They pushed it open together, a motion-triggered bank of fluorescent lights above revealing exactly why the designers had installed a vault-level door. Racks of military-grade weapons lined three of the walls, suspended a few feet above drawers labeled with different bullet calibers. Pistols. Assault rifles. Light machine guns. Submachine guns. Sniper rifles. He stepped inside, noting that the windows had been for show only. Not a crack of light peeped in where the windows should be. The wall facing the porch was stacked with night vision goggles, binoculars, weapons scopes of all varieties, tactical radio rigs, helmets, and several types of body armor carriers. And this was just the outer room. A keypad-guarded door sat in the middle of the interior wall, leading to the “heavy stuff,” as Pichugin’s proxy had stated. Stuff they were to “show restraint when selecting,” whatever that meant.

“Welcome, Kmart shoppers,” said Oksana.

While the team walked around, inspecting the weapons cache, Felix entered the code to open the second door, which proved to be equally as substantial as the first—for a good reason. After shoving it several inches inward, he caught a glimpse of a military-grade revolver-style grenade launcher inside. A few more inches took his breath away. Pichugin could start a small war with the weapons in this cabin. And there were more of these across the United States?

“If this room is Kmart,” grunted Felix, pushing the door all the way open, “then this one is Harrods.”

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 36

Marnie took the motel stairs in a hurry, eager to return with a bag full of soft drinks she’d acquired from the vending machine room next to the lobby. She’d announced her intention to run out and grab a Mountain Dew a few minutes before their scheduled briefing, unintentionally inviting close to a dozen requests from the rest of the team. She’d gotten to the midpoint landing of the U-shaped stairs when she heard an argument above her. Karl Berg and Rich in a heated debate—about Devin. She slowly made her way up the rest of the stairs, taking in the whispered dispute as she approached the second-floor walkway.

“You have to trust me on this,” said Berg. “Devin has a sixth sense when it comes to surveillance. The FBI’s Special Surveillance Group is about as elite as it gets. He spent twelve years learning the tricks of the trade, then landed a position with MINERVA—against all odds. His mother poisoned that well, so to speak, and they still hired him, because he’s that good at what he does. He’s an asset to the team.”

“I’m not disputing his surveillance or countersurveillance skills,” said Rich. “But my team is pretty well versed in the same game, and we’ve been doing it for decades with our very lives on the line, which trumps Devin’s experience, in my opinion.”