Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The hiss of the surf carried along the salty air, a warning bell on a nearby buoy clanging in the distance. A seal barked from the slick rocks farther up the coast, only a hint of star shine bleeding through the encroaching fog rising off the ocean.
Bodie stared at the old cannery rising out of the mist like a rust-streaked monster of corrugated metal and broken windows, silently wondering if they’d just willingly walked into another ambush. Or if this was the start of that redemption he needed.
His promise to do right by Evan.
Dalton’s voice sounded in his comms. “Situation green. Clear shot down to the rocks.”
Buck glanced toward Dalton’s nest, made a few hand gestures as he paused long enough for their eyes to adjust to the dark, then struck off, picking his way along the cracked asphalt. A heavy metal gate blocked the driveway, a thick chain twisted around the vertical columns.
He stopped, checked the lock, shining an almost nonexistent red light over the surface. “Paint’s scuffed, and the chain’s been re-pinned.” He slipped the clasp open. “Lock’s just for show.”
“Someone’s definitely been here recently.” Bodie crouched in front. “I’ve got fresh mud — tread suggests all-terrain tires. Too narrow for a truck. UTV, maybe.”
Rowan sighed. “Looks like this might be hotter than we thought. You guys still good with the plan, now that we can’t really use any light until we’re out of any visible sightline from the windows?”
Buck snorted. “Not backing out because we might run into some company.” He pointed to what remained of an old pier. “There’s a water outflow pipe by those pilings. Should get us inside without any resistance. After that…”
Bodie waved them ahead, keeping Rowan between them, doing his best to meter his limp.
While his leg had improved, it still burned, the remaining bits of shrapnel like hot embers beneath his skin.
He shoved it down, focused on Rowan. The way she moved, practically gliding over the rocks, instinctively choosing the best line. The woman was more than impressive.
Buck stopped at a narrow, concrete pipe, the mouth black against the glistening rocks.
A layer of algae clung to the sides, a few inches of water shimmering along the bottom.
He lit up the interior with a dim beam. “It’s not pretty, but it opens into the main processing plant.
Should get us beyond any exterior alarms.”
Rowan bounced her own light around the surface. “You sure we’ll fit? All the way to the other side?”
“It gets a bit snug, but it doesn’t fill until high tide, and that’s hours away.”
Bodie crowded in close, his back snugged to her chest. “You okay?”
She glanced at the opening, her nose scrunched before she nodded. “Fine, I’m just not a fan of confined spaces.”
“Buck and I can go. No shame in hanging here. Watching our six.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, eyeing that black hole like she expected it to reach out and swallow her. “I’m good.”
He studied her face in the pale light. Eyes a bit wild, nostrils flared, she looked as if she might break apart. But he nodded to Buck, followed her into the tunnel.
Dripping water echoed off the slick sides, the scent of brine and months of rot weighing down the humid air. The pipe narrowed as it angled upward, the sides closing in until they had to crouch just to keep from hitting the top.
Buck stopped after they’d traveled about fifty meters, glancing back at them. “There’s a grate up ahead. We’ll have to kill the lights, in case someone’s in the main room.”
Rowan paled, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She stared at the tunnel, then back at the flashlight, a hushed whimper clawing free once Buck flicked it off.
Bodie grabbed her hand, tugged her back against his chest. “Easy, sweetheart. Nothing’s changed. Just stay close — time your breathing with mine.”
She pressed against him, took a few shuddering breaths until they evened out — sounded less frantic.
He took a step, easing her along, the pipe narrowing with every foot forward, until it brushed their sides.
The tunnel slowly vanished, any hint of light swallowed by the utter darkness as they rounded a corner — lost track of the opening.
A few tremors shook through Rowan, but she kept moving, shuffling along through the inky black until Buck stopped, a gray light cutting through a series of overhead bars.
He tapped Bodie’s shoulder before a low, gravelly rasp broke the silence as he eased the grate to one side, popped up and out.
Rowan went next, squeezing Bodie’s hand when he grabbed hers after joining them topside, held it tight.
She glanced over at him, mouthed, “Thanks,” before ducking behind a support post.
They took a moment, let the memory of the tunnel fade amidst the cold air, the sterile scent of bleach and ozone thick around them. An unnatural silence hovered over the room, half the windows blacked out with paint or wood.
Bodie inched forward, scanned the section.
An upper catwalk spanned the length of the far wall, dirt-smeared glass separating it from the main room.
He checked for cameras, noting a couple red LEDs in the far corners.
Motion sensors, though, judging on the angle, they’d been directed toward the access doors lining the walls, the center area clear.
Movement.
Materializing out of the darkness along the east side of the catwalk.
A lone silhouette paced the metal walkway in a slow, determined stride.
An orange glow outlined his progress, a cigarette illuminating his jawline.
He stopped at the other end, paused for several seconds, then returned, same pace.
Same half-assed scan of the cannery floor.
Rowan held up her hand, counted down the guy’s timing — thirty step route, ten second pause, repeat — waving them ahead when he stopped at the far end, a few embers drifting down from above.
They crossed the open space in a low crouch, hugging the shadows and salt-stained walls, footfalls hushed against the damp concrete.
Buck angled them toward a large forklift parked off to one side, forks raised, diesel fumes lifting off the engine.
They paused while the merc made another cycle overhead, moving only once he’d stopped at the end of the catwalk.
Lights flickered somewhere down a long hallway off to the left, a faint generator hum breaking the silence.
They traversed the corridor, popping out at a similar open space, large silhouettes looming in the dark. Metal gleamed above them, more catwalks crossing the upper floor. A large, insulated power cable snaked across the concrete, disappearing down another darkened hallway.
Dalton’s voice sounded in their comms. Low. Steady. “Two guards, second-floor platform, eastern end. Stationary. Go on my mark.” Soft breaths whispered over the airwaves, followed by a gruff, “Go.”
Buck stepped out, led them through an array of monolithic rusting machinery, keeping to the shadows, the odd word carrying down from the catwalk.
They reached the halfway point when one of the guards coughed, the loud bark stopping them cold before they melted into the darkness, took cover behind some kind of canning apparatus.
The air thickened, the weight of unseen gazes heavy on their shoulders until Dalton signaled the all-clear. Told them to move their asses.
Buck followed the cable down the corridor, Rowan at his side as Bodie guarded their six, constantly checking behind them as they crept along the shadowed passage, a volley of doors lining the left side. They neared the end when Buck grabbed Rowan’s arm, stopped her cold.
He pointed to a small unit embedded on the wall, a nearly invisible beam glowing in a swirl of dust at one end. “IR laser, likely linked to a concussive charge in that discarded bucket. Primitive, but effective. Hold a second.”
The man crouched low, cracked open the casing without disrupting the beam, then started tracing wires, cutting one with a pair of snips he’d brought along in a small tool kit clipped to his vest. He looked back at them over his shoulder.
“We’re good, but step over, just in case there’s an auxiliary charge. ”
Rowan watched Buck, glanced over at Bodie, eyes wide. Bodie merely smiled. While he could diffuse his share of bombs, Buck took it to a whole other level. Like his tracking abilities. Something uniquely ingrained in him that Bodie swore had been etched into Buck’s DNA. Was simply part of his soul.
Rowan picked up her feet, clearing the beam by a foot as they closed in on the last room, the one with the flickering light brightening the seam along the floor where the cable disappeared beneath the door.
A chrome lock glinted in the beam Buck passed across the surface, the sheer weight of the metal door mocking them.
Rowan leaned over, flashed the light into the keyhole. “You got any small screwdrivers in that kit, Buck?”
“A couple.” Buck rummaged through, handed her twin tools. “You think you can pick it?”
She snorted. “Aren’t many I can’t. Now, if it had been a keypad…”
“Then, I could have opened it.” Buck frowned. “I hate this eighties shit.”
Rowan chuckled. “Bodie? You’ve got our six, right?”
Bodie huffed. “Now, you’re just being mean.
” He stood guard, cringing when every bump and slip of the tools sounded like gunshots in the oppressive silence.
He’d been about to suggest they try another way in — maybe a window or an air vent — when the locked clicked over, the tumbling sound like a mini explosion.
Rowan turned the handle, smiled when the door slivered open. “We’re in.”
Bodie checked their six, again, straining to hear any indication they’d been compromised. “They teach you that in ranger school?”
“Let’s just say my dad was away a lot with work, and I wasn’t exactly a model teenager. Got into some sticky situations and being able to pick a lock saved me from having any kind of juvie record.”