“I’ve got it covered. If you can open the doors, I can get her out.”
“Cocky, much?”
“Not cocky, just unwilling to compromise.” Tess saw Conrad look at the earring in his hand. Gritting his teeth, he pushed it through his unpierced earlobe, wiping away the small trickle of blood. “Testing, one, two, three,” he whispered, receiving a thumbs-up from Tess.
Making his way past the crowded tables, Conrad threw his shoulders back, adding inches to his height and an air of confidence to his gait. Knowing the layout of this Taphouse from his earlier visit helped, as it allowed him to saunter straight past the booths to the segregation door. In the guise of scratching his earlobe, he tapped his earring three times, the agreed signal, before bringing his thumb to hover over the sensor, aware that the young lady behind the bar was watching him closely. When Tess’s voice echoed in his ear confirming it was ready, he reached out, pushing the door, his heart pounding.
It opened with an almost silent click, and the server smiled as he glanced back, giving a polite nod. To his left, a grandiose staircase served to escalate the Elite above the land of the common-folk. He knew that to follow the ivory marble stairs would be to look upon unparalleled luxury and privacy. It was not the place to locate a sordid den of inequity. The Elite enjoyed their taboo luxuries and their thrills outside the law, just so long as they could plead ignorance. The kind of establishment that offered Tabus always protected the money-bringers, thus they would house their victims separately.
Skirting down the corridor that ran parallel to the staircase, he briefly acknowledged the carved statue artwork of the solid handrail which would, hopefully, obscure him from the view of anyone who descended. He could hear Tess speaking in his ear, telling him what to look for, signs of a third door, one not present on the blueprints. Each step caused the pounding in his chest to quicken as he hoped, prayed, that he could find her. He had just passed the first doorway when something he’d spotted from the corner of his eye caused him to freeze.
On the staircase was a mural. He had been aware of it, but he hadn’t realised exactly what it was. The figures he had seen carved into stone were meant to be just that, statues. Where he stood now was Medusa. Perseus stood behind her, his sword raised into the air as if to deliver a fatal blow. He had seen this before, in Jack’s sketchbook. But then it had been different. Then—he reached up, his fingers tracing the sword, to find that it moved slightly beneath his touch. Pulling it down, the blade appeared to sink into Medusa’s neck and as it latched into place, the marble panel opened with a click. He released a breath. This was it! If they were going to hide her somewhere, it would be here. Why else go through all the trouble of having a secret door? I’m coming, Ashley, he thought, grasping for the familiar tug of their tether, convincing himself its absence had no meaning.
“I found it, behind Medusa,” he whispered, taking a quick picture. The door opened, creating the same black border he had seen on the drawing. Opening it wider, he ducked inside, his stomach churning as the cogs on the rear of the door turned, resetting the mural and sealing him inside the brightly lit area. The stone staircase had two thin, equally spaced grip ramps on either side, making it easier to transport things down. The button on the side of the wall suggested it was electric, conjuring images of Ashley being dragged down there, fighting, screaming, afraid, while hands grabbed at her, keeping her still as the ramps whirled, easing whatever she was secured to down the steps. He heard his teeth grind through the set of his jaw, reminding him to breathe. His every muscle bristled with energy, the need to tear this place to shreds as he sought her, but that would help nothing.
At the base of the stairs there were three large openings, one on each wall, and a smaller room just behind him to the left, which he could see was empty but which held all manner of restraints, from wall-mounted shackles and suspension cables, to Saint Andrew’s crosses and shackled benches. Somewhere to the right he could hear the sound of screaming—the kind of screams that set every primal nerve aflame. Edging forward, he saw the first room was divided into sections. Small concrete walls created a line of cells in the rear, while empty beds were secured at intervals in the light. The entire area was paved like a wet room, with large drains at intervals. The undertones of bodily fluids assailed his senses, growing stronger as he approached the first cell.
The door wasn’t locked, merely pulled closed. The concrete enclosure was nothing more than a room with a metal-framed bed secured above a large drain. Looking inside, he could see the spasming body of a man. Froth from his mouth stained his matted beard. Stepping inside, Conrad unfastened the restraints, feeling the man’s paper-thin flesh tear beneath his grasp as he turned him on his side while the foaming vomit continued to flow. There was no time for this. No time for anyone but Ashley. He had to find her.
“Tess, we need medics here now. They’re definitely Tabus, I’m going to check the other cells,” he informed her.
Conrad moved from cell to cell, room to room, seeing gaunt and emaciated figures, hearing
