The World Beneath

Chapter 21

Ozan pulled the hatch carefully closed. Not just for stealth, but also because sharp noises aggravated his headache. The room above was empty. Tesla and his dog must have gone through the door on the far side, although he’d checked the rest of the room thoroughly, in case there was another trapdoor in the floor or secret exit on the opposite wall. But there was nothing like that. This room had been built to allow the building’s engineers to access the steam tunnels for maintenance, not to prevent a palace coup.

He stifled a laugh of exhilaration. Tesla had led him in a good chase through the terminal. The police had massed to follow them, but they were at least a minute behind and, in Ozan’s world, a minute was an eternity.

He’d lined up the room-service carts on his way through, not worried about coming back that way and hoping to stall his pursuers. If they caught him, he had only to identify himself and use his contacts at the CIA to be released. But he would lose the scent here, and he didn’t want to do that.

He drew his flashlight and headed down the stairs.

His head throbbed with each step. He’d been eating aspirin like Pez today. It had brought down the fever, but not dulled the pain. His brain felt as if someone was prodding it with hot needles.

A quick glance revealed that the old door would be easy to kick down. Whoever had built it hadn’t been worried that someone would want to break into the steam tunnels, or out of them. But he hesitated.

Tesla might be on the other side, armed. He must have led Ozan down here on purpose, probably into a trap. The man had proved that he could be wily, and even a cornered rabbit could fight. They didn’t often kill the fox chasing them, but sometimes they got lucky.

Elation ebbing, he leaned against the wall. The needles in his brain were keeping him from thinking clearly. His illness was affecting his judgment. He should go home and rest, come back later when he felt better.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of the grisly sample he’d collected from Subject 523. Dr. Dubois had insisted on a piece of his brain. Ozan had assumed it was just a repulsive proof of death, but it might have been more. What if the doctor was looking for something wrong with his brain?

Thumping overhead brought him back to the present moment. He had been followed back to this room. He didn’t have the luxury of thinking it over and taking another path.

He squandered a precious minute fumbling with the door lock before he realized that Tesla had jammed something into it. Clever rabbit. Brute force would have to win out over finesse. Forcing his way out seemed crude, irritating to his sense of order. Worse, it left an unobstructed path behind him, but it had to be done.

Taking a step back, he aimed for just below the door lock and kicked. The wooden door frame cracked. That was the weakest part of this door — metal door, strong lock, but a weak frame. He kicked again, feeling the frame give. One more kick was all he needed.

Then he was through the door, gun and flashlight up and ready. If Tesla didn’t take him down with the first shot, he wouldn’t get a second one.

The long, dark tunnel was empty in both directions. Ozan stopped and pointed his light at the floor, searching for footprints. He found many boot prints; the tunnel wasn’t as deserted as he’d have thought. But he found only one set of paw prints. Following them, he hurried west.

“Freeze,” called a voice from behind him.

The idiots from the hotel must have broken through.

Ozan darted into a side tunnel, followed it to a junction, and chose right. A few turns later, he’d lost his pursuers. He’d also lost Tesla.

The dangers behind meant that he couldn’t go back and track his rabbit from the hotel’s steam tunnels. That was just a waste of time.

Instead, Ozan resolved to return to the murder scene and track him from there. Like all men, Joe was a creature of routine. He must have his favorite tunnels, places where he rested. Ozan would find them, and there he would wait.