Page 70 of Alex Cross Must Die

“What’s in there?” Marple asked, pointing to a row of metal cabinets against the left-hand wall.

Still wearing surgical gloves, Poe started working his way down the row, opening the doors as he went. The first cabinet held two sets of head-to-toe rubber suits on hooks. The next contained a neat stack of heavy-duty black plastic bags and respirator masks. The third cabinet had shelves with plastic containers marked “HCl” and labeled with a skull and crossbones.

The last cabinet was empty except for a metal pail at the bottom, covered with a blue surgical towel. Poe lifted the pail out and set it on the floor as the others gathered around. He reached in with a gloved hand and plucked the towel away.

At the bottom of the bucket was a pile of blood-encrusted teeth.

CHAPTER 77

FIVE MINUTES LATER, as ambulances and CSU vans crowded the street in front of the house, Holmes walked with Poe to the back, near the detached garage. He knew his partner was frustrated and disappointed in him. He could see it in Poe’s eyes and hear it in his voice. He knew he had it coming.

“Brendan,” said Poe, “this ridiculousness has to stop. You need to listen to me. I’m your closest friend. This. Has. To. Stop.”

Holmes knew it was true. His OD had put the whole operation—and the firm’s reputation—in jeopardy. “It will stop,” he said. “I promise …”

He looked across the driveway at the open garage. The Sigliks’ red Lamborghini sat in front of them in a large bay. There was an APB out for the brothers, but Holmes worried that they were already on a plane out of the country.

He watched as Poe walked slowly around the sleek sports car. The vehicle straddled a narrow channel in the floor, outlined in reflective yellow stripes.

“Unbelievable,” said Poe. “These bastards have their own personal work pit.”

“Maybe they don’t trust Midas Muffler,” said Holmes.

He leaned down from the other side, shining his small Fenix flashlight under the car and into the channel below. A set of metal stairs led down from the rear. Holmes could smell gasoline and motor oil.

But other things too. Isopropyl alcohol and benzyl acetate, with notes of sandalwood.

Aftershave.

Holmes took a breath to center himself. Was his brain playing tricks on him? He slid his slender frame under the car and dropped into the concrete trench. He passed his flashlight beam around the perimeter of the concrete walls, and then on the short metal staircase that led down from the floor level. Everything else about the place was precision fitted. Something wasn’t right.

“Auguste!” he called up. “Get down here!”

Poe swung his legs over the edge. He supported himself with his forearms on the lip and then dropped in feet first.

“Look,” said Holmes. He yanked on the left-side railing of the steps. A gap opened in the concrete wall behind the staircase. Poe grabbed the other rail. Together, they pulled straight back. The stairs moved toward them.

Holmes bent forward and shined his light into the exposed opening in the wall.

Poe poked his head halfway into the opening.

A gunshot almost blew it off.

CHAPTER 78

THE BULLET RICOCHETEDoff the concrete wall and pierced the gas tank of the Lamborghini. Gasoline sprayed down into the pit. Holmes flattened himself against the wall. Poe pulled out his Glock. The next second, he was crawling through the opening. Holmes followed close behind. His head was clear now, his heart pounding.

After a stretch of about twenty yards, the tunnel widened slightly and opened onto a dank circular chamber lined in rusted metal. A metal utility ladder led up to a round opening. The chamber vibrated with the sound of moving traffic.

“Storm drain,” said Poe. “We’re under a street.”

Holmes led the way up the ladder and out of the hole. Cars honked and whizzed past, inches away. He stumbled forward. Poe yanked him onto a curb. Holmes shuddered. Maybe his reflexes were still a little off.

He looked up the street toward a somewhat busy intersection, even at this hour. The light turned red, bringing traffic on their side of the street to a slow halt. At the head of the line, a white Mercedes GT revved and inched forward impatiently.

Suddenly, Holmes saw two men approach the Mercedes from either side. One of them smashed the driver’s window with the butt of a pistol. He prompted the driver out at gunpoint and shoved him to the pavement, then took his place in the driver’s seat. The man on the right jumped in on the passenger side.

“It’sthem!” shouted Holmes.

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