“I think this might be the room Peter’s agent was looking for.”
Quinn hurried over. Instead of concrete like the rest of the floor, here was a four-foot-square piece of metal. It was dark and showing signs of rust along the edges, but otherwise was in remarkably good shape. There were hinges along the left side and a latch on the right. Through a loop on the latch was a large, very new padlock.
“Shall I?” Orlando asked.
“It might be wired also,” Quinn said.
“Should be easy enough to check,” she said. “The metal’s warped at this end.”
Without waiting to hear what Quinn thought, she got down onto the floor and pressed the side of her face against the concrete. She moved her light so that it played into the opening, moving it back and forth several times. After a minute passed, she sat back up.
“Clean,” she said.
“You’re sure?” Quinn asked.
“Enough to stake your life on it.”
“My life?”
She moved over to the padlock, removed her set of lock picks from her backpack, then set to work. It took her less than thirty seconds to open it.
“This is the part where you open the door,” she said after she removed the lock from the loop on the latch.
“Maybe Nate should do it,” Quinn said.
She stared at him. “You trust me that little?”
Quinn let out a short laugh, then reached down. “You might want to stand back. Just in case you’re wrong.”
“Oh, I’m not wrong,” she said. But she took a few steps back anyway.
Quinn smiled, then pulled the trapdoor up. There was a loud groan as the hinges protested under the weight of the metal door. Quinn swung it all the way open so that it was leaning against the back wall.
“You guys all right in there?” Nate called.
“We’re fine,” Quinn and Orlando said in unison.
Orlando shone her light into the opening, revealing a steep, narrow concrete stairway.
“Nate,” Quinn said, voice raised. “We’ll be on radio.”
“Radio?” Nate said. “Where are you going?”
“That’s a good question.”
Quinn looked at Orlando, then mounted the steps and started down. He could hear her following him a few feet back.
“What’s going on?” Nate said in his ear.
Quinn gave him a quick description of what they’d found.
“So I just wait here while you guys have all the fun?”
“Call Peter,” Quinn said. “Get an ETA on his men.”
“Okay,” Nate said. “What if he asks me what we’ve found?”
“Tell him I’ll call him when we’re done.”
The steps of the stairwell were made of stone and spiraled downward. It reminded Quinn of some he had climbed in old European churches, just tread after tread surrounded by walls and ceiling. A curving tunnel leading to God knew where.
When they reached the bottom, there was only one way to go, a brick-lined tunnel leading away from the stairs. Unlike the cramped space of the staircase, this tunnel was wide enough for them to walk side by side, and the gently curving ceiling just tall enough for them to stand upright without being concerned about head injuries. In the distance they could hear a low rumble, almost more a feeling than a noise.
“So someone was trying to hide a secret entrance into the building,” Orlando said.
“Or a secret exit,” Quinn said. “Say you’re afraid of being followed. You could duck into this building, come down to this tunnel … and from here you can probably get anywhere.”
“Should we stop?” Orlando asked. “Or should we see what’s ahead?”
“Let’s go on a little longer. I’d like to see where this lets out.”
There was a trickle of water running along the floor heading in the same direction they were, indicating a downward slope. The bricks of the walls and ceiling looked old. Quinn guessed the tunnel might be even older than the abandoned building above, perhaps from the early 1900s or the late 1800s.
“Quinn,” Nate’s voice said in Quinn’s ear. “Should … think?”
“Nate, repeat. I missed that.”
“Can’t… you.”
“The signal doesn’t travel well down here,” Orlando said.
