Mick led the way into the mine entrance and down the lift. His team crowded into the rusted contraption. It looked like it hadn’t been serviced in years, although Politically Correct assured them it was still serviceable. With a jolt, it descended at an incredible rate like a ride at a theme park.
“Be ready for guards at the bottom,” warned Mick. “I want them out of action quickly and quietly.”
Brakes initiated, slowing their descent. Two guards looked up in surprise. Tufts of hair shot out from Glen, cupping the back of their heads and colliding them together. They both dropped onto their backs without a sound as the lift door opened.
“Good, keep that up,” whispered Mick, then pointed ahead. “A few hundred metres down that tunnel we come to a bend. There’s two guards watching a concealed entrance to Shotgun’s hideout. Between here and the entrance, we’re bound to meet more, so do whatever is you do best.”
He held up his pinkie. The others hooked their’s together in the Sensational Six salute.
“Right, let’s go,” said Mick.
They ventured down the tunnel, stopping and flattening themselves against the wall, completely obscured in shadow. Not a hundred metres from them, two guards idly chatted.
“Cover your ears,” cautioned Ryan.
The group did so as he sang in sweet strains almost under his breath. Neither of the guards could hear him. Moments later, they yawned and dipped their heads. They attempted to shake the sleep from their tired minds, eventually yielding to weariness.
“I’ve got to sit down for a minute,” said one of the guards.
“So have I.”
They sat down against the wall and lowered their heads. Seconds later, Ryan gestured for the group to remove their hands from their ears. Mick overheard the deep breathing of men resigned to slumber.
“Nick,” Mick said, nodding aside.
Brick strayed over to the two sleeping men and gave them both a gentle tap on the tops of their heads.
“Camera,” Mick whispered hoarsely.
A wall mounted camera began to angle back toward them. Nick hurriedly picked a man up in each hand and ran out of its line of view.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Mick.
They crept to where the tunnel curved and hugged the wall to spy around the bend. Two guards stood by a section of wall of no particular interest.
“That must be the entrance,” whispered Mick. “I want two of you to down them simultaneously and silently.”
“I can do that,” said Pat.
“Both of them?”
Ink streamed from his sleeve, becoming a crossbow in his waiting hands, complete with twin loaded darts.
“Trust me,” he said.
He took aim at the guards when Mick placed his hand on the crossbow, lowering the weapon.
He pointed. “There’s still the camera.”
A wall mounted camera angled slowly over the bend, overlooking the two guards.
“I could do it if I had a shiroken,” said Jordan.
“Pat,” said Mick.
The Samoan threw a blob of ink into Jordan’s palm, instantly reforming itself into a throwing star. Jordan and Pat took aim on their respective targets and fired. Camera lens shattered and the guards fell.