“Or maybe I’m just afraid of the dark,” he quipped.
“Not likely,” Madelaine said. “I know better.”
“Well, since I wasn’t allowed to bring my Swiss Army Knife, I decided I should at least bring my mini Maglite for comfort.”
“Good thinking.”
Countless steps later, they were not racing down the steps, but they were making steady progress. Jack didn’t want to fly down the stairs and into anyone trying to climb up to greet them.
Whatever was in the cardboard box rattled around, feeling ridiculously ordinary considering everything they’d gone through to get it.
Jack tucked it more securely beneath one arm as he led Madelaine down the spiral staircase, the beam from his trusty mini Maglite guiding them.
Twenty floors. Twenty. Whoever designed Winslow’s isolated tower prison clearly hated visitors. The red emergency lights flashing overhead for the past couple of flights didn’t improve the experience, but apparently the building crew didn’t want to spend the money on red-light technology all the way down the staircase.
The klaxon, however, was loud and clear. The alarm had been blaring continuously since it began. Its mournful howl echoed through the stone stairwell and bounced off the walls until Jack felt like it was drilling directly into his skull with each step he took.
“Next time,” he said between breaths, “we’re taking the elevator.”
Madelaine huffed. “The elevator was shut down, according to Warden Just Trust Me, but going down twenty flights is better than being trapped up there.”
“Fine. Then next time we should more carefully consider visiting anyone who lives twenty stories above the rest of civilization, especially while visiting any gulags.”
Over his shoulder, he saw a faint smile tug at her lips. “Look at it this way—we’re getting all of our aerobic steps in today, right?”
Apparently, problematic and possible prison riot experiences were improving her sense of humor.
Jack wasn’t sure the same could be said for himself. “Okay, I guess I can’t argue with that. Step count for the win.”
Winslow’s final words continued rattling around inside his head.
The blind old prisoner had handed over the package and casually informed them that inside the cardboard box was the special housing forthe solution, that his father had carved it, like it would solve all their problems. Then he’d spouted all those weird cryptic maxims for them to chew on and worry over.
Jack was unsure about those adages, but he played along. His job was to make sure Madelaine was safe while they met their daily aerobic step goal at the worst prison in the known galaxies. He was willing to admit that going down twenty flights of stairs was better than climbing the same amount.
A large, heavy security door came into view beyond the curve of the final few steps. His legs would have danced in joy at the thought of no more steps, but they were too tired to be happy.
He looked through the security glass window placed at eye level. Beyond the door stretched the corridor next to the locked-down elevator, the entire scene bathed in flashing crimson light.
At least the klaxon was subdued here by the door and not drumming in his head.
They just needed to get through the door. Jack grabbed the handle and pressed his thumb on the release. Nothing happened. It did not budge, even when he exerted more thumb pressure. Maybe he was weak from all those flights of stairs while getting his steps in.
He gave Madelaine an uncertain look and tried once more, using both hands and both thumbs. The door was sealed shut hard, likely because of the lockdown. He shouldn’t be surprised, but a vague sense that they might be trapped here crossed his mind, making him even more uneasy.
“I think the corridor on the other side of this door leads to the area next to the arched opening and landing pad where we left the airship. But the door is locked tight.” He tried not to sound worried.
Madelaine peeked out the window and tried the handle, with the same results. “Thoughts?” she asked. “I know you’d be against going back up all those flights of stairs.”
“You’ve got that right.” Jack looked around for a pry bar, a sledgehammer or any helpful tool beneath the dark area of thefinal flight of stairs, but didn’t see anything that might pry open or, better yet, bash open the door.
Madelaine said, “What’s this?”
“What?” Jack turned as she walked to the corner opposite of where the door would open. Then he saw what had caught her attention. A dark panel was mounted on the wall, attached a few inches below the level of the window.
He joined her as she said, “What do you think that is?”
Jack touched the center of the panel with the pad of his finger and a digital screen the size of a tablet lit up. “I think it is promising.”
