Nick Stephenson - Panic

“Judging by the old padlock we had to break to get in, nobody’s been in that way for years, so the only alternative is to come through from above. And that would require fairly high level access.”

“So it’s probably not a student,” said Mary.

“Not likely,” replied Leopold. “Here we go.”

The monitor filled with a long list of time stamps, listing the exact dates and times each time the machine had been accessed.

“Looks like this computer’s never been reformatted,” said Albert.

“Well, that definitely helps us,” said the consultant, peering at the screen. “The last time this machine was used was two days ago, just before midnight.”

“That was the day before Christina went missing,” said Mary.

“All we have to do now is get to the security files and narrow it down to show who was in the building around the time the email was sent, and who left shortly afterwards. It should be a short list,” continued Leopold. “Let’s start by giving our security guard friend a quick visit. He’s probably wondering where his keys have gotten to by now.”

Leopold’s eyes took a moment to readjust to the dim, murky passageway, but his mind was already racing. Now they had a lead. A solid lead. Once they coaxed the entry logs out of the security guard, it would be easy enough to track down Cupid and get some answers. As they reached a tight corner, Jerome called out from behind in a hoarse whisper, and Leopold stopped to turn around.

“I’ll go at the front,” said Jerome. “Visibility down here is poor, and I should be taking point.”

Leopold didn’t bother to argue. Directions from Jerome were rarely optional. He stood aside to let the bodyguard pass and took up a following position next to Albert and Mary, who were whispering to each other about something he couldn’t quite make out. Albert stopped talking and looked up at him.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he said, “for letting me come along with you. It’s by far the most fun I’ve had in years. I honestly thought my tunnelers days were behind me.”

“No problem,” said Leopold.

“No, really. My life isn’t exactly what you’d call… exciting . But this, well this is something to tell the grandkids!”

“Don’t mention it.”

The tour guide beamed and fell quiet as Jerome hissed a warning from ahead. Most of the light bulbs that hung from the tunnel ceiling were either flickering weakly or had gone out altogether.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “I heard something up ahead. Follow me. Slowly.”

What happened next was almost too fast to register. A sound like a whip crack reverberated through the narrow tunnel as a precise, controlled explosion shattered the stonework off the wall at Jerome’s shoulder. The blast threw him sideways, slamming his head against the opposite wall. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. Almost simultaneously, Leopold heard a series of identical blasts erupt behind him, sending shards of stone flying through the passageway in a synchronized series of explosions that snaked down the tunnel walls and across the ceiling like a string of firecrackers. Mary and Albert ducked down, hands clasped over their ears, avoiding the majority of the debris.

A few seconds later, the dust began to clear. The tunnel behind them had collapsed from the force of the explosions, sealing off the way back.

“Is everyone OK?” hissed Leopold.

“What the hell was that?” responded Mary.

“I can’t see a thing!” said Albert.

“Jerome’s out cold,” continued the consultant, his ears ringing, “and the way back is sealed off.”

“We have to keep moving,” said the police sergeant.

“It’s a trap,” said Leopold. “Whoever set those explosions wasn’t looking to just knock us out; they were meant to kill us and bury us down here.”

“So why are we still alive?” asked Albert, shaking slightly.

“Most people would have been killed by that first blast. It was positioned directly at head height. Head height for anyone other than Jerome, anyway. The secondary explosions were to seal off the tunnel. I expect our attacker will collapse the other end once he’s inspected his work,” said Leopold.

“Inspected his work?” repeated the tour guide nervously.

“He’ll be expecting clean kills, but he’ll be down to check.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” said Mary, “While we have the element of surprise on our side we should go on the offensive.”

“Whoa, hold on just a minute,” said Albert.

“She’s right. There’s no other way out. We either wait for him to pick us off in the dark, or we come at him head on. If we’re still alive, we can come back for Jerome. Follow me.”

Leopold stepped forward and heard Mary pull out her firearm, hoping Albert would be smart enough to stay behind her. The three of them walked forward slowly, toward the basement entrance they had used earlier, trying not to make a sound. The tunnel was nearly completely dark now, most of the lights having been shattered by the blast, and Leopold couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. The corridor was silent.

The bullet whistled past Leopold’s ear and slammed into the wall behind him, throwing up brittle debris as it hit the stone. He dodged to the side instinctively and flattened his back against the wall to avoid a follow up shot. Mary and Albert did the same on the other side of the passageway. Leopold glanced around, feeling the adrenaline kick in, and checked for any sign of movement.

A tiny red dot of light, danced along the opposite wall, seeking out a target. The light made its way closer and closer to where the others were standing, now only partially hidden in the shadows. Leopold knew it was a matter of seconds before they would be forced to break cover and would be in full sight of the gunman. The red dot halted.

Seconds passed and nothing happened. Leopold listened for any sign of movement and caught the sound of fabric rustling about six feet in front of him. Without pausing to think, the consultant shoved against the wall with all his strength and launched himself at the rough area he expected his target to occupy. He lowered his shoulders as he charged to maximize the impact radius of his blow, a technique Jerome had taught him during their training sessions.

Leopold connected. He heard the shooter grunt in surprise and pain as he collided with the man’s rib cage, knocking him to the ground. The consultant spun in the darkness, brought the gun to shoulder-level, and adopted a square stance. He lowered the weapon to the ground where the shooter had fallen and aimed. There was nothing there but empty space.

Leopold felt the attack before he saw it. Grasping the consultant’s wrist like a vise, the gunman twisted it viciously, pulling his arm behind his back. A sharp blow struck his lower back, throwing him into the wall face first.

Twisting his head to avoid a broken nose, Leopold tasted hot blood as his face connected with the stone. Dropping and rolling, he avoided the attacker’s next blow, dodging the impact of the butt of his gun where his head had been just a split second earlier, causing the gunman to grunt with frustration. Glancing up from the floor, the consultant caught one clear glimpse of his attacker as he stood in a stray pool of light.

The man was tall and stocky, and wore a thin trench coat and hat, his features mostly obscured. Leopold recognized him by his strange clothes: one of the passers-by who had caught his attention outside Christina’s dorm room. The clothes looked brand new, probably thrown on earlier in the day to provide cover among the other people on the busy streets outside. He could make out several tattoos scrawled in German on the backs of his hands. There were probably matching tattoos under his clothes as well.