Chapter 18 - Beneath Pier 4
I crept out of the truck, the freezing rain immediately soaking through my canvas jacket as I picked my way carefully across the slippery, barnacle-encrusted rocks toward the skeletal shadow of Pier 4. The wooden pilings rose up like the ribcage of some colossal prehistoric beast against the bruised, purple sky, and the rhythmic pounding of the ocean waves echoed hollowly beneath the rotting boardwalk. As I ducked beneath a low-hanging crossbeam, I caught the faint, unmistakable flicker of halogen work lights spilling out from a rusted steel hatch set directly into the concrete foundation of the old pier. The hatch was ajar, held open by a heavy rubber wedge, and from somewhere deep below came the low, steady hum of diesel generators and the muffled sound of frantic human voices arguing in clipped, tense tones. I crouched low, sliding silently down the greasy metal ladder that descended into the dark, subterranean belly of the facility. The air down here was thick with the suffocating stench of ozone, damp concrete, and unrefined industrial solvent. Peering around the corner of a massive concrete pillar, I froze: in the center of a brightly lit, makeshift command center surrounded by bank after bank of active computer servers stood Gerald Cole—alive, well-dressed, and barking orders into a satellite phone—while tied securely to a steel support beam nearby, drenched and shivering, was Tessa.
