The thought was not particularly reassuring. She peered in the little square window at head height but saw nothing except darkness. Either the facility was pitch-black inside or the window had been painted over. She quickly looked for a call box and, not finding anything of the sort, tried the handle , which was locked. Exasperation mounting, she scanned the eaves for under-mounted security cameras. Finding one overhead just a few feet to her left, she swiveled and stared directly into the dark iris looking down at her. After several long seconds, she heard a click. She gave the camera a two-finger salute and tried the door and this time found it compliant. The stout-looking door swung open more easily than she expected, and she lost her grip on the handle but caught it before it slammed into the metal stair railing.

Closing the door behind her, she entered an empty front office lit by a single lamp on the corner of a worn metal desk. With a backward glance, she confirmed her initial hunch that the window was painted over. The spartan office looked like it had once served as the reception area for an auto parts business, as time-yellowed posters for Callahan brake pads, spark plugs, and other products hung on the wall.

She pursed her lips.

Enough of your games, Victor. Why did you summon me here?

The lone door on the far wall of the office opened and a very large man dressed in cargo pants and a tight black T-shirt stood in the doorway.

“Detective Perez?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“Yes,” she said, meeting his intimidating gaze.

“This way.” He turned to lead her inside.

To her utter surprise, the inside of the facility was both brightly lit and buzzing with activity. Every square inch of the walls and ceiling was covered by what looked like a thick layer of foil-backed insulation. The effect was dizzying, as the reflective amplification of the overhead halogen lights made her feel like she was trapped inside a mirror ball. She blinked twice, letting her eyes adjust to the light, and then took in the rest of the hive-like scene as a small army of operator types milled about. A half-dozen black APVs—ominous-looking armored vehicles that looked like something from metro PD’s SWAT unit—sat parked in pairs in three columns. With their faceted, geometric armor panels and sharp angular features, the assault vehicles looked like the unlikely offspring of a stealth fighter and a Humvee.

“Detective Perez,” a familiar, oily voice said behind her. “Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you.”