Chapter 17
They dropped through the hatch one by one into the cold, foul-smelling darkness of the old sewer line. Ryan dropped in last, pulling the heavy rusted grate back over the opening just as the estate's massive industrial generators roared to life above them.
Deep, resonant clangs vibrated through the foundation walls as hydraulic security doors throughout the manor slammed down, locking the main house into an impenetrable fortress.
Lily walked close to Ryan, her bare feet splashing in the shallow, stagnant water running down the concrete conduit. She wasn't crying. Years of living inside the narrow, dark spaces of the manor had made her immune to the horror of tight, sunless places. In fact, she moved through the dark with eerie confidence.
"This way," Lily whispered suddenly, tugging on Ryan’s pant leg.
Ryan stopped, shining the low-beam tactical light from his captured rifle down the tunnel. The main drainage line continued straight toward the reservoir, but Lily was pointing toward a narrow side pipe partially blocked by collapsed masonry.
"Lily, that way leads toward the old caretaker's cabin," Ryan said gently. "It’s a dead end."
"No," Lily said firmly, her wide green eyes reflecting the pale flashlight beam. "The man with the scar goes that way. He has a room with TV screens. I saw it through the vent when I was small. He talks to the woman there."
Ryan froze. Emily stopped in her tracks, holding Sarah close.
"What woman, Lily?" Ryan asked, his chest tightening. "Marcus talks to a woman?"
"The lady with the white hair," Lily answered simply. "She gives him envelopes. She tells him when you are going to be away on business."
Ryan felt as though the floor had vanished beneath him. A woman with white hair.
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There was only one woman in the syndicate with white hair, only one person who had supported Ryan's rise to the head of the family after his father's sudden death seven years ago.
Evelyn Cross. His father’s former consigliere. The woman Ryan called his godmother.
