Nic and Carter both had their weapons drawn and cleared each room like professionals. He had been so caught up in solving the puzzle and finding the thieves’ point of egress that he hadn’t even considered the potential danger.

“Here are the stairs,” Carter said. “Nic take point.”

Nic pulled a flashlight from his tactical vest, handed it to Carter, and then produced another for himself. In what Burke recognized from his studies as the Graham technique for low-light tactical entries, Nic stuck the small light between his index and middle finger, and still using two hands to stabilize his pistol, he pressed the end cap button of the flashlight against the knuckles of his right hand to activate the light. Keeping the weapon close to his body and his knees slightly bent, Nic descended the stairs.

Burke didn’t hear anything from beneath them. The stairs were simple two-by-sixes, indicating the basement was unfinished. Carter went down next, and Burke followed a few seconds after.

From below, Nic said, “I’ll be damned, kid.”

Burke rushed past Carter to reach the bottom.

A neat rectangular section of the basement floor was missing. Jutting up out of the hole was a small platform with a scissor-lift bottom, similar to ones Burke had seen at construction sites. They had blown out the concrete and rebar to a depth of about five feet, which then connected to a pre-built shaft, and had used the lift to ride up and out.

“The CIA team may already be down there,” Carter said.

In the dim light, Nic smiled. “Then let’s go say hello. I’m ready to find out what they’re hiding.”

Chapter 71

August Burke found it strange that he wasn’t afraid or anxious. Most of the time, when he was out in the world among people, he felt an elephant on his chest and a deep worry in his heart, even with the medication to help him deal with the stress of social situations. But for some reason, in this situation, descending into a dark pit of unknown dangers, he felt perfectly calm, at peace even. As if he knew that he was in the right place, doing what he was meant to do. As if some higher power was telling him that he was finally on the right path and calming his sometimes uncooperative mind and body.

Small chunks of concrete and dust still littered the floor of the scissor lift, even though the lift was likely shoved into place after the initial blast. As they started to descend, Burke pushed a small piece of concrete down the shaft and listened for the impact. From the length of the fall and approximate weight of the object, he was able to extrapolate a depth of about forty-five feet. From that, he made some educated guesses on the weight capacity of the industrial lift and determined that whatever object was stolen would have most likely weighed under 600 pounds, the average maximum capacity for lifts of this height. Unless they made multiple trips on the lift, but he felt that was unlikely. If he were to bet, he would propose that they were after one object and research data, perhaps a case of the biological weapons and the formula to create more.