Page 50 of Undercover Shadow
I marked my path with chalk—a simple X every twenty meters. The route branched twice, and I chose the left fork both times, following the slight downward slope that suggested the direction I followed might connect to the lower levels near the loch.
My radio crackled. “Comms check. Nightingale?”
“Copy. Heading north-northwest, approximately sixty meters in. Two branches, no signs of recent activity.”
“Copy that. Vanguard?”
“East corridor, eighty meters. Found some old smugglers’ marks on the walls, but nothing present-day.”
“Copy. Next check in ten. Out.”
The radio went silent again, and I continued deeper into the darkness. The route opened into a wider chamber, maybe four meters across, with three new branches. I swept my light across the space, looking for any indication of which way to go.
That’s when I saw it—a scuff mark in the dust on the floor. Recent, at least from this century, judging by the sharp edges where someone’s boot had disturbed centuries of settled grime. I knelt down, examining the mark more closely. The tread was modern, the kind you’d see on combat boots, not the smooth soles of hiking boots or casual footwear.
My pulse kicked up. Someone had been down here, and not long ago.
I was reaching for my radio when light spilled into the chamber from the eastern branch.
“Nightingale?” Vanguard’s voice echoed off the stone. “That you?”
“Here.” I stood as he emerged, his beam sweeping across the space before landing on me. “I found something. A boot print in the dust. Recent.”
He crossed to where I was standing, and bent to examine the mark. He straightened, following the direction the print was heading. “Looks like they went that way.”
He pointed to the narrowest of the three options. I marked the chamber with chalk and the boot print’s location, taking a photo with my mobile.
“Should we follow it?” he asked, already moving toward the opening.
“We should call it in first.” I reached for my radio, but before I could key it, Tag’s voice came through.
“Status check. Anyone have anything?”
“Nightingale here. I found signs of recent activity. A boot print.”
“Copy that. I’ve got a lock on your position, and I’m on my way.”
“We could—” Vanguard began, but I shook my head.
“We’ll hold our position until Tag arrives.”
Vanguard nodded, though I could see the eagerness in his expression—the same look every operative got when they found something that might turn into a lead.
The wait felt eternal, though it was probably only five minutes before Tag’s beam cut through the darkness. He emerged into the chamber, his gaze going first to the boot print, then to me and Vanguard standing too close together in the confined space.
His jaw tightened. “Good catch,” he muttered before squatting near the print. When he stood, his eyes finally met mine. “This way,” he said, motioning in the same direction Vanguard had a few minutes ago.
The walls pressed closer the farther we went, forcing us into single file. Behind me, I could hear Vanguard’s steady breathing.
Tag’s light caught another scuff mark, then another before the passage curved sharply left. There, it dropped down a series of rough-cut steps. The air grew colder still.
We continued down until we emerged into a cavern that opened up before us like a cathedral carved from living rock. Natural limestone stretched overhead, and stalactites hung from a high ceiling that disappeared into the shadows.
And on the far side, barely visible in the reach of our lights, was a door.
It appeared modern, steel-reinforced, and completely out of place in this ancient space.
Someone had been down here for more than a walk-through, and they’d gone to hide whatever was behind the door.
