The stickie stood, giving the darkness around him an unblinking stare with his huge eyes. They held a contemplative expression that chilled Kane’s blood. One malformed finger touched the microphone affixed to the base of his throat, and the stickie spoke. Kane expected to hear sounds as repulsive as his appearance, but his words were in flawless English. “Timoto reporting. All clear.”
As soon as he dropped his hand from the microphone, Kane shot him three times from a range of eight feet. The suppressor made whispery sounds as the subsonic rounds took the stickie in the face, the heart and the throat. The final bullet stifled his death cry to a husky rattle that couldn’t carry up through the thick rock embrasure.
The stickie jerked backward, started to fall, but Kane bounded forward and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, pulling him into the shadows. He lowered the limp body quietly, grateful for his gloves. The thought of touching that slick, rubbery flesh made his bowels loosen.
The guard had given Reeth an all-clear report, so there was no better time to breach the fortress. He and Grant couldn’t wait for the rest of the team to join them, since the stickie was probably under orders to supply status reports at regular intervals. At best, they had five minutes to get insideat worst, one. Regardless, there wasn’t sufficient time for Salvo and the others to reach their position before the guard was missed.
Kane planted his feet firmly in the first niche and began an awkward, turtlelike climb, not using his hands. When his eyes were above the edge of the opening, he stopped.
Illuminated by an old, flare-topped oil lamp on a table was a narrow landing of stone and timber. Directly opposite him was an open doorway and a flight of stone steps leading up into gloom. Kane climbed through the portal and moved aside as Grant’s head and broad shoulders emerged. It was a tight squeeze, but Kane didn’t help himhe kept the bore of the Copperhead trained on the dark doorway.
When Grant was standing beside him, Kane moved through the door, starting up the steps. The stairway was too narrow for them to walk abreast, so Grant gave Kane a six-foot lead.
They went up three complete windings of the corkscrew staircase before coming out onto a broader landing. A steel slab of a door was jammed firmly in the stone. A wheel-lock jutted from the cross-braced, rivet-studded metal mass. A naked lightbulb shone from a socket in the roof.
Kane and Grant eyed the door, looking for trip wires, photoelectric sensors or vid cameras. They saw nothing but stone and steel. Smiling wryly, Kane whispered, “I think it’s safe to talk now.”
“Kane!” Salvo’s voice issued into his helmet, tight with tension, urgent with anxiety. “Location!”
“Inside the fortress,” Kane replied softly. “Preparing for penetration.”
“That’s a big neg. Wait till we get there.”
” That’s a big neg,” whispered Kane fiercely. “No time. You’ll have to wait until we fuse out the power system, kill the spots.”
Grimly, as though he resented each word passing his lips, Salvo said,”Affirm, then. If and when you see Reeth, serve the termination warrant. On sight. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Kane gestured toward the door, and Grant stepped to it, putting his hands on the wheel-lock, letting the Copperhead dangle from his belt. Taking and holding a deep breath, the big man gave the wheel a counterclockwise twist. The door swung inward silently on recently lubricated hinges.
Beyond it was a tunnel, with neon light strips stretching along the ceiling. The tunnel was fairly long and had been hacked out of the rock. It obviously ran deep into the bowels of the cliff. A faint murmur of voices and a mechanical hum like a power generator reached them.
“After you,” murmured Grant. “Pointman.”
Kane took a tentative step forward. “One day something’ll happen to tarnish this rep of mine.”
“Like what?”
“Like getting myself chilled.” He didn’t smile when he said it.
Chapter Three
The absence of guards was suspicious, but they were in too deep to backtrack. Kane stalked along the tunnel, comforted by the faint sounds of Grant’s footfalls six feet behind him.