“Do you have a silencer for that thing?”
Conley shook his head.
“We’re going to have to hightail it out of here, then,” said Morgan. “Okay.” He spread his hands so that the chain was taut against the pipe. “Ready.”
Conley placed his gun point-blank against the handcuff chain and fired. The gunshot rang in Morgan’s ears and reverberated in the enclosed space. Morgan held his hands apart, free, a few links of the chain dangling from each cuff. Conley helped him to his feet. He stumbled, but he didn’t fall.
“Are you okay to walk on your own?” asked Conley.
“Just go!” said Morgan.
They dashed out of the room and heard T’s heavy boots pounding the concrete, around the bend of the hallway, barreling toward them.
Conley shouted, “This way!” and sprinted in the opposite direction, deeper into the facility. Morgan battled to run as best he could, with a stinging left thigh on top of the burning in his knee. T sped toward them, her footsteps echoing closer behind them.
“In here!” Conley led him into a room about twice as big as the one in which Morgan had been held, with the same heavy metal door, which Conley closed and bolted behind them.
Inside the room were the rudiments of a home. There was a mattress on the floor covered with rumpled sheets, and a worktable with a lamp on it. In one corner was a ladder that led upward, out of sight, into a narrow vertical tunnel.
“This is her safe house!” Morgan realized. T, meanwhile, had caught up to them. She kicked and banged loudly against the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Come on, Cobra,” said Conley, making for the ladder. “This has to lead somewhere. Let’s get out of here.”
Natasha shot three times at the door, making the room ring deafeningly. Although the slugs punched deep dents in it, the door held. Morgan scanned the room. On the table, under a pool of light, was spread a large blueprint.
“Let’s go!” shouted Conley. Morgan heard the faint sounds of foosteps as T ran away from the door.
“Wait!” Morgan went to the table and hastily folded the blueprint into a jumbled mess. “Okay,” he said, carrying it with him. “Let’s go.”
They climbed the ladder through a manhole that led to the ground level, Morgan with the blueprint tucked under his arm. When they emerged, Morgan saw that they were on a construction site for what might have eventually become a processing plant of some kind, but the build-out had been long abandoned. Sunlight filtered in through high, paneless windows.
His body screaming with agony, Morgan struggled to keep up with Conley as they ran out into broad daylight. He looked back, concerned that their pursuer was still hot on their heels, but the way around was long. She wasn’t going to be able to catch up. When they reached Conley’s car, hidden a few hundred feet away, Morgan was confident that they were safe. For now.
CHAPTER 37
Once they had driven far enough away that they were sure T had not followed them, Morgan flipped down the visor and looked in the mirror. He looked exactly like he felt. His face was bloody and bruised, his left eye swollen half-shut, his lips cut in several places.
“We’ve got to get you to a doctor,” said Conley.
“No hospitals,” he grunted.
“You’re right,” said Conley. “That would be less than wise. But you need a doctor. Don’t worry, I know a guy. We can get you to his clinic, and he’ll take care of you, no questions asked.”
Morgan looked down at his thigh. Blood was oozing out, staining the upholstery of the seat. He pulled up his shirt and examined his bruised torso.
“Anything broken?” asked Conley.
“A few cracked ribs, maybe,” said Morgan, wincing as he prodded them with his hand. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Okay,” said Conley. “We’ll get you looked after and then find a place where you can rest.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Morgan, incredulously. “With all this going on, you’re thinking of resting?”
“Morgan, I’ve been up all night trying to pick up your signal, and I’m exhausted. I can only imagine what state you’re in.”
“I’m fine,” Morgan said curtly.
“I don’t know what happened in there, but let me tell you, I wouldn’t be fine if I were alone in a room with T for a few hours. You were in there for almost a day. I’m sorry, Morgan, but there’s no way you’re fine.”
Conley was right. He wasn’t fine. His head was fuzzy, his flesh sore and throbbing. The light was painful to his eyes, and he could barely stay awake as Conley drove on. His body ached for rest. He was aware that, now that they knew for sure that Senator Edgar Nickerson was behind all this, the right thing to do was to regroup and rethink their strategy.