Rubin studied it for a moment. Luther acted as if he refused to come into the modern world and everyone bought into that, but Rubin wasn’t necessarily convinced. His whiskey was too good. Too smooth. His still was always maintained and kept in working order. He managed it himself. He always had the ingredients he needed. His product was in high demand. He sold to exclusive stores. For a man not able to understand the modern world, he was living in it quite nicely. Rubin passed his hand over the small mechanism.
For a moment it seemed to flash at him. There was no way to type anything into it. If it required a password, it had to be audio. “Lotty4ever,” he murmured. Nothing happened. He stared at it for another few minutes, more convinced than ever that he was right. Luther loved Lotty with everything in him. What would he use? His world revolved around her.
“Diego, what did Luther always call Lotty? After she passed? It wasn’t his angel. But something like that.”
“His way to heaven. No, his wings to heaven,” Diego said. “I always thought it was so sweet. He would say Lotty was his wings to heaven.”
Rubin repeated that very clearly. “Lotty, my wings to heaven.” That was the phrase Luther used for her. Rubin remembered it was one of the few times Luther had stopped talking and seemed choked up. Rubin had continued to examine him and pretended not to notice, knowing Luther would have simply walked away and disappeared had Rubin said anything to him.
The moment he finished saying the password, a small portion of the floor beneath the sink retracted, leaving a hole. It wasn’t a big hole. He had wide shoulders, as did Diego. He studied it, wondering if either of them would fit.
“You’re up, Diego, you go first. Looks like there’s a rickety old ladder. Hope you don’t break it. You ate a lot last night.”
Diego didn’t bother to argue with him about who was going first—both were too conscious of the second sentry making his rounds. Diego stripped off his gear and jacket, handed them to Rubin and then stepped through the hole. It was definitely a tight fit and required a little engineering of shoulders and body to slide through. It wasn’t easy at all. Rubin watched his brother carefully and then handed him his rifle, gear and coat before stripping his own gear and passing it to Diego.
He slid the crate of potatoes as close to the hole as possible in the hopes it would slide in place and relock once they were inside. He followed Diego into that narrow opening. His boot found the rung on the ladder easily, but it took a lot of patient maneuvering to get his shoulders through the limited space. He was aware of minutes ticking by as he did so.
His head dropped below the hole when he heard the sentry at the door. Very slowly, he slid his hand to the knife concealed between his shoulder blades. It would be a very difficult kill. The last sentry hadn’t entered the house. He’d only taken a cursory look inside. They’d most likely looked in a hundred times. There was no bathroom, no reason to enter. Neither brother had disturbed anything other than the crate, and it was beneath the sink in the dark.
The sentry would have to actually enter, walk to the sink, crouch down and inspect underneath to find it. Rubin practiced, over and over in his mind, raising one arm and slitting the man’s throat. There was no way he could get his head and shoulders through that opening in time to make the kill. He’d have to do it blind, using instinct alone, the stubble embedded in his jaw guiding him, telling him exactly where his enemy was, how close, his shape and where to make his strike.
He waited in silence, the dark surrounding him, as he heard a grunt and then shuffling. The door to the shack closed and then there was silence again. Still, he waited. There was the faint smell of sweat. Heavy breathing. Measured treads coming closer. The water at the sink went on and then the soldier muttered something to himself. Water drops splashed on the floor. Rubin couldn’t see them, but he heard them. The sentry didn’t like the humidity. Abruptly, the man turned off the water and hastily left the shack.
Rubin shook his head. The sentry hadn’t been one of the elite soldiers. Rubin whispered the password a second time, and just as the floor had opened, it closed. He heard the crate slide into position.
That old man is a genius, Diego. He knows technology whether he’ll ever admit it or not. He built that little unit. He ordered the parts and he put it together.