The drainage exit opened directly onto the rocky sea-wall beneath the Taj Hotel.
The monsoon storm was at its peak. Massive waves crashed against the black stones, spraying cold salt-water into the air. The wind howled, drowning out all sound.
High above, on the hotel's balconies, Malhotra guards stood with searchlights, but the heavy rain and the dark-matter smog made it impossible for them to see the rocks below.
"We have to climb the stone wall to reach the boiler room window," Vikram yelled over the roar of the waves.
"I'll go first," Rohan said, grabbing a rusted iron rung embedded in the concrete sea-wall. He pulled himself up, his injured leg dragging slightly.
Vikram followed close behind. Halfway up, a massive wave struck the rocks, the cold water washing over them, nearly tearing Vikram from the wall. He gripped the iron rung, his Prana flaring to keep his muscles from freezing.
He climbed the remaining feet, reaching a small, barred window that led into the hotel's boiler room.
Rohan was already there, using a portable hydraulic jack to bend the iron bars. With a loud grunt, he bent the metal wide enough for them to slip through.
They tumbled onto the warm, dry concrete floor of the boiler room, their clothes soaking wet and smelling of salt.