“Now we rescue Alison.”
Chapter 53
Quinn’s torture chamber was the basement of an abandoned building in an isolated part of the city. He actually owned the building, so there was no danger of losing the sweat equity he’d put into renovating it. I’d been inside before, and remembered he’d put drains in the floor, reinforced the walls, and soundproofed them with the same material used in upscale movie theaters.
As I pulled into the parking area, a random thought crossed my mind, something I remembered from a previous visit: in addition to being an excellent saxophone player, Quinn had been an accomplished chef. He used to blister the skin of his torture victims with the same small handheld butane torch he used to caramelize the surface sugar on his creme brulees.
There were no parking lot lights, so I left the car headlights on to get a good look at the exterior of the building. I removed a bag of tools from the trunk and slung them over my shoulder. Callie got out and we stood next to the car and looked at the gray, rundown building. To be precise, the overall color was gray, but there were faded and peeled areas that revealed former colors. I’d say the bricks had been painted at least three times over the decades. Two feet from the top of the building, a series of rusted pipes ran horizontally across the back and disappeared around the side.
“I don’t see any wires,” Callie said. “You think he’s got an alarm?”
“No way.” Last thing in the world he’d want would be to lead people to his workplace.”
“His workplace,” she said.
Standing there quietly for a moment felt right, somehow. Callie finally spoke. “I felt a bit sick tonight, setting the charge.”
“Augustus always lived on the edge,” I said, “but this time he crossed the line.”
Callie studied the building some more. “It would have been tough saving Alison if he were alive.”
“He’d be a tough adversary.”
Callie said, “You really think she’ll be sane enough to work for Sensory after this?”
I said, “Are any of us sane? Hell, this experience might make her a better agent.”
Callie nodded. “You ready?”
I put my hand in my pocket and felt the silver dollar, felt the satisfying heft of it, like I’d done ten thousand times before.
“Let’s get her out of here,” I said. “Assuming she’s alive.”
“Let’s get her out either way,” Callie said.
Chapter 54
If you broke in through the front door like we did, you’d find yourself standing in a small entry office, with reinforced glass walls that offered a view of the huge room beyond. We clicked on our pen lights, opened the door and walked into the dank old warehouse, where I was immediately struck by the immaculately clean concrete floor. I wondered how many times a month Quinn had to scrub it to keep it completely free from dust and dirt and blood.
We moved slowly and steadily through the open space until we came to the little concrete room where I believed Alison was being held captive. I called out her name, but heard no response.
“Help me find an electrical outlet,” I said.
“The power’s not on,” she said, and I doubt you want to flip the main circuit breaker and light the whole place up.”
“He keeps the lights off , but the outlets work.”
We found one close enough to reach with an extension cord. Callie held the flashlight beam on my bag while I opened it and selected the proper tools for the job.
“You’re never going to get through that door,” she said.
She was right. The door and frame were made of thirty-gauge, cold rolled steel. Quinn had told me that every twelve inches of it was reinforced with a checker board of steel columns, and that the gaps between the columns were filled with hardened concrete. The door was secured by three kick-proof, pick-proof locks, and a hardened steel security bar.
