The Last Second Read Online Free PDF Page A

down the tunnel again, when he eyed the mercury switch, suddenly getting a bad feeling. Why have a mercury switch and a wire connecting it to the other detonator? The mercury switch on this detonator would have set it off just from the vibration when the main cache exploded . . .
    The answer suddenly became clear—­fail-­secure—­and he hurried back through the tunnel toward the basement, jumping out, then racing over to the four boxes of explosives sitting in the middle of the floor. Sure enough, the LED timer flashed down the seconds at warp speed. He cut the wire, grateful it was such a simple device, then stood there, his heart racing at the close call.
    Not quite a dead man’s switch. More like a delayed dead man’s switch.
    Just when the adrenaline started to leave, he heard Max barking.
    Time to see what the dog found.
    He reentered the tunnel, noticing that it widened at the curve just before he saw a thin stream of light filtering in through the grille overhead. Undoubtedly where the rocks covered the grille opening he’d seen from above. The shaft, slightly more than a half-­meter wide, allowed enough light to see the dog at the feet of a man who sat with his back against the tunnel wall. The dog looked up, his tail wagging. The man merely watched him, perhaps trying to decide if he was there to help or hurt.
    “Calvin Walker?”
    “Yes—­” He cleared his throat. “Who . . . ?”
    “A friend of your sister’s.”
    “Any—­” He stopped. “Sorry. Laryngitis . . . Shouting.” And indeed his voice was raspy. He held up his handcuffed wrist, the silver marred with his dried blood from trying to pull out of it. A long chain snaked from the handcuff to a large eye hook anchored in the rock wall of the cave. “Key?”
    Griffin examined the locking mechanism. Standard handcuff, double locked, which made it more difficult to open, but not impossible. “No. But I have the next best thing.” He pocketed his phone, took out his wallet, removing the money clip, which, had anyone examined, was noticeably slimmer than what came with the wallet. About the thickness of a large paper clip, its end turned up slightly. In his line of work, it wasn’t a good idea to carry around a handcuff key, especially when working undercover. Too often identified with law enforcement, whereas a lock pick designed as a money clip was usually overlooked.
    “How’d you end up here?” Griffin asked, inserting the tool into the lock, fishing it around to get a feel inside.
    “Politics.” Calvin gave a weak smile. “I refused to join the chief’s party.”
    Griffin found the double-­lock mechanism, turned the tool, and heard a click. Now for the main lock. “Who’s behind this?”
    “A guy named Quindlen.”
    “You know him?”
    “Met him a few times. He’s a friend of the chief. I think they got to my informant, killed him. Haven’t seen him since my arrest.”
    “So why keep you alive down here?”
    “Quindlen’s idea. Harder to explain a bullet hole in an autopsy. Hence the water,” he said, holding up an empty bottle. “Don’t want your body—­if it’s found—­dying of dehydration. But an explosion? It fits the scenario they cooked up.”
    “Quindlen’s behind this?”
    “He’s behind everything here. But someone’s behind him. Someone big. Don’t know who.” The lock popped open, and Calvin rubbed at his wrist. “Thanks.”
    Griffin replaced the pick into his wallet. “So this big investigation they have on you?”
    “Set up by Chief Parks and Quindlen.” He reached out, scratched Max behind his ears. “Never saw it coming.”
    “Any idea where Quindlen’s operation is based out of?”
    “Unfortunately no. But it can’t be too far from here, because I see him in town a lot.”
    “Can you crawl out, or will you need help?”
    “I can do it. Perhaps not quickly . . .”
    The sharp crack of gunfire echoed down the air shaft. The patrol officers were taking shots at Sydney.