Thicker Than Blood - the Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy - Blake Crouch [168]
As Horace illuminated the tunnel, he wondered if the beam had weakened. It seemed softer, less focused.
He ventured in.
This corridor ran straight and narrow, the sound louder now, a metallic clink-clink-clink.
The beam of light revealed a wide doorway ten feet ahead on the right.
The clink seemed to originate from there.
Horace killed the light and approached in darkness, dragging his hand along the stone so he’d know when he reached the doorway.
He soon felt the break in the wall.
The clinking stopped.
He stepped through the threshold, thinking, Maybe I imagined it.
His foot hit something.
Movement below him.
Chains rattling against stone.
He turned on the flashlight.
The beam lit the horrified faces of two women and Andrew Thomas, each manacled and chained to an iron ring in the center of the floor.
They looked vanquished—faces filthy and bruised, streaked with dried blood. But they were shivering and very much alive.
Horace stepped back in shock, a tentative smile parting his lips.
Rich, hero, famous, author—
Andrew Thomas said, "Who are you?"
Horace put a finger to his lips, knelt at the captives’ feet, whispered, "My name is Horace Boone, and I’m here to get you out."
One of the women started crying.
The other asked, "Are you FBI?"
Horace shook his head.
"You look familiar," Andrew said.
"I followed you from Haines Junction."
Horace shined the light on the manacles that bound Andrew’s wrists.
"You followed me? How did you find me in the first—"
"Let’s talk about that when we’re safe. Now I don’t know how to get these things off."
He tapped the stainless steel manacles.
The woman who was crying said, "I pulled my hand through one of them, but I can’t get the other out."
"Horace," Andrew said, "we’ve been hearing a lot of hammering and sawing nearby. Go see if you can find an ax or something."
Horace remembered passing the room with the oak chair. He’d seen tools scattered all over the floor.
"What time is it?" asked a quiet beaten voice.
Horace shined the light into the face of the little blond he’d seen with Andrew. "Not even midnight," he said. "We’ve got time."
55
THE joy, the giddiness, the aching hope consumed him. Horace Boone ran through the tunnels in search of the room with the oak chair, knowing that he should be afraid, though excitement overwhelmed what little fear there was.
He emerged from the labyrinth on the opposite side of the staircase from which he’d entered just ten minutes ago, and plunging back into that wide passageway, soon found himself standing at the entrance to the little room with the oak chair.
He shined his failing flashlight across the floor. There were hammers, wrenches, pliers, piles of nails and screws. Stepping inside, he saw what he was looking for—a hacksaw lying on a sheet of copper.
He grabbed it and headed back toward the staircase, attempting to retrace his steps to Andrew Thomas and the women.
The light went out.
Sheer darkness.
Horace knocked it against the stone. The light came back weaker.
He moved on through the twisting tunnels, taking only one wrong turn before arriving at the alcove.
"What’d you find?" Andrew whispered.
"Hacksaw."
"Since Beth already has one hand free, cut her chain first."
"Hold this steady."
Horace put the flashlight in Andrew’s hands. Then he walked over and took hold of the chain that linked Beth’s manacles to the iron ring.
"Lean back," he whispered. "You got to pull it tight."
Beth pulled the chain and Horace set the blade of the hacksaw against the metal.
"Andrew," he said, poised to begin sawing, "would you grant me an exclusive interview when we get out of this?"
The second he asked, he felt dirty, and wished he hadn’t.
"You get us out of this, I’ll father your children."
Horace began to saw.
It was awkward at first, the chain moving so much the blade kept slipping. But once it had begun a groove in the link, the blade moved through the metal like it