By Amy J. Fetzer
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That’s good, because we have headlights,” Riley said. ” That bomb was supposed to go off minutes ago. The bad guys were coming to learn why it hadn’t. ” He inclined his head to Sam. ” Sam spun and went topside. Sebastian disassembled the device. Transporting a rig this big wasn’t possible. He reworked the detonator, then grabbed the bunny and jammed it in his leg pocket before he helped Mills to his feet. He was lethargic and Sebastian shook him, turning his face so he’d look him in the eye.
He took low position, kneeling, and Max swung the door open. The suction of air swished in dirt and leaves. Max and Sebastian flanked the door as they shined lights inside. The room was used for storage, shelves toppled, canned food rusted and bent with pressure. A few had exploded. A table with two chairs sat in the corner near the door, trash surrounding it. Then his light fell on a figure, bare to the waist, arms outstretched and anchored to the wall with chains and some medieval-looking shackles.
He caught the flicker of light and aimed. ” “Second deck, north end,” Sam said. ” Sebastian continued to the northwest corner. The cell door was open, a single chair inside the narrow space, to the right of it a battery, corroded and linked to some nasty-looking devices. What the hell did a sonar designer have that was worth torture? Those things looked like dental tools. He backed out, nearly tripping over a body lying against the left wall behind the open door. He spotted Russian insignia first, then he searched the dead soldier, coming back with a pistol, ammo, and a crushed pack of cigarettes.
Damage Control by Amy J. Fetzer