III
Knox made his way early to Eden, hoping that Rebecca had calmed down overnight, but instead he found the Jeep gone and the lodge locked. He needed to get inside; his bag was in there, as well as the information about Michel’s date of birth. He circled it looking for an open window, but without result. That was when he remembered the keys dangling from the hook on the backside of the Yvette’s water tank.
He waded back out. They were wrapped in sticky tape to stop them jangling. He peeled the tape off as he made his way back to shore. All bar one were standard issue house, car or motorbike keys; but that one intrigued him. It was a double-bit key, modern and highly sophisticated, similar to the one MGS had for its safe-room, where they kept their most precious discoveries and confidential documents. Emilia had asked him several questions about it during his office tour. He ran his finger along its edge. Surely it had to open something both important and recently built.
The boathouse was ugly and blockish, but it was also new and large and close enough to the Yvette to make it an appropriate mission control for the salvage. He hadn’t seen anything unusual on his previous visit, but then he hadn’t looked very hard. One of the standard keys fitted its front door. It was so gloomy inside that he couldn’t see much. He took the tour nevertheless, looking for anything he might have overlooked. He was about to give up when he noticed the air compressor’s rubber wheels. Mobile compressors typically came with their own generators; there wasn’t much point to them otherwise. He pulled off the brown sacking and yes, there it was. So what was the second generator for? It was quite modern and powerful enough to run a number of appliances simultaneously. He checked behind and beneath it, saw a single fat grey cable that vanished into the concrete.
On his hands and knees, he went over every inch of floor, found nothing. He paced out the boathouse’s length, inside and out. It was a full pace longer on the outside. He went to the rear internal wall, took the dive-gear from the pegs, knocked on the plasterboard panels. The right one was solid; but the left sounded hollow. He put his shoulder to it and pushed. It gave an inch or two, then slid to one side, like a closet door opening, revealing empty space behind.
A solid steel door gleamed dully to his right. The threebit key fit perfectly in its lock. He turned it, heard the elaborate internal mechanism smoothly cede, then pushed down the handle and pulled it towards him. It was heavy and stiff and it exhaled a sigh of stale air. A flight of steps led down into the darkness. He flipped a lightswitch inside the door, but nothing happened. He started up the generator and the stairwell began to glow.
He walked over to it and then down with a growing sense of trepidation, fearful of what—or, more accurately, who, and in what state—he might find waiting for him at the foot.