The Lair
December 4, 1.50 p.m.
The FBI arrived at the elevator shaft en masse, geared up and ready. The HRT team was led by Special Agent Baines. The whole team gathered at the elevator and the elite crammed into the lift shaft and made their way underground.
In the vast dark atrium of Sebastian’s lair, fifteen gun lights cut lines through the darkness. They saw the sickening contents. Hearts, eyes, costumes.
The team moved through without a word. There were over sixteen tunnels leading from the central atrium at the Mace Crindle plant. The men split up. Two teams, one north, one south.
Baines travelled south, moving quickly through the tunnels. In the distance they heard the shouting of the other team. ‘Sewer six clear. Sewer eight clear.’ Baines listened. He and his team approached the end of the large drain.
Baines signalled. He was here in this hell. Baines could smell him. The team of seven agents crouched and made their way down the dark corridor towards the cell.
They found the heavy steel door and heaved it open. There was a narrow corridor leading to another door. They padded through and stopped at the entrance to the cell.
Suddenly, on the signal, the team burst into Sebastian’s cell. A rope from the ceiling. In the corner, Baines saw Harper and Levene, lying together. The harsh lights hit their faces.
‘Where is he, Detective?’
Harper shook his head. He had no idea. Sebastian had cut the light. Baines handed Harper a shotgun and a flashlight. ‘We’ve gotta keep searching. Hold on.’
Baines pointed to a small sluice grate in the floor. The men went across to it and shone torches through. It was big enough for a man, but not a man in gear or boots.
Baines didn’t speak. He took off his gear, helmet, night visor, webbing, boots, body amour. The team followed suit.
Baines dropped to the floor and with difficulty slipped through the gate. He dropped down five feet and then crouched. He signalled for the team. One by one, the hostage rescue team slipped into the sewer in bare feet, vests and combats.
They crouched and shone their powerful torches down into the darkness. Seven separate beams of light flickered around a large arched tunnel. There was a narrow ledge either side of the central stream.
‘How deep?’ Baines asked.
Agent Santana didn’t wait. He jumped in and stood up. The level was at his knees. ‘Couple of feet.’
Baines nodded. ‘We got to move quick. He’s got a lead on us and he knows these sewers. We want him alive.’
They moved out in single file, like a team of marines in a jungle river. Rats scuttled by on each ledge, sniffing the air and moving on quickly. The tunnel ran ahead but they couldn’t see how far. Baines set up a fast pace and the cavern echoed to the sound of the team driving through the sludge.
Within five minutes, they spotted something ahead. The shrill call of the leader went up through the tunnel. Something turned and stared, its eyes glinting in the dark. They followed it deeper into the tunnels.
They came to a narrow channel thick with rats, hundreds and hundreds of rats — small mountains of them, crawling across and over each other, writhing and twisting. Their tiny eyes stared, their whiskers twitching in the torch light. The stream was a glossy surface of matt wet fur, rodent snouts held high above.
The team began to follow. Santana, Bodie, Jessel, Warnock. They moved through the pool of rats, slowly now, the rats investigating, swimming all around them.
The whole team were a hundred yards into the rat tunnel when they came to a dead end. Baines stared into the darkness. The men shone their torches ahead. No go. Baines looked back up towards the cell. The tunnel was a mistake. Sebastian wasn’t there.