The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(97)

“Call the elevator back down,” he said to her.

She stepped over to the control panel and used her fob to activate the UP button, which lit to her touch.

“What are you going to do?” Stephanie asked.

“Cut them off.”

“Should we not have some help sent down? Surely this place has security people.”

He shook his head. “We can’t risk losing that information. This one’s on us.”

He saw she agreed.

The elevator returned.

He unzipped his coveralls. “We have to blend in, too.”



* * *



Czajkowski stood on a sturdy wooden staircase that angled up from Level III to Level II, blocked off for use by the mine manager. From the first stoop it was easy to watch the elevators that led both up and down, unobserved. The chamber that accommodated them was tall, spacious, and well lit with a polished salt floor, white timbers fronting two of the walls forming an impressive latticework of support. Lines had formed behind a rope barrier, the crowd a bit noisy and anxious to end their visit and head up to ground level. Sonia stood beside him as they waited for the lower-level elevator to open its doors. Thanks to the angle of the stairs and their location, none of the crowd could see them.

“It will take time for all those people to leave here,” he said.

“The less attention the better.”

She held a small walkie-talkie that was connected to an ancillary security center on Level I. He’d already noticed cameras, attached to the walls high up and aimed down at the elevators.

“They have this place under video surveillance?” he asked.

She nodded. “That’s a plus for us. There’s nowhere for any of them to go.”

“I want those cameras shut off.”

She stared at him.

“We can’t have a record of this. Surely you can see that.”

And he saw that she did.

She spoke into the radio and told the manager to shut off all cameras. On order of the president of Poland.

The elevator that led down to the lower levels opened and three men walked out.

“The older one is Reinhardt,” she said. “The younger is his hired help, Munoz. The big man is Ivan. The Russian.”

“I assume the plastic pack he’s holding is what we’re after?” he asked.

“Has to be. Safe and sealed.”

They watched as the three men casually turned right, away from the stairs, and stepped over a rope barrier, dissolving into the crowd, waiting their turn for the up elevators.

“Bold,” he said.

“They have no idea we’re watching.”

“Do we allow them to go up first? Or deal with them here?”

She did not immediately answer. He assumed she was weighing the risks.

“Ivan is a killer,” she said. “He’ll do whatever he has to do to get out of here. Better not to challenge him and allow him to go up. We can be there waiting when the elevator arrives.”

That made sense.

“We’ll watch them a little longer, though,” she said. “To make sure they stay here.”

He reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. She returned the gesture and added a smile. For the first time, he believed this might be containable.

The elevator from the lower levels opened again.

Cotton Malone, Stephanie Nelle, and another younger woman dressed as a mine guide stepped out. Malone gave the crowd behind the rope barrier a quick survey.

A gun appeared in Ivan’s hand.

Which was fired.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE


Eli saw Malone at the same time Ivan had, and he’d not disagreed with firing a shot toward the ceiling.

It generated the desired effect.

People scattered in all directions, oblivious to the barrier that had held them back from the elevators. Like a stampede of cattle they formed a surging wall toward where Malone stood, allowing him, Munoz, and Ivan to join the crowd fleeing in the opposite direction.

They hustled down a wide, lit corridor, their walk alternately on salt and on wooden planks. These paths were nothing like those deep below, the walls polished smooth, the floors even smoother, with plenty of light. The route drained into a medium-sized chamber that displayed wooden chests, carts on iron wheels, and buckets used long ago in mining. The tourists kept going out the other exit, into the next tunnel.

But Ivan stopped.

And assumed a position behind one of the iron carts, gun in hand.

“We deal with Malone here.”

He motioned to Munoz, who crouched behind another of the old carts, armed too. He was about to find his own cover when Ivan said to him, “Stay there.”

Out in the open?

Which meant he was bait.



* * *



Cotton headed in the direction that Ivan and his two cohorts had gone. All of the people had fled, leaving the wood-lined corridor clear. He held the gun in his right hand, retrieved from beneath his coveralls. Stephanie and Patrycja waited back near the elevators. The path was a straight line for about fifty feet, where it drained into an open doorway with darkness beyond.

He approached the entrance and decided, as he had back in Bruges, that rushing in was foolish. Instead he hugged the salt wall on the left side of the portal and risked a look beyond.