He and his men crossed the hallway, pounded down the staircase, and lined up next to a big-ass metal door with a ten-digit keypad for a lock. Lights flickered overhead and then went out, casting them in complete darkness. "He's fucking with us."
Ethan crouched in front of the keypad, working his magic. The guy was like a freaking computer whisperer. "You surprised, Colonel?"
Mack ratcheted his rifle, loading another round. "Not in the least. We've got him rattled. I hope he's pissing his pants."
A small beep sounded from above and the door clicked open, squeaky hinges and all. "After you." Ethan grabbed his rifle he'd propped against the wall.
Icy anticipation replaced the blood in Mack's veins. Mankel was down there. He could feel it in his bones. There was no trickle of light from an open door or a cracked window down here. Just straight-up sinister blackness. "I've got the lead," Mack said. "Night vision goggles on." He snapped his own goggles in place, and the stairway came into view through a grainy green image. A long, empty hallway stretched out at the base of the stairs, and then opened into a larger room that looked like it held tables and lab equipment.
Mack took the first step down into the hell that Jack Mankel had created.
The only sound was their breathing as they silently descended the steep set of stairs.
Caroline had to be here. The lab equipment all but confirmed it. If Mankel really was running some kind of next-level experiment, this place was certainly set up for it.
They stopped at the end of the staircase, his men lining up with their backs pressed to the wall. Mack craned his neck around the corner. The room was two times bigger than he'd originally thought, lined with large, glass-walled cells. Holy shit. These weren't cages for monkeys and animal testing. These were the size of jail cells.
His fury ignited, exploding through his body like a hundred pounds of C-4 strapped to his chest. "Y'all seeing what I'm seeing?"
"We found Mankel's little lab," came Merc's low reply.
Hollow tubes seeped from the walls like long tendrils of evil. Empty cots hung in each cell, absent sheets or pillows. Faded blood stains covered the floors in large cancerous splotches, evidence of some horrible atrocity committed and then erased.
"Jesus," Mack breathed out, shocked horror permeating his words.
Long, metal tables stretched in uneven rows, scattered with destroyed computers and glass bottles. Torn paper stuck in patches to the top, cemented in place by splatters of dried blood. A rolling cart covered in hacksaws and bone grinders stood next to one cell, turned up on three wheels like someone had shoved it away in a mad rush.
In a daze, Mack stumbled to the middle cell, fixated on the dog tags hanging from a clear peg next to the entry. Fingers numb with shock, he lifted the metal chain and stared at the name typed in raised font on the flat disks. Subject G.
"Whose, is it?" Merc asked in a harsh voice from behind Mack.
Merc crushed the tags in his fist and yanked them from the peg. "I don't know." But he intended to find out. "Spread out and look for signs of Caroline."
"I'm going to peel Mankel's nails off his fingers," Merc said.
Hunter approached, staring past them into the empty cell. "He has to die. Tonight."
"Not until he tells us where she is." Mack shoved the tags into his pocket and turned his back on the cell, unable to stomach the idea of anyone held prisoner here, let alone an innocent woman.
From their vantage point, the room appeared empty, as did all the cells. There were eight of them. "Moving. Watch my six."
Mack stepped into the room, crouched low with his gun raised, ready for another attack. Sweat popped on his brow, and the hairs down his legs stood on end as if he had stuck his toes in an electric outlet. Fuck. There was some next-level shit going on down here, and Mack got the uneasy sensation they were about to meet up with whatever Mankel's experiment had created. "Keep your eyes peeled. I'm getting a bad feeling."
But they couldn't turn back, not now. Mankel was down here, and Mack would rather die than let that bastard go again.
Besides, what else did he have to live for? He existed to exact revenge on the man who had betrayed him. And once he finally achieved his goal, Mack could rest easy.
He sensed more than saw a movement to his right.
Mack swung around in time to see-but not intervene-as a soldier circled behind Riser, disarmed him, and then delivered a hard punch to his temple. Riser crumpled instantly, unconscious.