Poe

Chapter Thirty-One

Keeping busy hadn’t distracted Irina as much as she had hoped it would.

While Symon was risking his life for two people they barely knew, she had gone out to the reception desk and tried to work through the ever-present stack of files. Within moments, however, her nerves got the best of her. She stared blankly at the wall, as her mind counted the many ways this could all go wrong, and land her and Symon in very serious trouble.

When the buzzer went off, she jumped in surprise, knocking her knees against the bottom of her desk. She looked toward the door, then the window, then down at her desk before she finally realized the buzzer had come from one of the isolation cells.

She rubbed her knees, calmed herself, and stood up. Before she could take a step, though, the buzzer sounded again.

“Yes, yes,” she murmured. “I’m coming.”

Walking into the back room, she saw the yellow light glowing above one of the cells. As she crossed to the door, the buzzer sounded again.

“I’m coming,” she repeated, this time raising her voice, not caring if the patient understood her or not.

She made a stop at the medicine locker to get a pain pill, filled up a glass of water, and opened the cell door.

“Good evening,” the prisoner said.

Irina jerked back in surprise, some of the water splashing out of the cup and onto the floor. The prisoner was standing right on the other side of the door, an odd smile on her face. She glanced at the pill and cup in Irina’s hand and said, “I won’t be needing those.”

It suddenly occurred to Irina that the woman was speaking Ukrainian. Quite capably, in fact. Flustered, Irina said, “You should lie down. You’ll feel better.”

“Oh, I feel fine,” the prisoner told her. “Excellent, even. How about you?”

She stepped out of the cell, forcing Irina to take a step backward.

“You — you can’t come out here,” Irina cried. “You need to go back inside and lie down. When the doctor returns, I’ll have him check in on you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the woman said. She smiled again. “Your name’s Irina, right?”

Irina’s eyes widened in shock. “How do you know that?”

“I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I didn’t.” The prisoner continued moving forward, forcing Irina to back further away. “I need you to pay attention, Irina. First you’re going to put that cup down before you spill any more water, then—”

Irina didn’t wait to hear what “then” might be. She tossed the cup at the woman’s face and ran for the alarm next to the door. As she was reaching for it, a hand clawed at her shoulder and yanked her back.

“Let go of me!” Irina cried.

The prisoner spun her around and slapped her squarely across the face.

“Let’s not do that again, shall we?” the woman said, her calm, almost unconcerned manner only frightening Irina all the more.

Suddenly someone started pounding on one of the other cell doors, the inmate inside demanding to be let out, to know what was going on. It was the friend of the woman who had gone with Symon and Powell.

The prisoner holding Irina’s arm ignored the shouts. “I need you to listen very carefully to me, Irina. Are you listening?

She was too frightened to respond.

“I asked if you’re listening.”

Irina didn’t trust her own voice, so she nodded.

“Good. Now, here’s what I want you to do. I know your friends are headed for a tunnel. I want you to show me how to get there. Right now. And you won’t be making any wrong turns that might lead to some of your friends working in the building.” She smiled again. “Are we clear?”

This time, Irina managed to eek out a yes.

“Excellent,” the woman said. She nodded toward the door. “After you.”

It was at moments like these that the assassin loved her work. The assigned killing itself was often routine, but it was what led up to it — a series of moves and counter moves that forced her to use her wits and often improvise — that she relished.

Her instincts about Powell had proven to be correct. And her decision to keep close tabs on the woman had led her to the exact place she needed to be, at the exact moment she needed to be there.

She had assumed there was some sort of escape plan in the works, and listening at her cell door as the doctor and Powell spoke had confirmed this.

The assassin had waited until she was sure everyone was gone, then had pushed the button to call for help. And while she often got a kick out of scaring the crap out of people, sometimes even hurting them — slowly — in the process, she knew tonight was not the night to indulge her baser desires. Prolonging the nurse’s terror would only keep the assassin from the task at hand.

And time was of the essence.

After telling the nurse to find a flashlight, she followed her down a hallway into the storage room, and immediately became suspicious. “This is the way?”

“The tunnel starts in one of the basements.”

“So why are we in here?”

The nurse gestured to a set of double doors at the rear of the room. “Elevator for supplies,” she said, looking even more frightened than before. “It will take you to the proper basement. But…but it can only be operated if there is a person at each end.”

The assassin nodded, then went to the doors and tried them.

Locked.

“Why won’t they open?”

“The elevator car must not be here,” the nurse said. “They remain locked if it’s on another floor. For safety.”

The assassin examined the doors for several seconds before turning again to the nurse. “And once you get to the bottom, where is the tunnel entrance?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been down there. Symon…Dr. Teterya said it’s in one of the rooms close by. That’s all I know.”

“You’ve never seen it?”

“No.”

Disappointing, the assassin thought, but not the end of the world.

Smiling again, she thanked the nurse, and for a moment the poor girl looked relieved. The assassin let her hold on to that feeling for a few seconds, then reached out and snapped her neck.

Never one to disrespect the dead, she gently laid the nurse on the floor, out of the way.

Then she returned her attention to the elevator doors.