Into the Devil's Underground Read online

  “Just wanted to get out of hell on earth, you know? Thought I’d been down there long enough. Then I meet with my supposed partner over there, he convinces me this is the way to paradise. Talks about Dante and a bunch of other shit I can’t understand. But it sounded good.”

  A dagger of unease pierced Nathan, confirming his fears. The partner used Joe for some sort of patsy, to get inside and get to Emilie. He’d manipulated Joe with images of a better life and talked about stuff over Joe’s head, making Joe feel inferior. Easier to manipulate that way. The partner probably assumed he didn’t have to ask to bring Emilie—he’d just do it.

  “You don’t seem scared.” Joe fiddled with the chamber of the gun. It looked awkward in his hands. He held it like a bomb. Inexperienced.

  “I’m plenty scared,” Nathan said. “But I trust you.”

  Joe’s snorted. “Why?”

  “Because you’re smart enough to know that killing me puts you in the crosshairs of a manhunt. Authorities won’t stop until they find you.” Joe eyed him, chewing on his cracked lip. “They’re probably going to do that, anyway.”

  “Not to the ends of the earth,” Nathan said. “Banks have insurance. Cops get busy with murders and rapes. But you kill another cop? You’re enemy number one until the debt is paid.”

  Joe gripped the gun tighter. “I just wanted to get out.”

  “I know.” Nathan looked at his watch. Less than a minute. He nodded his head toward the partner still glued to Emilie. “What about him?”

  “Ain’t it obvious?”

  There was no need to answer. Nathan rolled his shoulders back, stretched his legs. He needed to be ready to act.

  There was a sudden female cry, and the frantic customer moved to stand, hand outstretched. Nathan’s body went rigid. She’s seen a member of the SWAT team.

  Joe’s head whipped back and forth. “What the hell?” He leapt to his feet, brandishing the gun. The partner seized Emilie, and Nathan made his move.

  The deafening boom of Joe’s gun firing stalled Nathan’s progress. The bullet whipped past him, shattering the glass in the tellers’ windows. Ears ringing and head swimming, Nathan dropped to his knees. His vision blurred. He could barely see Emilie struggling with the partner.

  “Stand down.” Johnson’s hard voice rang through the lobby. “Cease fire and lay down your weapons.”

  Joe fired again.

  Pop, pop, pop! The clatter of gunshots, breaking glass, and the firecracker-like noise of assault rifles screamed through the lobby. More shouting, someone screeching his name.

  Something thudded to the floor behind Nathan. Fighting against the clamor inside his head, he twisted to see Joe lying face down on the floor, blood rapidly pooling around him.

  “Suspect down,” Nathan called out. He turned back to the teller counter. Two SWAT members were pulling Mollie and the customer out of the bank. Emilie and the partner were gone.

  Nathan hauled himself to his feet. “Where are the other two?”

  “In pursuit.” The beta team member pointed toward the east hallway. “You need to come out with us, Madigan.”

  Nathan ignored them, sprinting to the hallway. He flattened himself against the wall.

  Ahead, Johnson and Chris crouched behind a stairwell. “He’s trapping himself,” Chris said. “He’s going to start firing.”

  “Chris.” Nathan shimmied down the wall and crouched next to them. “He’s got something planned. We’re missing it.”

  “Jesus Christ, Madigan,” Johnson snapped. “You don’t have any gear on. Get outside.”

  “I can’t, sir. You didn’t see how that guy acted with that woman. He’s not going to stop until he has her.”

  “He’s got no way out,” Chris said. “We can wait all night.”

  Another gunshot soared up the stairs, sounding like canon fire. Nathan snapped his head back and forth. “Wish you’d brought another helmet.”

  “I didn’t expect you to continue being a dumbass,” Johnson said. He pressed the mic on his vest. “Kenner, get Madigan’s gear in here, and bring Randall with you.”

  Johnson shifted on his heels so that he faced both men. “This sneaky bastard has no way out. But he does have the advantage, and we’re not taking any more risks. We’ll set up here and cover the stairs. If we have to wait him out all night, then fine. He’ll crack. Madigan, you need to start negotiating for her release.”

  As the gun smoke cleared, a new sound came from downstairs: dull, heavy hammering, a loud crack, and then the rumble of something falling.

  “What’s he up to?” Chris said.

  “Help me!” Emilie’s shrill cry fed Nathan’s adrenaline. “He’s taking me! Nathan!”

  Without thinking, Nathan lurched forward in front of Chris and shouted, “Emilie, I’m here. We’re going to get you out, I promise.”

  He felt the searing rip in his arm first, followed by the grisly sound of the shot, like thunder. White-hot pain lit his left bicep, and he fell back into Chris.

  “Ah, damn! Madigan’s hit,” Johnson shouted. “Get the paramedic down here.”

  Fighting to get the air back into his lungs, Nathan gingerly examined his bleeding arm. The bullet had caught the outer muscle and gone out the back, ending up somewhere in the drywall. “Flesh wound. I’m good.” He pressed his hand against the wound, biting his teeth against the pain.

  Another scream tore through the stairwell.

  * * * *

  EMILIE WOULD DIE fighting. Jamming the burning end of the gun in her neck, Creepy dragged her through the basement, plowing over boxes and anything else in his wake. The dark didn’t seem to hinder his path. She tried to twist out of his grip; he slammed her against the wall. The air in her lungs belched out of her mouth as agony tore across her back. Creepy started pounding at something that smelled chalky, the dull thuds clanging in her throbbing head. She grasped blindly for her wits, but the sheer darkness in the room gnashed its teeth—a gaping hole she couldn’t escape.

  Shouts echoed down the stairs. How badly was Nathan hurt?

  Flattening her hands against the cool, concrete wall, she tried to slither away. But Creepy knew, even without seeing her. His long fingers formed a steely grip on her arm, yanking her back and pushing her to the floor.

  “Sit.” He huffed and then grunted. Whatever he was pounding on made a popping sound, like a board breaking. A triumphant sound rose from him, and he started to pull her up.

  “Here’s the door, Miss Emilie.”

  Fear like she’d never known entombed her—a heavy coffin lid closing with a blunt clang. She dug her fingernails into his hand trying to break his grip. “There’s no door. You’re crazy.”

  He laughed softly, musically. “Of course there is. It’s been there all along.” A hazy, pinpoint beam of light sparked in the darkness. Emilie blinked, her eyes tearing from dust and fear and tiredness. “Look,” Creepy said.

  She followed the cylinder of light. And then she screamed.

  * * * *

  EMILIE’S PRIMAL SCREAM set all three men back on their heels.

  “We have to go now.” Nathan once again moved around his colleagues. “He’s going to hurt her.”

  “Going down there is facing the firing squad.” Johnson snagged the hem of his shirt. “We got no choice.”

  “Listen,” Chris said. “It’s quiet all of a sudden. Real quiet.”

  “Emilie?” Nathan called. “We’re still here. Talk to me.”

  No response. Nathan’s stomach twisted. “He’s shot her. Maybe himself too.”

  “You don’t know that,” Chris said. “He could have just subdued her.”

  Keppler and a female paramedic hurried down the hall. The girl started cleaning Nathan’s wound. He waved her off. “Just wrap it up to stop the bleeding. I’ll deal with it later.”

  “You wait too long, and it’ll make the stitching harder,” she said. “Might cause muscle damage.”

  “I’ll take the risk.”

  She sh
ook her head, slathering antibiotic ointment on his arm and then tightly wrapping it in a thick layer of gauze.

  “We need a plan,” Nathan said. “We can’t just sit up here.”

  Johnson’s fingers drummed against the tile. “That’s why you’re going to start talking. You—”

  “He’s gone.” The shaky, feminine voice from the basement sent the men into momentary silence.

  “Emilie?” Nathan recovered first. “Say again?”

  “Gone. He’s gone. He just let me go and…disappeared.”

  “He can’t be gone,” Johnson said. “Maybe she’s an accomplice.”

  “No way she’s in on this,” Nathan said. “I saw her. She was terrified.”

  “She’s probably just confused,” Chris said. “Emilie?”

  “I need help.”

  “We’re coming, I promise,” Chris said. “I need you to help us first. Our guy has to be down there. He’s got nowhere to go but up—straight into us. Is he injured? Can you see him?”

  “No. I’m telling you, he’s gone. It’s dark down here, but he’s gone.”

  “She’s not thinking clearly. He’s using her to lead us into an ambush,” Johnson said. “She needs to turn on the light and draw him out.”

  Nathan slipped into his hot Kevlar, pain shooting through his arm. “Emilie, can you get to the light switch so we can come down and help you?” He pulled the helmet on with his right hand.

  Shuffling and then a startled cry came from the basement.

  “Emilie,” Nathan said, “tell me what you see.”

  “An old door,” Emilie shouted.

  “Where does it lead?”

  “I…I don’t know. It’s closed, but he must have gone in there.” She sounded frantic. “The bank was built on top of the foundation of one of the city’s original buildings, but I’ve never seen this door.”

  Nathan looked at Johnson and Chris, who both nodded, raising their weapons. Keppler did the same.

  “Emilie, back away from it,” Nathan said. “We’re coming down.”

  * * * *

  EMILIE COLLAPSED AGAINST the wall. The track lighting flickered, threatening to plunge the room back into darkness. Her stomach twisted violently at the thought.

  She recoiled as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Three men dressed in black fatigues and brandishing assault rifles slowly entered the room.

  “Emilie, it’s me.” Nathan raised the shield on his helmet. “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t know how to answer. “I heard them say you’d been shot. Your arm?”

  “It’s nothing.” He smiled at her, and a knot of emotion gathered in her throat.

  “You knew he was after me.”

  He closed the distance between them and knelt beside her. “I figured it out. Looks like you need the medic.”

  She ignored the comment. “You risked your life for all of us. Without question.”

  “There was no question to it.”

  The hard lump thickened. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  A beat passed between them. Beneath the pain of her bruises and bleeding lip, a faint sense of peace slid around her.

  Nathan stood up. “Sit still until the medic comes.” He pointed to the tallest officer, who had also raised the shield on his helmet, revealing an average face and deep-set, brown eyes. “This is Chris. The other guy is our boss, Sergeant Johnson. Can you tell us what happened?”

  A fourth man on the stairs kept his helmet close and his rifle raised, as did Sergeant Johnson.

  Emilie focused on Nathan and pointed to the west wall. She still couldn’t accept what she had seen. “There was a door. It was sealed up with drywall, and there were boxes in front of that. I didn’t know.”

  “Holy God.” Nathan and Chris moved toward the opening she’d never known existed.

  “I swear, I didn’t know. The bank’s built over an old foundation, but the drywall’s always been there.”

  “Let us worry about the door,” Chris said.

  “I want to know what’s behind that door.” Emilie struggled to her feet. She couldn’t just walk away, not yet. She needed to know. She had a right to know. “Where did the partner go?”

  “Stand back.” Johnson, the one in charge, edged past Chris and Nathan, rifle raised. The officers closed the glass shields on their helmets and got into position behind him.

  Emilie’s heart stuttered as Johnson’s gloved hand closed around the rusted metal handle and yanked hard. Nothing happened.

  “Son-of-a-bitch wedged it shut,” he said. “Get the ram down here.”

  Emilie shuffled toward Nathan, her knees wanting to give out. Weariness settled into her bones, but she needed to repeat the words ricocheting in her head. She tapped his shoulder.

  The visor came up to reveal blue eyes. “You need to sit down until the medic clears you. And you’re going to have to talk to the detective in charge. I should warn you about him.”

  She barely heard him. The aged, wooden door commanded her attention, dredging up a memory from just hours before. “The devil’s underground.” The words stuck to her tongue.

  “What?”

  “Creepy—that’s what I called him. He talked about it being the road to hell. He compared it to Dante.” Cold chills swept over her sweating skin. “He said he was going to take me there.”

  Nathan’s eyes widened, and then he nodded. “Thanks for telling me. Here comes the paramedic. Let her look you over, please.”

  Emilie didn’t want to. She wanted to see SWAT open the door. But the shock started to wear off, and her body hurt.

  “Please tell me what you find,” she said.

  “I promise.”

  * * * *

  STALE AIR BLANKETED the basement. Old equipment and boxes of office supplies littered the unused space. Jagged pieces of faded, dirty drywall lay in a pile near them. The partner had torn it off quickly and kept another person in check at the same time. Had it been loose?

  “Bastard jammed it shut,” Chris said as Nathan inspected the door. It was made of sturdy oak. Rusting metal rods held the planks together.

  “This sucker is old, Nate. Our perp didn’t put it here.”

  Emilie’s words rattled in his head. The partner talked about Dante to Joe too. Dead Joe, who’d probably been manipulated into something he’d had no idea how to handle.

  “Chris, you ever heard of the devil’s underground?”

  “I thought it was devil’s playground?”

  “That answers my question.”

  “Ram’s here.” Johnson handed Nathan the Glock he’d abandoned outside. “Your arm up for this?”

  Nathan nodded. “Let’s get in there.”

  The door splintered open after several blows from the ram. A fetid scent oozed out from the gaping crack.

  “Damn.” Chris gagged. “That’s rank.”

  Weapon raised, Nathan peered over his shoulder into the dark opening. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a crude hole in the wall, but on closer inspection, he realized it was a long, narrow passageway. Decaying redwood posts supported the walls. Warped plywood served as a makeshift ceiling.

  “Give me some light.” Johnson led the group single file over the threshold. “Be ready. The son-of-a-bitch is probably hiding.”

  Nathan flipped on his Glock’s tactical light and shined the beam in the tunnel. The walls of earth rippled with the movement of insects as they sought refuge from the foreign light. The cobwebs were so thick in places the men couldn’t see the ceiling.

  He covered his nose with his left arm and crouched in the small space as he crept forward. About ten feet into the passage, a large oak barrel replaced a dug-out section of the dirt wall. Its metal fittings were peeling off. Black mold stretched over several gaps in the wood.

  Nathan aimed his light at one of the redwood posts. Termites had taken over, but their damage wasn’t what caught his attention. The new pillar that stood next to the redwood w
as far more interesting. He moved the flashlight beam and saw that each disintegrating post had a support beam placed next to it.

  “Do you guys see this?”

  “Those are brand new,” Johnson said. “Jesus Christ.”

  Nathan stepped over the broken jugs and rusted metal scattered over the dirt floor. The tunnel continued another fifty feet then sharply turned left. The confined space gradually widened into a circular room, its dimensions no larger than six by ten. Support beams were scattered throughout the room dug into the earth. In the far corner, rickety old chairs stood around a corroded metal contraption covered with cobwebs and a few eight-legged residents.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Nathan pointed his light at the haggard-looking device.

  “Yep,” Johnson answered. “An old distilling apparatus. Probably from the 1920s or ’30s.”

  “Emilie said the bank was built over an original foundation,” Chris said. “Guess we know how the owners paid the bills.”

  “So where’s our guy?” Dust particles swam in the eerie glow of Nathan’s tactical light as he moved around the room.

  “There,” Johnson said. “Go back to the right.”

  Three tactical lights honed in on a smaller tunnel not much larger than a crawl space. The dirt around it had been disturbed. An impression roughly the size of a human body was visible.

  “Where do you think that goes?” Chris asked.

  Johnson pointed his light at him. “You’re the skinniest. Go. And be careful.”

  “Damn.” Chris edged inside. “You should see the size of the cockroaches in here.”

  He disappeared. “This thing goes twenty or thirty feet. Hold on.”

  “What do you see?” Johnson knelt down and peered into the hole.

  “Looks like an old sewer pipe. Not being used anymore, thank God. Wait. There’s an old, homemade hatch on the pipe. And it’s open.”

  “You got a visual?” Nathan wished he could see into the tunnel.

  “Not very far, but there’s no one in sight.”

  “Are you telling me this bastard is running loose in the sewers?” Johnson said.

  “No.” Chris backed out of the hole wiping the grime off his fatigues. He stood up and pulled off his mask. His face was pale. “Pipe’s been refurbished. I could see the code on the side. It’s part of the drains.”