3 - Tunnels and Stones
Detective Turner woke early from nightmares about massive, floating shipping containers dumping dead bodies all over San Francisco. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch so early last night, but yesterday’s stress and injuries forced her hand.
She’d intended to call two of her friends for help last night, so she texted them while she brewed coffee. First, Jamie, a college friend and tech-savvy genius with a truly eccentric personality. Jamie is the only person Turner can think of outside the police force with the ability and means to track the Tesla.
Turner: Hey Jamie, I need your help with something urgent.
Despite the early hour, Jamie responded by the time Turner returned from the bathroom to her freshly brewed pot of coffee.
Jamie: Hey Alex, what's up? Sure, shoot.
Turner: Yesterday, someone in a remotely operated Tesla tried to run me off the road and shot at me. The license plate is registered to the Mayor's fleet. I need to find out who was piloting it.
Jamie: Whoa, that's intense! Are you okay?
Turner: Yeah, thankfully I managed to avoid the bullets. But now I need to track down who's behind this. Can you help?
Jamie Absolutely. Send me the license plate number. I'll start digging into the Tesla's system and see if I can trace any digital footprints.
Turner: Thanks, Jamie. I owe you one. 6X9G7ZP.
Jamie: No problem, Alex. We've been through crazy stuff together, right? By the way, I've moved to a new place. Want to swing by? I could use some company.
Turner: Sounds good. Send me your new address and I'll head over.
Jamie: Will do. Looking forward to catching up. 1450 Pacific Heights Blvd. Stay safe out there, Alex.
Turner: You too, Jamie. See you soon.
Next was her college bestie, Sarah, a forensic psychologist, now a professor and consultant.
Turner: Sarah, I need your expertise on something. Have you ever heard of Vincent Blackwood?
Sarah: Good morning to you, too, Alex! Yes, I’m doing good. How about you?😘Of course I’ve heard of Blackwood. Don’t know much about him other than he’s rich, why?
Turner: Sorry. Good morning. I’m okay, but glad you’re good. He's a big shot in San Francisco, runs several businesses. But there's something off about him. Can you help me analyze his behavior and motives? He might be a suspect…
Sarah: Of course. Send me some info.
Turner: Thanks, Sarah. The Chief's not giving me much leeway on this one, so any insight you can provide would be invaluable. I just emailed you a bunch of info.
Sarah: No problem. I'll get back to you as soon as I have something.
Detective Turner got ready and was about to leave for Jamie’s when Sarah sent another text.
Sarah: Alright, Alex, here's my preliminary analysis based on the information you provided.
Sarah: It seems like Blackwood operates under a potential façade of philanthropy and charm, because there might be a darker side lurking beneath the surface. His businesses portray an image of benevolence, yet there are consistent allegations of unethical practices and exploitation. If that’s true, you can expect him to be skilled at manipulating public perception, using his wealth and influence to garner praise and admiration. Basically, he’s likely got a big ego and is used to getting his way.
Turner: That's what I was thinking too. Any thoughts about his personal motivations? Why would he be involved in mass kidnappings?
Sarah: It's difficult to say without more information. His extravagant lifestyle and penchant for parties suggest a need for validation and attention. However, his involvement in questionable business practices indicates a willingness to prioritize profit over morality, suggesting a potential lack of empathy or regard for others. I’d say the businesses are the key to any involvement in kidnapping. Maybe for a cheap labor force so he can cut expenses? But that’s really just a guess.
Turner: That fits with what I've seen so far. Thanks, Sarah. Can you dig deeper into his background and connections? I have a feeling there's more to uncover.
Sarah: Only if you agree to meet me for pho soon. It’s been too long. I'll get started and let you know what I find.
Turner: You're the best, Sarah. Pho it is. Talk to you soon.
Sarah: Anytime. Stay safe.
Turner called for an Uber and settled into the backseat of a grey Prius, her mind racing with the details of the case. She glanced at the driver, a middle-aged man with a kind face, who gave her a polite nod before pulling away from the curb. They were headed to Jamie's house and she was excited to see him. It’s been about two years since they’ve seen each other.
The ride was smooth, the streets of San Francisco unusually calm for the time of day. Halfway to their destination, Turner was jolted from her swimming thoughts by a sudden, violent tremor. The car swayed wildly as a massive earthquake hit, the driver struggling to keep control.
"Hold on!" he shouted, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. But the shaking grew more intense, and the asphalt seemed to ripple like water. The ground opened up beneath them with a deafening roar, and the Prius plunged into a yawning chasm.
Turner’s world spun as the car tumbled into darkness. The impact was brutal. She felt the sharp jolt from the seatbelt as the car hit the bottom, metal and plastic crumpling around her, glass shattering. For a moment, there was only silence and darkness, broken by the distant rumble of aftershocks.
Dazed, Turner struggled to orient herself. The car was on its passenger side. She turned to the driver, horror flooding her veins. He was slumped, dangling over the passenger seat with his seatbelt at max length, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead. The crimson liquid dripped down his face, pooling on the passenger door. She checked for a pulse but found none; he was gone.
Adrenaline surged through her, cutting through the haze of shock. Turner fumbled with the seatbelt, her hands trembling, and managed to unclip it. She put her backpack on, struggling with her shakiness. She crawled into a standing position so she could push the driver's side door open, and climbed on the headrests and out of the crumpled Prius, wincing as she took in her surroundings.
They had fallen into what looked like a connection point for underground tunnels. Turner had heard rumors of an underground tunnel in San Francisco, but thought it was a social media attention-grab. Turner craned her neck, looking up at the hole they had fallen through, the edges jagged and far too high to climb. All she could see was cloudy sky. She tried scaling the rough walls, but her efforts were futile; the debris was too loose, and her shoes couldn’t find purchase.
Breathing heavily, she decided to explore the tunnel, hoping to find another way out. The air was damp and cool, and the walls were covered in a chaotic tapestry of graffiti. Some were crude tags, while others were intricate murals, telling stories in vibrant colors. Statues lined the tunnel at intervals, each one more grotesque than the last. Gargoyles with snarling faces, mythical creatures with wings and claws, their stony eyes seeming to follow her as she moved.
Turner walked for what felt like hours, the eerie silence of the tunnels broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing through the space. She examined the statues closely, their details both fascinating and unnerving. A dragon curled around a pedestal, its scales meticulously carved; a winged demon leered from a niche, its mouth open in a silent scream.
Eventually, she encountered a small group of homeless people huddled around a makeshift fire. They looked up warily as she approached.
"Hey," Turner said, trying to sound calm. "I need to get out of here. Do you know the way?"
An older man, his face lined with years of hardship, nodded. "The tunnels can take you anywhere in San Francisco if you follow the graffiti. But don't stay down here after dark. It's not safe."
"Why?" Turner asked.
The man shook his head. "Things come out at night. Bad things. Just follow the map and get out before then."
Turner nodded, her pulse quickening. She found the graffiti map the man had pointed at, a sprawling network of lines and symbols at the end of the tunnel. A white dot seemed to mark her current location. She pulled out her phone, bringing up a map of San Francisco, and compared it to the graffiti. They matched. She snapped a photo of the graffiti map, a sense of determination settling over her.
But where did she want to go? Her first thought was to Jamie’s, but she decided on her second idea. Looking at the graffiti map, it looked like it led right under Dolores Street.
Following the graffiti, Turner navigated through the maze-like tunnels. The path was winding and disorienting, but the map kept her on track. Finally, she found herself beneath a house, the walls narrowing into a stone stairway that led up to a trapdoor.
Detective Turner stood there for a while, listening and thinking. She didn’t hear anything above her or in the tunnels. It was both a relief and exceptionally eerie. She looked over her wounds with her flashlight and phone camera. Some of the cuts from yesterday’s car accident had reopened and she had a lot of new bruises, but she was okay. She noticed she had no cell service.
If I get in a fight in this condition with no cell reception, I’m easy pickin’s, she thought to herself. Determination solidified her decision.
Cautiously, she pushed the trapdoor open and emerged into the basement of Victor Blackwood’s house. She dusted herself off, her mind and pulse racing, and started looking around.