Bullet dove in first, vanishing into the darkness like a shadow. Flash went second, followed by Bruno with Gideon, the wounded man leaning on the giant's shoulder, each step coming with a rasp, but he didn't complain.
Ethan brought up the rear, keeping the red flashlight low to the floor so he wouldn't blind the others or create reflections on the walls.
The ceiling kept dropping lower. Soon they had to walk bent over, then almost on all fours. Water dripped from above, ice-cold, running down the backs of their necks, soaking through clothes.
From above came the hum: drones circling over the collector entrance on 10th Street. They couldn't descend the passage was too narrow. But they waited. Waiting for the group to surface somewhere farther along.
Their thermal imagers scanned every manhole within a kilometer radius from Tompkins Square Park to the East River.
"They've sealed every exit on our street," Flash said quietly, without turning.
"I overheard a little. They're in night mode.
After Maria's murder they activated the protocol. Any heat signature above 36 degrees within a kilometer of the crime scene triggers an automatic alert.
Plus ground patrols, black vans with no plates, plainclothes with thermal goggles.
If we surface, they'll have us in under a minute."
Ethan swallowed.
His throat was dry as dust.
"So… we're wanted now?"
"Not us. Our silhouettes are.
But if they catch Gideon, they'll tie him to you.
And you to Maria and no compensation in the world will save you."
Gideon coughed, spat on the floor; the saliva was pink with blood from his bitten lip.
"Sorry… that I'm… in their database…" he rasped.
"Don't apologize," Bruno grunted.
Another turn. Then one more.
The ceiling rose again, now they could stand straight but the floor sloped sharply downward, slick with moss and a thin sheet of water.
Feet slipped; they had to brace against the walls.
Bullet suddenly froze.
Her ears shot forward; a low warning growl rumbled out.
Flash halted and raised his hand, everyone stopped.
Bullet turned her head sideways, toward a side passage, narrow as a crack in rock.
Human footsteps echoed even here: boots accompanied by wet squelching.
Corvin's mercenary.
He hadn't gone far. He'd come back to double-check, and now he was descending after them, apparently realizing the decoy signal had been too obvious.
The noses of Corvin's hunters were sharp enough to literally smell a lie on a person.
Flash cursed under his breath, teeth clenched.
"He's got our scent. His nose is better than the drones'. He knows we went down."
"What do we do?" Ethan whispered.
"Run…"
"Faster. He's alone, but he's got the strength of five men.
If he calls backup, we're finished."
They bolted forward, no more caution, just speed. Gideon groaned with every step Bruno took, but he held on.
Bruno was almost carrying him, supporting him under the elbow.
The tunnel widened into an old vaulted chamber with darkened brick columns. In the center lay a dry platform covered in 80s graffiti: tags, silhouettes, the words "No Sleep Till Brooklyn", "East Village or Die".
Flash paused for a second, listening.
"Here, through here…"
He pushed against an inconspicuous metal door in the wall rusted, but fitted with a new electronic lock that clicked open at his fingerprint.
The door opened with a soft creak.
Behind it a corridor lit by dim yellow light. Walls lined with foil: a Faraday cage.
At the far end sat a figure in a wheelchair, back to them.
He didn't turn.
"You're seven minutes late," he said calmly in his old, raspy voice.
"I heard the drones," the old man added, smacking his lips.
"And your pursuer. Now get inside, quickly…"
They tumbled in. The door slammed shut behind them with a heavy clang; the electromagnetic lock snapped into place.
Above, drones circled over the streets of the East Village. The mercenary stopped at the entrance to the chamber but went no farther.
He'd lost the trail the rain had washed away the scent, and the foil shielded heat and electromagnetic signals.
The Blind Man slowly turned his chair.
His eyes were white and cloudy, yet he looked exactly at them as if he knew precisely where to aim.
"Everything you came for you have it with you?"
Ethan nodded, even though the man couldn't see.
"Yes."
The old man smiled.
"Then let's see what data is so important that even Corvin and his dogs came for it."
He extended a dry, thin hand.
Bruno stepped forward, pulling out the laptop, the flash drive, and a stack of papers, everything they'd taken from Ethan's apartment.
Maria's pendant remained in Ethan's pocket: just a plain metal locket with an engraving, nothing more.
All the real data the records, schematics, were on the flash drive and in the notebooks.
He plugged the drive into an old but reliable laptop on the table.
Lines of code appeared, maps, photos, audio files.
The Blind Man leaned closer; his fingers danced across the keyboard blindly, he knew every key by touch.
"Maria was clever," he said softly. "She didn't just encrypt data. She encrypted the key path right into the drive itself."
"There's a whole list of names, a full clan of Corvin's…"
"Imagine a network like the darknet, but loaded onto a single flash drive as a private, standalone server," the old man snorted, fingers still moving.
"Sorry, but what's your name?" Ethan suddenly asked.
Flash immediately clamped his left hand over the young man's mouth.
"Ahm… Qubert…" the Blind Man said, then continued explaining.
"Here are the ones who sell blood on the black market, mercenaries, creatures who cover up murders. And most importantly, where they keep the archives."