Chapter 13: A Safehouse or a Trap?
The following day crept by in a blur of anticipation and dread. Adam spent most of it preparing for the night's task, though the weight of Julian's cryptic words gnawed at him. The manila envelope sat on the cluttered desk in his motel room, its contents splayed out like puzzle pieces. A blueprint of the storage facility, a list of possible items to retrieve, and a photograph of a nondescript man labeled Contact: Henry.
Adam paced the room, phone in hand.
"You said it yourself: they're after me. If this safehouse really belongs to them, I need to see what's inside."
Adam sighed. "Then I'll figure that out too. But if I keep sitting on my hands, I'll lose more than time."
The phone screen flickered, displaying a route to the facility alongside real-time traffic updates—a feature not even conceivable in 1990.
"And who would that be? The cops? My friends from high school?" Adam shook his head. "I'm on my own here."
Adam smirked despite himself. "Noted."
The storage facility loomed at the edge of town, surrounded by chain-link fencing and dimly lit by flickering sodium lamps. It wasn't exactly Fort Knox, but its eerie silence and industrial sprawl were enough to make Adam's skin crawl.
He parked a block away, tucking his phone into his jacket as he approached on foot. The wind rustled through the surrounding trees, carrying the faint scent of oil and rust.
Reaching the side gate, Adam pulled out a pair of bolt cutters he'd picked up earlier—a small investment for potentially big answers. The chain snapped with a muted clink, and he slipped inside.
Adam froze, straining his ears. At first, there was nothing but the hum of the lamps. Then he caught it—a faint shuffle, almost imperceptible, coming from one of the nearby units.
"Great," Adam muttered. "It's occupied."
Sticking to the shadows, Adam navigated the maze of storage units, his footsteps light against the gravel. He reached unit 113, the one marked on the blueprint, and crouched by the padlock.
"Deal," Adam whispered, fishing a lock-picking set from his pocket. He worked quickly, the clicks and scrapes of the tumblers echoing in his ears.
Finally, the lock popped open. Adam eased the door up just enough to slip inside, closing it behind him.
The air inside was stifling, filled with the smell of mildew and dust. Dim light from a single overhead bulb revealed rows of shelves stacked with crates and unmarked boxes.
Adam pulled out his phone, using its flashlight to scan the area. Most of the boxes were ordinary, but a few bore strange markings—symbols and runes that looked like they belonged in a fantasy novel.
"Jackpot," Adam muttered.
Adam pried open one of the crates, revealing a collection of metallic objects that looked like parts of some advanced device. Among them was a small, sleek disc with a glowing center.
"What the hell is this?"
As Adam reached for the disc, a voice boomed behind him.
"Step away from the crate."
Adam spun around, his heart pounding. A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a gun leveled at Adam's chest.
"Henry?" Adam ventured, remembering the name from the photo.
The man nodded but didn't lower the weapon. "Julian didn't tell me you'd be snooping around. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for answers," Adam said carefully, raising his hands.
Henry frowned. "Answers? Or trouble? Because if it's the latter, you're about to find it."
"I'm working with Julian," Adam said, trying to sound confident. "He sent me here to grab intel before they get to it."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "Prove it."
Adam hesitated, then reached into his pocket slowly. He pulled out the manila envelope, showing Henry the blueprint and notes.
The man studied the papers, then lowered the gun slightly. "Alright. But you're lucky I don't shoot first and ask questions later."
"Noted," Adam muttered, lowering his hands. "Now, can we talk about what's actually in here?"
Henry gestured to the crate. "Stuff they'd kill to get back. Which means you've got about ten minutes before someone comes looking for it."
Adam glanced at the glowing disc. "And this?"
Henry's expression darkened. "Let's just say it's the key to a very big door. One that maybe shouldn't be opened."
"Big door?" Adam echoed. "Care to explain?"
Henry shook his head. "Not here. We need to move."
Before Adam could protest, a faint buzzing sound filled the air. Henry's face went pale.
"They're here," he said, grabbing Adam by the arm. "Run."
End of Chapter 13