Chapter 6 - The Prohibition Tunnels
The north corner of the cellar was a graveyard of dust and cobwebs, housing vintages that hadn't been touched in decades. Claire pointed to a section of the brick wall that looked slightly discolored, the mortar crumbling at the edges.
“Here,” she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline crash threatening to make her knees buckle. “It’s a hollow double-wall. Behind it is the old rum-running tunnel.”
Michael swung the heavy steel crowbar. The first strike echoed like a gunshot, chipping away a massive chunk of ancient mortar. He swung again, and again, his muscles bunching under his ruined tuxedo shirt. With a final, agonizing heave, a section of the brickwork collapsed inward, revealing a pitch-black, gaping hole.
A rush of stale, damp air blew into the cellar, smelling of mildew and stagnant water.
“Go,” Adrian commanded.
Michael went first, clicking on a small tactical flashlight retrieved from one of the dead mercenaries. Victoria followed, sobbing quietly, gathering the ruined skirt of her designer gown. Claire stepped through next, the temperature dropping significantly as they left the climate-controlled cellar. Adrian brought up the rear, sealing the hole as best he could by dragging a heavy wine rack across the opening.
The tunnel was narrow, built of rough-hewn stone and rotting wooden support beams. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, pooling in the muddy floor.
“Where does this lead?” Michael asked, keeping his flashlight pointed low to avoid being seen from any street-level grates.
“It runs beneath the hotel courtyard and connects to the old boiler room,” Claire explained, her memory of the building's historical archives serving as their only map. “From the boiler room, there’s a freight elevator that goes straight up to the executive suites on the top floor.”
“Reynolds is using the security control room on the second floor as his command center,” Adrian deduced, walking beside Claire in the cramped space. “If we take the freight elevator to the roof, we can drop down onto the second-floor terrace. We take the control room, we take back the hotel.”
“It’s a suicide mission,” Victoria whimpered from the front. “There are fifty of them.”
“There were fifty of them,” Adrian corrected coldly. “Now there are forty-six. And they don't know where we are.”
They walked in tense silence for ten minutes. The damp cold seeped into Claire’s bones. She looked at her hands, stained purple and crimson with wine, looking alarmingly like dried blood. Just hours ago, her biggest concern was whether a bottle of 2012 Burgundy had been decanted long enough. Now, she was plotting a counter-siege with a mafia boss.
“Why did you save me?” Claire asked suddenly, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at Adrian’s profile in the dim light. “Up in the ballroom. You could have left me. I’m just staff.”
Adrian didn’t stop walking, but he glanced down at her. His dark eyes were unreadable. “You aren't just staff, Claire. You’re observant. In my world, observation is the highest form of loyalty. You saw the seal. You warned me. You earned your life tonight.”
Before Claire could respond, Michael held up a fist.
They all stopped.
Ahead, the tunnel widened, leading to a heavy, rusted iron door. Faint, yellow light leaked from beneath it, along with the low hum of heavy machinery.
“The boiler room,” Claire whispered.
Michael crept forward and pressed his ear against the cold iron. He held up two fingers. Two men inside.
Adrian stepped forward, drawing the suppressed pistol he had taken from the cellar. He looked at Michael, who nodded, readying his own weapon.
“Open it,” Adrian mouthed.
Michael gripped the rusted handle. He yanked it downward and kicked the heavy door open in one explosive movement.
The two mercenaries inside barely had time to turn around. Adrian and Michael moved with synchronized, lethal precision. Two suppressed coughs echoed in the massive, steam-filled room. Both men dropped instantly, their bodies hidden among the massive, thumping boilers.
They stepped into the sweltering heat of the room. The transition from the freezing cellar and damp tunnel was dizzying.
“There,” Claire pointed through the steam. Across the room, hidden behind a cage of chain-link fencing, was the industrial freight elevator.
“Get in,” Adrian ordered.
May you like
As the heavy metal grate closed, Adrian looked at the panel. He bypassed the lower floors and pressed the button for the roof. The elevator groaned, protesting the weight, and slowly began to rise.
The hunt was on.
