Page 98 of Shadow Blind

Muffin, picking up on her mistress’s panic, started growling again.

Wolf sighed. “The combination?”

Perhaps there was more than jewelry and money in this safe she spoke of. The Russian seemed determined to prevent her from giving out the combination. If they were lucky—very lucky—perhaps they’d find the nanoweapon inside.

Assuming he could hear the combination between her sobs, screams, and the dog’s growling.

“E-5-9-A-2-7-F.” She sobbed the combination of letters and numbers out.

Wolf made her repeat the combination, then turned to Samuel, who already had the syringe out of his pack. With the needle pointed up, Samuel flicked the barrel and compressed the plunger until the air bubbles were expelled.

Wolf leaned forward and pinned the Russian to the mattress. He tilted his chin toward Samuel, who stepped up to the bed and grasped the Russian’s arm. Kuznetsov rolled his head toward Samuel, his gaze falling on the syringe. He paled. “Nyet! Nyet! Is illegal!”

The response startled a laugh from Wolf. Illegal? This from the butcher of Karaveht? Did he think infecting dozens of innocent people with his insanity bug had been fair play?

“Nyet! Nyet—how you say? Nyet needles!” The Russian tried to jerk his arm away from Samuel’s grasp, but Wolf pressed it into the mattress, holding it still as Samuel plunged the needle into the muscled arm. Thirty seconds later, the drug hit his brain, and the Russian fell unconscious. Wolf let him go and stepped back from the bed.

Unlike sodium thiopental, which required intravenous injection, the drug the Shadow Mountain lab techs had developed could be injected into the muscle instead of the vein, but with the same metabolism rate of thirty to forty-five seconds for the drug to reach the brain. But this Shadow Mountain drug left the brain and distributed to the rest of the body faster. Instead of five to ten minutes for the concentration in the brain to drop to levels compatible with consciousness, the Shadow Mountain drug brought a return to consciousness—or at least, the moonlight state of consciousness—within three minutes.

Leaving Samuel to watch the woman, Wolf turned his attention to the closet. Dim light spilled down from the overhead light fixture. He made several trips in and out, dumping armfuls of colorful dresses, sweaters, cardigans, pants, and coats onto the bedroom floor. It took him several minutes to shove the endless pairs of stiletto heels to the very back of the space. Hee-nes-ce, did this female like her tall shoes. There were no flats to be found.

Once most of the floor was clear, he crouched to study the wood planks. The light was too weak to see the flooring well, so he pulled his flashlight from his equipment belt, clicked it on, and glided the beam along the boards. The grain and slats matched up perfectly. No gaps or signs of scuffs or scratches hinted the boards had been pried up.

Crouching, he ran his fingertips across the boards’ seams. A slight variation in height between the planks gave the safe compartment away. There must be a mechanism that pushed up the false floor when activated. He ran his fingertips along the edges. When he found a slightly raised, two-inch patch along the seam that had some give to it, he pressed down progressively harder until a subtle snick sounded. A two-by-two-foot section of the floor popped up.

A safe was tucked in the space below.

Chapter thirty-eight

Day 17

Petropavlovsk, Russia

The safe was made of black metal that blended into the darkness below. Almost two feet wide, it sat back from the front of the compartment, which allowed room for its door to swing open.

He leaned down and dialed in the combination Kuznetsov’s woman had recited. A soft snick sounded. He pulled back the handle and the door silently swung open.

The woohanna hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said the safe was full of jewelry. The entire right side of the interior was stacked from bottom to top with velvet-wrapped boxes. Stacks of money took up the left side of the safe.

He swept his flashlight beam from corner to corner, making sure Kuznetsov hadn’t booby-trapped the interior, but saw nothing of concern. He removed the money first, flipping through each of the banded stacks. There were a variety of currencies—the US dollar, the Australian dollar, the Russian ruble, the Chinese yuan.

He reached for the jewelry boxes next. The wanatesa weapon was microscopic. The vessel that contained it could be equally small. Perhaps the Russian had attempted to conceal it inside a jewelry box.

But case after velvet-lined case contained nothing but jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, watches, earrings, rubies, sapphires, diamonds. Each piece was gaudier than the last. Unless the nanobots had been infused in the jewelry, which seemed unlikely—how would you deploy it?—the jewelry collection was of no use to them.

When the compartment was empty, he laid on his side, clamped the torch between his teeth and eased his head into the space, angling it until he could see into the safe. His flashlight beam reflected off a silver-gray rectangular case pressed up against the back wall. Leaning further down, he worked his arm into the safe, and wedged the tips of his fingers into the space between the back of the case and the wall. He pulled, but it didn’t budge.

He forced his arm in further, ignoring his burning shoulder, which was wedged against the corner of the safe. Even with his fingers shoved deeper behind the case, the object didn’t move when he tried to pull it forward. Was it bolted to the safe? His shoulder and his fingers burned as he forced his fingers fully into the space and pulled hard.

This time, the case wiggled forward a bit. Apparently, it wasn’t bolted to the floor, just incredibly heavy. It was also cold, almost icy, numbing his hand.

Inch by inch, he dragged the box closer. A heavy, scraping sound accompanied its progress to the front of the safe. He kept pulling until the box sat half on the lip of the safe and half on the floor beneath it. There was just enough room to get his hands under it. He shifted onto his stomach and reached for his prize with both hands. Once he had a good grip on the box, he lifted it, while simultaneously scooting backwards.

Astonishing, how heavy the thing was. At least fifty pounds.

His heart rate doubled as he got his first good look at the rectangular container. The fact it had been hidden so deep in the safe, along with its appearance, hinted he might have found what they’d come for. The case was metal and narrow, maybe five inches wide, but long—at least eighteen inches in length. Two thick hasps with rotating clasps secured the lid in place.

Setting it on the floor, he rotated the clasps, freeing the hasps. After a quick prayer to the Shadow Warrior that the lid wasn’t booby trapped, he cautiously lifted the top. The interior contained a cushioned bottom. The lid was cushioned, too. Five indented slots ran along the bottom cushion. Four of the slots were empty. The fifth held a metal container of the same silver gray as the case. It was small—maybe two by three inches, narrow at the top and bottom, with a flat bottom and bulging sides. It looked like a miniature hand grenade, complete with a metal ring and pin. Although this thing had a smooth exterior and was a third the size of a normal grenade.

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