Page 21 of Code Name: Admiral

Whether looking at me or not, he studied me in the time it took for his team to verify Castellano’s crew was no longer in my building—in fact, no one was, since it had been evacuated after the explosion I’d set off. While it wasn’t officially cleared for entry, I was permitted access since I’d be going in with the FBI’s “investigative unit.”

Once inside my apartment, I had other escape routes I’d developed, including one where I could access the roof through another abandoned elevator shaft. From there, I could rappel to any one of five surrounding buildings, each of which I’d scoped out for exit strategies. All it would take was a few minutes alone in one of three rooms in my apartment.

“I need to change,”I said, gesturing to my smoke-stained clothes once we’d gained access to my place. “Unless you want me walking around looking like I just escaped a fire.”

He nodded curtly.

I headed to my bedroom, knowing he’d position himself in the hall, where the door to my room was in view. However, even with it partially ajar, the closet was a blind spot from his vantagepoint. Inside, behind a false panel, I kept additional climbing gear and a small pack with essentials. While pretending to sort through clothes, I silently retrieved what I needed.

I pulled on fresh attire, making sure he saw me when I exited the bedroom and went into the adjacent bathroom. “Just need to wash my face,” I called out.

The window in the small room opened onto a narrow ledge that connected to a sub-roof that led inside to an abandoned elevator shaft I’d used twice before. There was a rusted metal access door I maintained regularly, guaranteeing it would open silently, further shielding my discovery.

The moment I heard Kane speaking to his team through the comms, I slipped through the window, my gear already strapped on under my jacket. Once outside, I moved swiftly along the narrow ledge.

After reaching the shaft, I pulled on my climbing harness and attached the rope, the same way I had earlier today.

The descent was quick but controlled, my boots barely touching the walls as I rappelled down seventeen floors. At the bottom, I unclipped and stashed the rope, leaving no evidence of my passage.

The basement where I was led to a maintenance corridor that connected several buildings on the block. Most people, even building staff, had forgotten these existed. They dated back to when this part of Manhattan was first developed and the original steam heating system needed regular maintenance. Now, they served as my private highway.

I moved quickly but cautiously, using my knowledge of the patrol schedules of the few maintenance workers who still used these tunnels. Three minutes of careful navigation brought me to a junction where the corridor split. The right path led to the subway tunnel I needed, but I took the left first, leavingsubtle false trails—a scuff mark here, a disturbed cobweb there—anything to suggest passage toward the river.

Doubling back, I returned to the access point for the subway system. The lock on the heavy door had been replaced with one that looked identical to the transit authority’s standard issue but opened to my key. Inside, I descended two more levels, using hidden ladders.

The noise of active subway lines faded as I moved deeper into the abandoned sections, and the air grew thick with decades of undisturbed silence. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, the sound echoing off tile walls that hadn’t seen passengers in nearly a century.

I’d discovered the old City Hall station while researching security vulnerabilities in the city’s infrastructure when I began receiving death threats after I’d exposed the criminal practices of a second major tech company. They grew worse after the fourth exposure, leading me to believe it wasn’t just angry executives I had to worry about. The last corporation I’d brought down had ties to organized crime, including the Castellanos, who’d lost millions in their digital money-laundering scheme when I exposed the illegal practices.

I hadn’t needed to use this escape route in the six months I spent fine-tuning it. Now, it was my lifesaver.

Part of my prep work included creating a weekend maintenance-worker cover. Once I felt comfortable assuming that role, I’d stored supplies at key checkpoints, ensuring each cache looked like forgotten utility equipment if discovered.

I’d hidden a fresh set of clothes, a metro card loaded with enough fare for multiple trips, and basic supplies behind a loose tile in the ventilation shaft. The clothes were corporate casual—perfect for the financial district—and I’d rotated them monthly to prevent dust accumulation or wear that might draw attention.

Sitting down on the concrete elevated platform, I leaned against a wall, I raised knees, and lowered my head onto folded arms. While I briefly shut my eyes, I knew I could only afford a few-minutes’ rest before beginning my search for additional places to hide. I also had to figure out how I’d get from where I was now to the cemetery where, in forty-eight hours, my sister’s ashes would be inurned.

After shaking myself awake twice, I stood to get my bearings. Four hundred yards to my right was an eastern tunnel that led where I needed to go. The path wasn’t straight—it curved gradually to follow the original street layout from the 1900s.

At the third emergency light I counted, I located a maintenance alcove that housed a ladder leading to a ventilation shaft.

The shaft itself had been widened in the 1950s to accommodate larger equipment. That modification had inadvertently created a perfect climbing route, emerging in the basement of an office building on Broadway.

From there, I took the number-four train uptown. But first, I walked three blocks north, using the crowd cover of Wall Street tourists to reach the Fulton Street station.

When I was within a couple blocks of the cemetery, I shut off my stopwatch, turned around, and retraced my steps. As long as I used the same route, it would take me approximately twenty minutes to get from the old City Hall station to Saint Ambrose Cemetery, where my sister’s ashes would be buried near those of our parents.

I wouldn’t have time to pay my respects or even mourn Sarah’s death until I’d achieved the next item on my list—taking Bobby Kane’s life in the same way he’d taken my sister’s. My only regret in doing so was that the bullet that killed him would result in instant death versus the suffering she’d been forced to endure as her body gradually shut down.

After reaching the same platform where I’d sat on almost an hour ago, I reviewed my plan several times over before moving on to my next course of action—ensuring thesonuvabitchshowed up.

10

ADMIRAL

“Motherfucker,”I spat when I opened the door to the bathroom I’d expected to find empty and did. “She’s gone,” I said through the comms. “I don’t care what you have to do to make it happen. I want Alice Gordon found.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth.Alive,I added in my head, not daring to tempt fate by uttering it out loud.

“She left through the window,” I said when Tank stood near the bathroom door. His usual stoic expression cracked slightly at the edges. “Who’s your best rappeller?”

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