wall, he guessed.
The wall to his right was closest to his position, about five feet away. It appeared to be constructed of the same material as the wall he'd busted through: slats and plaster. Long ago, someone had painted a red stripe at waist level along the entire side, but it was faded now. Given a few more years, it might not even be noticeable.
Stacked along the far side to the left were several cardboard boxes. Judging from the water stains on the sides and the way they sagged into each other, they appeared to have been there a long time.
Nothing obvious caught his attention. Certainly nothing that would have warranted locking the door. Perhaps it was another red herring. Perhaps the whole building was nothing but something to throw Peter's people off the track of whatever it was they were working on.
Quinn moved the light all the way to the left so he could get a look at the door. He scanned up and down twice, then pulled back out of the hole and straightened up.
"Anything?" Orlando asked.
"The door's wired," he said. "There's a block of something on the floor with some wires leading from it and running up the jamb."
"So what are they trying to hide?" she asked.
"Good question. There're some old boxes stacked against the wall, but that's about it. And even those don't look promising."
Quinn thought for a moment, then picked up the two-by-four again.
"This mean we're going in?" Orlando said.
"Yeah."
"I'm not going in there," Al said, not hiding an ounce of his fear.
"Watch him," Quinn said to Nate, then looked at Al. "Don't worry. You're not going anywhere. I want you on the floor right now. Hands behind your back."
"So I don't have to go in?" Al asked.
"Don't make me say it again."
Al dropped to the floor, leaned against the wall, and slipped his hands behind his back.
Quinn used the two-by-four to punch at the wall again, this time widening the hole until it was large enough to crawl through. He exchanged the board for his flashlight, then he stepped backward through the hole and into the room. Given the difference in floor levels, the first step was a big one, but he managed it without falling.
Once he was down, he reached up and helped Orlando through.
"Musty," she said, wrinkling her nose.
Quinn approached the steps leading up to the door, stopping a respectful three feet away. Stuck to the steps at floor level was a whitish glob of what looked like clay. Quinn had seen plenty of it over the years. C-4, a malleable plastic explosive that was the first choice of many a demolition expert. The wire that would set off the explosive ran from the glob along the steps, then up the wall and into a small plastic box attached to the doorjamb. Just opposite the box, on the door itself, was a small plate, its width and length equal to that of the switch. With the door closed, the plate and the box lined up perfectly.
Additional wires led out of the box to other mounds of C-4: one on each hinge, one along the base, and a last bit in the middle of the door itself, an arrangement sure to shred anyone standing on the other side into tiny pieces.
It was a pretty simple setup. Someone opens the door. The switch and the plate move out of sync. An electronic jolt is sent out.
And boom.
Dead and destroyed.
Whoever it was who actually used the door must have had a remote device that turned the switch off when necessary.
Quinn checked the setup again, making sure there were no hidden backup switches. Luck was with him. Everything looked pretty straightforward. Since there was only one perceived way into the room, no extra security measures would have been needed. The booby-trap maker would never have expected someone to come through the wall to get at his handiwork.
Quinn started with the C-4 next to the steps. He separated it from the wire, then repeated the procedure with the other mounds.
"You could have just left it," Orlando said.
"I didn't feel like climbing back through that hole to get out," Quinn said. "Besides, this way some
The wall to his right was closest to his position, about five feet away. It appeared to be constructed of the same material as the wall he'd busted through: slats and plaster. Long ago, someone had painted a red stripe at waist level along the entire side, but it was faded now. Given a few more years, it might not even be noticeable.
Stacked along the far side to the left were several cardboard boxes. Judging from the water stains on the sides and the way they sagged into each other, they appeared to have been there a long time.
Nothing obvious caught his attention. Certainly nothing that would have warranted locking the door. Perhaps it was another red herring. Perhaps the whole building was nothing but something to throw Peter's people off the track of whatever it was they were working on.
Quinn moved the light all the way to the left so he could get a look at the door. He scanned up and down twice, then pulled back out of the hole and straightened up.
"Anything?" Orlando asked.
"The door's wired," he said. "There's a block of something on the floor with some wires leading from it and running up the jamb."
"So what are they trying to hide?" she asked.
"Good question. There're some old boxes stacked against the wall, but that's about it. And even those don't look promising."
Quinn thought for a moment, then picked up the two-by-four again.
"This mean we're going in?" Orlando said.
"Yeah."
"I'm not going in there," Al said, not hiding an ounce of his fear.
"Watch him," Quinn said to Nate, then looked at Al. "Don't worry. You're not going anywhere. I want you on the floor right now. Hands behind your back."
"So I don't have to go in?" Al asked.
"Don't make me say it again."
Al dropped to the floor, leaned against the wall, and slipped his hands behind his back.
Quinn used the two-by-four to punch at the wall again, this time widening the hole until it was large enough to crawl through. He exchanged the board for his flashlight, then he stepped backward through the hole and into the room. Given the difference in floor levels, the first step was a big one, but he managed it without falling.
Once he was down, he reached up and helped Orlando through.
"Musty," she said, wrinkling her nose.
Quinn approached the steps leading up to the door, stopping a respectful three feet away. Stuck to the steps at floor level was a whitish glob of what looked like clay. Quinn had seen plenty of it over the years. C-4, a malleable plastic explosive that was the first choice of many a demolition expert. The wire that would set off the explosive ran from the glob along the steps, then up the wall and into a small plastic box attached to the doorjamb. Just opposite the box, on the door itself, was a small plate, its width and length equal to that of the switch. With the door closed, the plate and the box lined up perfectly.
Additional wires led out of the box to other mounds of C-4: one on each hinge, one along the base, and a last bit in the middle of the door itself, an arrangement sure to shred anyone standing on the other side into tiny pieces.
It was a pretty simple setup. Someone opens the door. The switch and the plate move out of sync. An electronic jolt is sent out.
And boom.
Dead and destroyed.
Whoever it was who actually used the door must have had a remote device that turned the switch off when necessary.
Quinn checked the setup again, making sure there were no hidden backup switches. Luck was with him. Everything looked pretty straightforward. Since there was only one perceived way into the room, no extra security measures would have been needed. The booby-trap maker would never have expected someone to come through the wall to get at his handiwork.
Quinn started with the C-4 next to the steps. He separated it from the wire, then repeated the procedure with the other mounds.
"You could have just left it," Orlando said.
"I didn't feel like climbing back through that hole to get out," Quinn said. "Besides, this way some
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