"Understood," Rook says grimly.
"Good," Cobra says, turning toward the heavy steel door set into the far left wall, the old meat locker's deep-freeze unit. "Now let's deal with Knox’s driver."
The door to the deep-freeze unit opens with a heavy, mechanical clunk as Bishop throws the external iron latch. The air inside smells of damp stone, old rust, and absolute defeat.
Sitting on a bare steel folding chair in the center of the windowless room is Miller.
Knox’s haulage driver looks like a ghost. His jacket is filthy, stained with dark grease and sweat, and his hands are zip-tied behind his back to the chair frame. Fourteen hours locked in absolute darkness fifty feet underground has broken him completely.
The moment the light spills over him, Miller flinches violently, trembling like
