Read Online The World Beneath (Joe Tesla) by Rebecca Cantrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Cantrell
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change for him.
Chapter 7
November 28, 4:04 a.m.
Bricked-in train car under Grand Central Terminal
Rebar watched the man with the yellow dog sprint away from him across the rows of shiny tracks and into a tunnel. He didn’t bother to chase them. They didn’t seem dangerous, just curious. He didn’t have time to bother with them. He had to concentrate on his prize.
He had found what he had long searched for. He wasn’t crazy. He was right. He’d almost given up back there on the platform, but he hadn’t. And now he had found it.
With one dirty hand, he touched the brick wall and muttered a quick prayer, surprised that he still remembered one. This brick train shed wasn’t just the source of the secrets he sought. It was also a tomb for the doctor who had started it all, and a hapless soldier who’d been ordered to accompany him on his final journey. His papers said so, and he would find proof.
He wiped his hand on his filthy pants and picked up the lantern again, then leaned against the cold wall and stuck his arm through the hole. Reverently, he gazed into the room. The lantern light shone on a blue car that had once carried the president himself. The car had been lost for so many years. Everyone had given up on it. But not him. He knew that he would find it. And he had.
The doctor must have been trying to get out. He lay crumpled against the end of the tunnel where they had laid the final bricks. Dark stains on the back of his coat told Rebar that he’d been wounded, probably shot to keep him inside while they finished the wall. He hadn’t given up.
The soldier had obviously chosen to eat a bullet rather than die of dehydration or from running out of oxygen. A brave choice. The other skeleton looked like it belonged to a monkey. It hadn’t been mentioned in the papers that Rebar had come across before.
Rebar climbed through the hole he’d created in the wall and walked over to the long-dead doctor. The man had died before Rebar’s own parents were born. Hard to believe that he might even now hold the secrets to Rebar’s own life and death. Funny.
He studied the white-clad figure on the floor. The man had nothing in his hands, and the ground around his body was clear. If he’d carried anything with him, he hadn’t brought it all the way to this last resting place.
Holding the light at waist level, Rebar turned in a slow circle, looking for clues. The skeleton in the uniform listed against the wall. His skull rested about a foot from Rebar’s boot.
He didn’t have the papers on him, either. That left the train car.
Rebar set the lantern inside, then hefted himself up into the old car. Sooty dust lay velvet thick over everything—chairs bolted to the floor, a cabinet in the corner with an old sink, and empty glass decanters.
He searched the floor, and spotted what he was looking for next to a chair. A grimy rectangle. A briefcase? He wiped the dust off the top with the sleeve of his jacket, uncovering a cracked leather surface.
Rebar lifted it up with trembling hands.
The briefcase’s hinges had long since rusted, and they screeched and broke as he lifted the top off. He stared down at a stack of yellowed papers inside.
He sat down on an old chair that had perhaps once held FDR and began to read. The papers didn’t make sense, yet. They discussed clinical trials, strains of the parasite, side effects. Nothing about a cure. There must be more papers.
A clink outside caught his attention. Probably a train. Or a man working far away.
He couldn’t be sure. He needed to take the papers somewhere safe and hide them until he had time to read them carefully. Before that, he needed to check the rest of the car out to make sure that there weren’t other papers hidden there.
He emptied the papers and maps from his own pockets into the briefcase, smashing them in until he could put the top back on. Then he took off his belt and wrapped it around both halves of the broken case. Nothing
Chapter 7
November 28, 4:04 a.m.
Bricked-in train car under Grand Central Terminal
Rebar watched the man with the yellow dog sprint away from him across the rows of shiny tracks and into a tunnel. He didn’t bother to chase them. They didn’t seem dangerous, just curious. He didn’t have time to bother with them. He had to concentrate on his prize.
He had found what he had long searched for. He wasn’t crazy. He was right. He’d almost given up back there on the platform, but he hadn’t. And now he had found it.
With one dirty hand, he touched the brick wall and muttered a quick prayer, surprised that he still remembered one. This brick train shed wasn’t just the source of the secrets he sought. It was also a tomb for the doctor who had started it all, and a hapless soldier who’d been ordered to accompany him on his final journey. His papers said so, and he would find proof.
He wiped his hand on his filthy pants and picked up the lantern again, then leaned against the cold wall and stuck his arm through the hole. Reverently, he gazed into the room. The lantern light shone on a blue car that had once carried the president himself. The car had been lost for so many years. Everyone had given up on it. But not him. He knew that he would find it. And he had.
The doctor must have been trying to get out. He lay crumpled against the end of the tunnel where they had laid the final bricks. Dark stains on the back of his coat told Rebar that he’d been wounded, probably shot to keep him inside while they finished the wall. He hadn’t given up.
The soldier had obviously chosen to eat a bullet rather than die of dehydration or from running out of oxygen. A brave choice. The other skeleton looked like it belonged to a monkey. It hadn’t been mentioned in the papers that Rebar had come across before.
Rebar climbed through the hole he’d created in the wall and walked over to the long-dead doctor. The man had died before Rebar’s own parents were born. Hard to believe that he might even now hold the secrets to Rebar’s own life and death. Funny.
He studied the white-clad figure on the floor. The man had nothing in his hands, and the ground around his body was clear. If he’d carried anything with him, he hadn’t brought it all the way to this last resting place.
Holding the light at waist level, Rebar turned in a slow circle, looking for clues. The skeleton in the uniform listed against the wall. His skull rested about a foot from Rebar’s boot.
He didn’t have the papers on him, either. That left the train car.
Rebar set the lantern inside, then hefted himself up into the old car. Sooty dust lay velvet thick over everything—chairs bolted to the floor, a cabinet in the corner with an old sink, and empty glass decanters.
He searched the floor, and spotted what he was looking for next to a chair. A grimy rectangle. A briefcase? He wiped the dust off the top with the sleeve of his jacket, uncovering a cracked leather surface.
Rebar lifted it up with trembling hands.
The briefcase’s hinges had long since rusted, and they screeched and broke as he lifted the top off. He stared down at a stack of yellowed papers inside.
He sat down on an old chair that had perhaps once held FDR and began to read. The papers didn’t make sense, yet. They discussed clinical trials, strains of the parasite, side effects. Nothing about a cure. There must be more papers.
A clink outside caught his attention. Probably a train. Or a man working far away.
He couldn’t be sure. He needed to take the papers somewhere safe and hide them until he had time to read them carefully. Before that, he needed to check the rest of the car out to make sure that there weren’t other papers hidden there.
He emptied the papers and maps from his own pockets into the briefcase, smashing them in until he could put the top back on. Then he took off his belt and wrapped it around both halves of the broken case. Nothing
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