Page 79 of Deathless
In the rearview mirror, Rhadamanthys stared out the window at the frozen fields. His jaw worked slowly, like a man chewing on something he couldn't swallow. I knew that look. I'd worn it for a decade.
The compound came into view, an old Soviet installation on a hill, with concrete walls and guard towers and razor wire. Someone had updated the security with cameras and motion sensors.
"Home sweet fucking home," Diego said.
I pulled the binoculars from my pack and scanned the perimeter. Both guard towers had men in them. Patrols moved along the outer fence. Cameras covered the main gate and the service entrance on the east side.
"Vihaan, I need those cameras down."
"Working on it." Keys clicked rapid-fire through the comm. "Give me three minutes."
Diego killed the engine. Snow accumulated on the windshield. The heater ticked as it cooled.
I checked the katana. The blade came free smoothly, but the draw pulled at the stitches in my shoulder and the wound throbbed all the way down to my elbow.
Diego pulled his pistol and checked the chamber. "Most people would use a gun."
"The sword works."
"I've seen it work. You still threw one into a guy's chest in Spain." He holstered the pistol. "That's not practical. That's theater."
The corner of my mouth twitched before I could stop it.
He reached across the console and laced his fingers through mine. His calluses caught against my palm, warm skin over the swollen knuckles from the tunnel wall in Casablanca. He squeezed once.
"Let's go get our girl," he said.
I held on for a second longer. Then I let go and grabbed my gear.
"Cameras are down," Vihaan said. "You've got a window before their system flags the outage. North wall, section three. Drainage grate."
We moved fast across open ground, three abreast, Rhadamanthys keeping pace on my left without needing to be told where to go. The snow was fresh enough to show our tracks, but the wind had already filled them in. Diego reached the wallfirst and crouched beside the grate. He pulled a small crowbar from his pack and worked it into the frame, his jaw tight against the grip.
The metal groaned.
"Quietly," I hissed.
"I'm being quiet. This thing hasn't been opened since the Soviet Union collapsed."
He put his weight into it, and the grate came free with a screech that made my molars ache. We froze. I counted to thirty. The compound stayed silent.
"Clear," Vihaan confirmed.
Diego went in first. Rhadamanthys followed, dropping into the dark like a man stepping off a porch. I came last and pulled the grate closed behind us. The tunnel was narrow and concrete, stinking of decades of standing water. My boots splashed through something I chose not to identify.
"Fifty meters straight," Vihaan said. "Then, a junction. Left fork leads to the main facility. Right fork goes to a secondary wing. If they're holding anyone separately, that's where."
Rhadamanthys nodded. "That's where I go."
"Vihaan will guide you through," I said. "We take the left fork."
Rhadamanthys settled his hand on the revolver at his hip. In the dark, I could only make out the shape of the hat and the tension in his shoulders. "If I find Achilles between me and him, I'm not going around."
"Wasn't going to ask you to."
We moved through the tunnel by touch. The darkness pressed close. I found the junction by the change in the air and stopped.
Diego's breathing stayed steady behind me, close enough to track, far enough not to crowd. We'd done this in different tunnels, different countries, always the same rhythm.
