Page 52 of Doyle

“That’s not your job.Oh no.They found my hack. You need to exfil, right now.”

“How much time?” She glanced at the lift. The light had dinged—someone calling it up.

“One minute—go. Call me when you’re out.” Nim clicked off.

Emberly sealed the case and shoved the phone into the thigh pocket of her swim shorts and pulled out a small tank the size of an energy drink can, fitted with an oxygen mouthpiece.

Then she walked over to the elevator and lowered herself into the open space of the lift chamber. The level below opened right above the mechanicals on the floor of the lift. The right turn of the right key in the lift panel would move the lift to this lower escape chamber.

Declan Stone wasn’t the only millionaire to have installed a secret getaway chamber in his house.

The right conversation with the designer over vermouth and patatas bravas in Barcelona had given her the specs she needed.

She landed on the passageway below, the shadows beyond dark. She knelt for a moment, then pulled out a dive light and flashed it on the secure door.

“Can you open the door with the key card?”She’d leaned over her drink, turning the stir stick, listening to the older man. A week of surveillance and he’d shown up, an easy mark in comparison to Declan.

“Oh no. If the electricity is cut, we need to go old school. Just a key.”

“A key. What kind of key?”

“A simple skeleton key.”

“So, it’s a warded lock?”

He’d seemed pleased with her knowledge. But she’d been filing down the wards in the lock in her mind.

“Yes. But don’t forget the false wards. Or the secondary locks.”He’d winked.

She’d bring her lock kit. And maybe, pray.

Not that she expected any help.

Now, she pulled out a slim, metallic key and worked it into the lock, feeling for the telltale give of the wards aligning, the tumblers falling into place. Behind her, the lift motor hummed.

Faster.

Don’t look.

Down here, the ocean thundered against the cavern walls.

The lock clicked and she heaved open the door. It groaned on its unused hinges. Oops. She’d have to move fast.

Her light cast down steps hewn into the rock and leading down to a cavern, clammy and scented with brine and age.

She closed the door—too hard—and it slammed. Again,oops.But she started down the stairs, pulling out the pin in her oxygen tank.

A half-mile swim to the entrance. She’d already mapped it, already discovered the spillway. Already swum the length of it, all the way to the door, just to make sure it could be navigated.

Did Declan even know that he’d built his house on an ancient smugglers’ river, carved out by the lava tubes that perforated this island?

Probably.

The river fed deeper into the mountain, the darkness consuming. Her mag light brightened the edge of the water, and she affixed the mag onto a Velcro pocket in her shirt.

Above her, the door heaved.What?—

She turned.

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