Page 67 of Knox

“Yeah, Leif… how outdated are you?” I tease, making the giant Viking glare at the two of us as we start down the next flight of stairs.

“Oh, my Gods, I swear your pop culture changes every month.”

“Right… don’t blame your lack of culture on us,” Alexios laughs over the comms. “And heads up, there’s a guard around the next corner.”

“I am cultured,” Leif whispers as we reach the corner wall. “I just don’t have time to binge twenty new series every week.”

I raise a hand to signal a stop and peek around the edge. A single guard is pacing away from us down the hall.

I sling my rifle over my shoulder, break cover, and dash across the corridor.

Five… ten… fifteen steps.

I close the distance and tackle the guard from behind.

“¿Qué—” he gasps, but before he can finish, I wrap my arm around his throat and squeeze, making him go unconscious.

As the guard slumps in my arms, I lower him to the floor, check his pulse to make sure he’s breathing, and give my team a thumbs-up.

“Nice work, Knox,” Alexios says in my ear. “Now, there are three doors ahead of you. Take the one on the right. That one leads down to the sub-basement where Brown is.”

“Any guards or security?” I ask.

“No guards, but there are two cameras covering that hallway,” Alexios warns us, typing something on his keyboard. “Done. I’ve looped the camera feed for forty seconds. You’ve got to move now. On three, two, one…”

We sprint down the corridor, reach the door on the right, and press against the wall for cover.

Leif drops to one knee and gets to work on the lock.

CLINK.

CRANK.

CLICK!

The mechanism gives, but instead of pushing it open, he pauses, turning to glare back at Tae and me. “So, what’s the updated, culturally relevant phrase for opening a door, you assholes?”

“Alohomora,” Tae, Alexios, and I say in unison.

Leif frowns. “That doesn’t even sound like a spell.”

“You take that back!” Tae hisses, brushing past Leif and smacking his shoulder. “It is a fucking spell. It’s in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk!”

“I’m not even going to ask who the hell that is,” Leif mutters as we descend into sub-basement three.

Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, we step into the sub-basement cellblock.

In here, unlike the level above, there are no bar-front cells, just row after row of solid iron doors.

Down the hall, a single guard sits at a wooden desk.

He’s slouched in his chair and has his full attention on a small radio.

“Presenta la bola, mira la seña del catcher, se impulsa y viene con la recta…”

“What is he listening to?” I whisper.

“It’s a baseball game,” Tae whispers back. “The pitcher just took the catcher’s sign.”