The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(101)

‘There must be another way. Where the utilities come in? Some kind of pipe? Or duct?’

Reacher shook his head. ‘These places are self-contained. The water is processed and recirculated. Same with the air.’

‘What about power? The generator. It’s gone now, but there must have been one. This place was built, when? The 1950s?’

Reacher nodded.

‘What kind of generators did they have back then?’ Fisher said.

‘Diesel, probably,’ Reacher said.

‘And diesel engines require air to run. Which would have to come from outside. Come on.’ Fisher struggled to her feet. ‘Back to the generator room. We’ll start looking in there.’

Reacher looked at the mouth of the shaft. It was the last place in the world he wanted to go. But where he was, trapped behind that massive door, was the last place in the world he wanted to stay. And he had the Russian agent to think about. Klostermann’s daughter. Maybe with her hands already on The Sentinel. Maybe already ordered to disappear. Reacher knew Sands would raise the alarm when she didn’t hear from him. Wallwork should be on his way, too. But how long would help take to arrive?

‘I’ll go.’ Reacher handed the SOCOM to Fisher. ‘Someone might come. They might open the door. If they do, make sure they don’t close it again.’

Reacher climbed down the first ladder. One rung at a time. Nice and slow and calm. Then the second ladder. Then he walked down the corridor to the generator room. Went in. Glanced at the bodies on the floor. And turned his attention to the ceiling. He surveyed every inch. There was nothing that looked like it could have been a vent or an air supply. He moved down to the walls. There were two filled-in circles that could have been pipes. In which case they were doomed. They were only nine inches across. Which left two square panels set into the opposite wall. Reacher walked over and knocked on one. It sounded solid. He tried the second.

It was hollow.

He tried to tear it off but couldn’t get any kind of purchase. It had been painted around, sealing up any gap, not even leaving enough space to jam his fingernails into. He went to the metal table. Scanned the top level. The line of ghastly tools. Found a chisel. And a hammer. Tried not to think about why Klostermann had wanted them. Or what he’d used them for. Reacher took them back to the panel. He started at the top left corner and hammered the tip of the chisel between the wood and the wall. He worked his way all around the perimeter, then knocked the chisel in further. Three inches. Four. And started to lever the handle away from the wall. He felt the panel move. He kept heaving until the gap grew larger and finally he was able to wrench the wood away altogether. It had covered a square hole in the wall, three feet by three. The space also went back three feet, forming a cube. Reacher felt inside. The floor was solid. So were the walls. But the top wasn’t. A circular shaft rose out of it, three feet in diameter. He tried to look up inside it, but it was pitch dark.

Reacher crawled into the space then stretched his arms above his head, hunched his shoulders and clawed his way upright. Nothing obstructed him. He felt the sides of the shaft. They were cold and smooth. Stainless steel, he thought. He moved his hands down and found a rib. An inch deep. The join between sections of steel liner. Not much. But something. He stretched up and found another, three feet above the first. Like tiny ladder rungs. Leading into a tight, dark space. Maybe to the surface. Maybe to oblivion.

Only one way to find out.

Reacher started to climb. He pulled himself up to the next rib. Found the one below with his feet. Pressed his back into the metal surface behind him. Took a breath. Pulled up to the next rib. Took another breath. He was still sweating. He pulled himself up. His skin was still prickling. Then the shaft started to get narrower. It was squeezing in. Gripping him. He was going to get jammed. It was like the black holes in space he’d read about. Matter got sucked in. Crushed. And it never got back out.

No. That wasn’t true. His mind was playing tricks. He forced himself to keep going. He made it to the eighteenth rib. The nineteenth. He stretched up. And his fingertips touched something. It was solid. Rough. Wood, he thought. He was at the top, but something was covering the exit.

Reacher pressed his hands against it. Tucked his head into his chest, and shifted his feet up one more rib. Uncurled his back until his neck and shoulders were in contact. Started to push. And his left foot slipped. He fell sideways. His head hit the metal lining of the shaft, disorienting him in the dark. He scrabbled with his hands. Pushed sideways. Stabilized himself. Got his bearings. Caught his breath. And tried again. He hunched over. Pressed up with his shoulders and neck. Slowly built the pressure. And felt the thing above him move. Very slightly. He pushed harder. It gave a little more. He wriggled and twisted and pushed and managed to slide it to the side. An inch. Two inches. Enough to see light. To breathe fresh air. He pushed harder. Twisted further. Kept going until he’d made a space wide enough to climb through. Then he hauled himself out and collapsed on the rough scrubby grass, covered in sweat, staring up at the sky.

Reacher sat and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It vibrated in his hand and two words appeared on its screen: New Message. He hit the button to make the message play and lifted the phone to his ear. It was from Wallwork. With news from Oak Ridge. As terse as ever. He said Klostermann’s daughter had tried to run. The FBI had stopped her. But she wasn’t talking. Not yet.

Reacher put the phone away and hauled himself to his feet. He took a quick look at the top of the shaft. A neat, square concrete collar had been built around it. The stubs of sturdy bolts were sticking out, so he figured there had originally been some kind of baffle fixed over the entrance to guard against whatever kind of nuclear debris the Cold Warriors were worried about. That had probably been removed when the generator was taken out of service. Dismantled parts may even have been hauled up the shaft. It would have been easier than carrying them up the ladders. That was for sure. And when the project was done, someone just tossed a board over the hole. Over time the board got covered with soil. And the soil grew scrappy grass like the rest of the field. Which is why nothing showed up on the satellite photo.