The Midnight Watch: A Sigma Force Short Story Read Free Page B

from the inside. This didn’t seem to bother Kowalski as he headed over to the middle of the room and bent down to a solid grate in the floor. It was sealed with a padlock.
    Dropping to a knee and using the light of his cell phone for illumination, Kowalski spun the dial back and forth. Behind them, a tinkle of glass whispered from the neighboring room. Jason pictured a hand reaching through the shattered pane for the lock.
    Hurry. . .
    Kowalski freed the padlock and hauled up the heavy grate with one arm. A dark opening yawned below. “There’s a ladder on the left. It’s a short climb down into one of the service tunnels beneath the museum.”
    Jason didn’t question Kowalski’s plan or where it might lead. For the moment, the goal was to stay one step ahead of the enemy. He went first, mounting the steel rungs, then helping guide Sara along with him. Rushing, he stumbled as one boot slipped. He ended up sliding the rest of the way down, which luckily was only a couple of yards. He landed roughly, but managed to keep his feet and get Sara safely to the ground.
    Overhead, Kowalski closed the grate with a soft clang, then slid down the ladder without a boot touching a rung. He had plainly done this before.
    Jason unclipped a penlight and flashed it along the tunnel. The place was sweltering, smelling of wet cement, and echoing with trickles of water. Old pipes, frosted with cobwebs, trailed along the ceiling.
    “Where are we?” Sara asked.
    Kowalski pushed between them and led the way forward. “Old steam and service tunnels. Elizabeth and I would sometimes sneak down here and smoke.” He patted the walls. “It was the safest place without having to climb all the way back outside.”
    Jason heard a mix of sorrow and wistfulness in his voice.
    “Where are we going?” Sara asked, voicing Jason’s own concern.
    Kowalski coughed to clear his throat a bit. “Place is a maze down here. Some say these tunnels once reached all the way under the White House, but with heightened security, much of it’s been partitioned and walled off.” He pointed ahead as he turned a corner. “There are stairs this way that lead back up to a service door into the museum.”
    As they made the corner, a loud clang rang out behind them.
    The enemy had discovered their escape route.
    Jason flashed his light across the floor of the tunnel. Their footprints in the grime would be easy to follow.
    Muffled voices rose behind them.
    “Time to haul ass,” the big man warned, urging them forward.
    Again, Jason didn’t question his plan.
    K OWALSKI SHOVED THE Desert Eagle back into his belt and followed the others up the cement stairs. He fumbled with his wallet as he climbed, searching through its contents.
    Where the hell are you . . . ?
    By now, Jason had reached the stained cement landing at the top of the stairs. A yellow emergency bulb offered meager illumination, enough to reveal a nondescript steel door. It looked like it dated from the museum’s opening day, but a modern electronic lock sealed it securely.
    Jason tugged on the handle, but it was no use.
    Kowalski’s fingers finally plucked a card from the many stuffed into a side pocket of his tattered leather billfold. It was an old staff keycard. In one corner, barely discernible under the glow of the lone bulb, was a tiny picture of Elizabeth Polk. Her chestnut hair framed high cheekbones, while a pair of petite eyeglasses balanced on her nose. Elizabeth had given the card to him shortly after they had begun dating, making it easier for him to come and go while visiting her. He should have returned it or cut it up, but he hadn’t been able to do either.
    The furtive patter of boots on stone echoed up from below.
    “Kowalski . . .” Jason hissed to him.
    Kowalski hurried forward with the card, praying it was still coded to this service door. He swiped the card down the slit under a red glowing light—it remained red.
    Motherfu . . .
    Jason stared at him with huge eyes.