The barn was packed floor to ceiling with junk—computers, bicycles, appliances, every tool known to mankind. Just junk, junk, and more junk. And the funky, musty, moldy smell of age and disuse.
On the opposite side of the barn, they found a staircase to a second story. Liam led the way up, he and Ian sweeping their weapons over the space, watching through their scopes.
Finally, they lowered their weapons. “All clear,” Ian said, exhaling in relief. “At least of humans.”
“You two take the loft,” Roman said. “We’ll look down here.”
Ian and Liam pulled Maglites from their gear. With sweeps of halogen, they illuminated televisions, VCRs, and DVD players in one corner. Vacuums, table lamps, microwaves, toasters, hair dryers, and curling irons in another, all in a state of disrepair.
“At least he kept things in some sort of order,” Liam muttered.
Ian turned and found the G-man shining his light across a wall where hooks were heaped with electrical cords of all kinds. “Not enough order to find what we came for.” He made his way to the banister overlooking the lower part of the barn, testing the wood under his feet before he put his full weight down. “What have you got down there?”
“Washers, dryers, refrigerators,” Sam said, “movie projectors, DVDs and VCR tapes, magazines, books…”
The shuffle of paper and the knock of drawers skittered through the barn. Ian made his way down the stairs again. He found Roman in a corner of the barn, sifting through things on a mammoth desk that looked like it would crumble at any moment.
“Anything?” Ian asked, turning to sweep his light over stacks of light fixtures, sewing machines, and space heaters, every appliance gutted for parts.
“Nothing obvious,” Roman said on an exhale, abandoning his search of the desk and glancing around.
“Misty just took off her apron,” Everly informed them over the com line. “She’s closing out her tickets.”
“Going through here would take weeks,” Ian told Roman.
“We leave in ten minutes,” Roman said. “Everyone take one last look around.”
Ian wasn’t even sure what he was looking for anymore. He shone his light across the dirt floor, wondering if he’d heard Bishop wrong earlier. Maybe there was a deeper meaning to the threat he’d leveled at Misty, insinuating he’d leave something in the barn to frame her. That seemed to be his MO.
“Sorry, boss,” Ian told Roman as his Maglite exposed pile after pile of newspapers in a dark corner of the barn. “Maybe I read too much into that conver—”
His boot shuffled across something metal. Something that created a hollow echo underfoot. He angled his light down and found the corner of a metal plate. Turning a corner, Ian found himself in a three-sided box of decades-old newspapers and standing on something that looked a lot like a trapdoor.
Excitement pulsed through his veins.
He stepped back, crouched, and pulled on a metal ring. The door gave way with surprising ease. Ian’s gut tightened. He held the door open a few inches and shone his light into the space.
“Found something.”
Before Ian finished the last word, Roman was beside him. “What have you—”
They both fell silent as Ian opened the door, exposing an opening framed in steel, a metal staircase leading into what looked like a large basement.
“What the fuck?” Sam’s hands closed on Ian’s and Roman’s shoulders as he peered past them. “I didn’t see that comin’. I have to admit, I thought this was bullshit from the beginning.”
“Your ‘wrong’ score is skyrocketing,” Everly teased.
Ian glanced at Roman.
“You found it,” Roman told him, “You get to go first.”
“Pick up the pace, guys,” Everly told them. “Misty just clocked out. She’s on her way to her car.”
Ian pulled the strap of his M4 over his head and handed the weapon off to Roman, then pulled his Glock nine from his thigh holster, used his other hand to guide the Maglite, and started down the stairs.
At the bottom, Ian swept the light across the space. The floor was concrete, the walls cinder block. He found a light switch and flipped it on, flooding the basement with fluorescent light.
“Holy shit.” He scanned the space, jaw unhinged. “Holy. Shit.”