. He jumped in and stood up. The level was at his knees. ‘Couple of feet.’
Baines nodded. ‘We got to move quick. He’s got a lead on us and he knows these sewers. We want him alive.’
They moved out in single file, like a team of marines in a jungle river. Rats scuttled by on each ledge, sniffing the air and moving on quickly. The tunnel ran ahead but they couldn’t see how far. Baines set up a fast pace and the cavern echoed to the sound of the team driving through the sludge.
Within five minutes, they spotted something ahead. The shrill call of the leader went up through the tunnel. Something turned and stared, its eyes glinting in the dark. They followed it deeper into the tunnels.
They came to a narrow channel thick with rats, hundreds and hundreds of rats — small mountains of them, crawling across and over each other, writhing and twisting. Their tiny eyes stared, their whiskers twitching in the torch light. The stream was a glossy surface of matt wet fur, rodent snouts held high above.
The team began to follow. Santana, Bodie, Jessel, Warnock. They moved through the pool of rats, slowly now, the rats investigating, swimming all around them.
The whole team were a hundred yards into the rat tunnel when they came to a dead end. Baines stared into the darkness. The men shone their torches ahead. No go. Baines looked back up towards the cell. The tunnel was a mistake. Sebastian wasn’t there.
Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
The Lair
December 4, 2.04 p.m.
Harper clasped Denise in his arms as they walked through the corridor back to the main atrium. They heard the distant calls from the HRT team echoing throughout the sewers but they didn’t seem any closer. Sebastian had disappeared. Harper waited for a shot. Nothing but shouting. He held Denise closer. Sebastian had always managed to escape capture. How?
Suddenly, Harper stopped and pointed his torch up the wall. They’d reached the main atrium. Harper’s torch picked out the clothes belonging to the dead girls. They both stared. Then the light spun sideways and they saw the glass vitrine. Shrunken green objects floated in the tank. Then the big sodium lights came on. Harper and Levene looked around. ‘Who’s there?’ shouted Harper.
Then he appeared. Sebastian. He was standing behind his sculpture of body parts.
‘Welcome to my museum, Detective Harper. Welcome. You like what you see? This is my masterwork — The Progression of Love. Seven women. I love them all.’
Harper levelled the shotgun. ‘Nicholas Dresden, you’re under arrest. Now put your hands where I can see them and come out front. One wrong move and you’re dead.’
Sebastian moved out to the side of the tank, pointing a gun. ‘Don’t shoot. He’s gone,’ he said.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’s gone,’ he shouted. Suddenly, he had changed. His whole frame seemed to have shrunk a few inches. His voice wasn’t so deep. His tears started. ‘I’m Nick. Don’t shoot me. Tell him, Denise. I don’t know what he’s done.’ Nick looked down at the gun. ‘Don’t shoot me.’
‘Put the gun on the floor,’ Harper shouted.
‘What have I done?’
‘Put the gun down!’
Nick turned the gun on himself and jammed the muzzle into his ear. ‘I gotta stop him, Denise. I really got to stop him.’
He walked towards them, the gun against his head. He looked shocked and confused. Harper released a shot into the ceiling. ‘Last chance, whoever you are.’
Nick was shaking now. He knew he had to kill himself. He had to shoot the glass cage in his head.
That was all.
