Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [134]
The ride was short but exhilarating, a ten-second rush of adrenaline that ended with Tony flat on his back in an industrial-sized laundry bin that was already half full of dirty linen. Sitting up, he peeked over the top and scanned the area.
Typical commercial building subbasement, from what he could see, all cement, with ducts and pipes and fluorescent light fixtures, a couple of big industrial-sized sinks; quite a contrast to the beauty of the museum above. But this was only one room in a massive floor plan, with doors leading to other rooms, and Tony had no idea which way to go. Fortunately, the place seemed deserted, no white-coated servers or maintenance workers moving about.
Climbing from the bin, Tony grabbed a napkin and walked toward the sink.
“Okay, that was fun. And no broken bones, thank you very much. Where do I go from here?”
“You’re actually pretty close,” Karras told him. “Depending on how you’re positioned, there should be a door to your left, followed by a long corridor that eventually opens out into an old boiler room. You’ll find the sealed-off elevator to your right with the auxiliary hatch to the left of it. If anyone’s coming up, that’s where you’ll find them.”
“What’s going on upstairs in the courtyard?” Tony asked as he ran the napkin under water.
“The Prez is shaking hands and making small talk, but he’s making his way inside.”
Minutes mattered now.
Seconds.
“Is that running water I hear?” Max asked.
“Yeah. I’m wetting a napkin so I can wring it real tight. Makes a helluva whip if you crack a guy across the eyes with it.”
“Sweet,” Karras said.
“Yeah, if I don’t run across more than a rogue or two. Either of you heard from Jack?”
“Not a peep,” Max told him.
“Wonderful.”
What the hell is he up to?
Tony wrung out the napkin, twisted it tight, and looped it in his hand, ready to use if necessary. He located the door on his left and made his way to it. He turned the knob, opening it just a crack.
The corridor beyond was dimly lit, the ceiling and one wall lined with huge round plumbing pipes. As Tony moved into it, he wished they had figured some way to smuggle weapons into the place. He’d hate to run into a small army of terrorists while carrying nothing more than a wet napkin.
Quietly closing the door behind him, he worked his way down the corridor, following it as it curved slightly to the left. As he approached the mouth of the corridor, which opened onto the old boiler room, he heard the faint sound of a radio playing. An easy-listening station.
Someone was down here.
Edging to his right, Tony took cover behind a large plumbing duct and peered into the dimly lit room.
What he saw froze his heart.
A uniformed museum guard lay on the floor next to an old cage-style elevator. The doors to the cage were shut and secured with a thick chain and padlock. And just to the left of this was a small hatch in the floor. It had also been secured by a chain and padlock, but they lay discarded next to it and the hatch was hanging open.
This was not good.
Scanning the room and seeing no sign of a threat, Tony stepped from behind the duct and quickly moved to the guard. Crouching down, he grabbed the young man’s wrist and felt a faint throbbing.
Still alive.
Activating his com line, Tony said, “Jack, if you’re out there, we have a serious—”
Before he could finish, something solid hit him across the back of the head and he spiraled into darkness.
* * *
“We were warned you might show up here,” Forsyth said.
They had taken Jack through a hallway just off the museum foyer and sat him in a small square room with stiff-backed chairs and an interview table. One wall had a large window that looked into a room full of security monitors, two uniformed guards manning them. The two special agents hovered nearby, eyeballing Jack as Forsyth took a seat across the table from him.
“Warned by who?” Jack asked, although he had a pretty good idea.
“It was one of those trickle-down situations,” Forsyth said. “When I heard your name, I got very interested.
“We saw you arrive,