But the best con jobs were extremely explicit with the fake info given. “It wasn’t in any of the blueprints I saw,” Thomas told her.
“Well, it wouldn’t be if it was, you know, purposely kept secret,” she theorized.
“From the entire security team?” Thomas couldn’t believe that. He didn’t dare, because God, a bomb shelter would be stocked with food and water and warm blankets and clothes. And it would absolutely have a working radio.
“Ted told me his grandfather built it back in the early 1960s—during Bay of Pigs,” Tasha told him. “And his uncle—his namesake, who was the Crown Prince, but he died...? He updated it in... the 90s, I think. He used it, right up until he died—the original Tedric—as a, well, a private place to have sex with his friends’ wives. Well, I guess friends isn’t quite the right word, is it? Subjects? Victims? Uncle Tedric was a major asshole.”
And okay. “I’m gonna go check it out.” Thomas picked up the rifle, and held it out to her.
But she didn’t reach to take it. In fact, she leaned away from him, giving him full-on stank face. “Not a chance that I’m carrying that for you, Lieutenant, because I’m coming, too,” she said.
“If it’s not there—”
“It’s there,” she insisted, pushing aside the branches overhead as she stood up and stepped out of the hide.
“—our best shot has us checking out that cave. And if that doesn’t work as a shelter, we’re heading back to the airfield. I’m trying to save you a coupla extra miles of walking.” He followed her, tucking the weapon under his right arm.
“It’s. There. Also? Hello. I’m not the one with a head injury, who hasn’t slept in two days,” she pointed out, stamping a bit to warm her feet.
“I’m fine,” he said for what felt like the thousandth time.
She gestured for him to lead the way back to the burned out compound, so he did, hoping like hell that Ted hadn’t been bullshitting Tash, but already finessing his Plan B, just in case.
Chapter Eleven
“I’ll be damned,” Thomas said, true wonder in his voice. “Ted wasn’t kidding.”
The bulkhead door, a smallish rectangle of metal surrounded by a bulwark of concrete, was built directly into the side of the hill. It had a simple pull handle and no obvious lock.
He tried it, but it didn’t open. It didn’t even budge.
“There should be a keypad around here somewhere,” Tasha said.
The heavy clouds were finally thinning enough for the moon to go from hazy to bright and back as she searched the edges of the concrete for...
“Here it is.” It was old-school, with a flip-up cover—the kind of keypad you might see on the outside of a garage, to access an automatic garage door opener. And suddenly the low-tech four-digit security code made sense. Tasha opened the cover and keyed the numbers in.
Nothing happened. No light switching on, no whirring motor—nothing but a very small, barely audible click.
That seemed to be good enough for Thomas, who pulled on the handle again. This time, the door creaked open. “I’ll be damned,” he said again. “Thank you, Ted.”
Concrete steps—five of them—led down to what looked like a small concrete landing. Tasha ducked her head and stepped inside. Her movement triggered a motion sensor, because low-level lights clicked on, revealing another set of stairs—a longer than full set—leading down toward darkness.
“Tash, wait for me,” Thomas ordered, twisting his shoulders to get himself through the hobbit-sized opening, and then pulling the door closed behind him.
There was another keypad on the wall by the door, and as he flipped that cover up, Tasha told him, “Seven two two eight.”
“I remember,” he said, already done keying in the numbers.
There was another small click—slightly louder from in here. Thomas tested the door, and yes, he’d locked it behind them.
For the first time since the roadblock, they were at least marginally safe, and Tasha’s relief was immediate. Which left her yawning hunger front and center—more powerful even than the pain from her blister. “Please God, let there be a pallet of survivalist supplies in here.”
She started for the stairs, but Thomas caught her by the arm. “I’m on point,” he said, which was SEAL-speak for Me first.
It made sense because he was carrying their only weapon. Still... “I’m pretty sure we’re alone in here.”
“I agree,” he countered. “But until we’re both absolutely sure, I’m on point.”
She stepped back, letting him go ahead, which was just as