Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One)

by Nathan Hystad

  “Rex,” he said. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight. Where are the others?” I scanned the lobby, peering at the bar.

  “Upstairs. Tripp didn’t think Hunter should show his face. Too many pictures being taken around us.” Marcus wiped his chin and stared at Veronica. “Were you guys…”

  “We were both out and happened to bump into…” Veronica started to say, but stopped as Marcus rolled his eyes.

  “Sure. How about we cut the—” My phone vibrated, and I heard the other various notifications beep on Marcus’ and Veronica’s too. We each checked our devices, reading what I assumed was the same message.

  Tripp – Get to Hunter’s room. Number 913. Now.

  “He’s giving us orders?” Veronica huffed.

  “Must be important.” I had visions of Hunter sprawled out on his bed, dead from his illness. “Has Hunter told any of you what he’s suffering from?” We moved toward the elevators.

  “Nope. I’ve tried to bring it up like you asked, but he isn’t willing to share,” Marcus told me.

  “Cancer. Lymphoma, but they caught it quickly eight years ago. He fought it, and everything seemed to be in the clear—until a few months ago,” Veronica said.

  The elevators chimed, and the doors slowly opened. These old hotel elevators were usually cramped, and while I appreciated the quaintness and original aspects they offered, I always felt claustrophobic riding in them with other people.

  “Where did you hear that?” Marcus asked.

  “Like I was telling Rex tonight, I’ve been a long-time follower of all things Hunter.”

  “But my research didn’t result with any hits about cancer,” Marcus said.

  “You need to do it the old-fashioned way. Like talk to his in-house physician.” She grinned as the doors opened on the ninth floor.

  “No way. You spoke to his doctor?” Marcus held his arm out, letting us pass by him and enter the hallway.

  She whispered the response. “His former doctor. And his old groundskeeper, and his chef.”

  “How did you find them?” I asked her.

  “I learned who his accountant was and… made an appointment with him. You’d really be surprised by how trusting those spreadsheet types are. He went to get me a cup of coffee, and I snapped a few photos of an old personal payment schedule of Hunter’s.” She left us to ourselves, and Marcus stood frozen, his jaw dropped.

  “We have to keep an eye on her,” I told him.

  He nudged me with an elbow. “I can see you’ve been doing a good job of that.”

  I ignored him, and we stopped at Hunter’s suite. It took up an entire quarter of the floor, the door the only one in this corner of the hotel, and Veronica glanced at me before knocking.

  Tripp answered a few seconds later, waving us inside.

  “What is it? Have they tracked us?” I asked, observing Hunter’s pale face at the kitchen island.

  “No, but we have a problem,” Tripp said. “Hunter, you want to fill them in?”

  “The next Token… we won’t be off to Hawaii as planned,” Hunter said.

  “Why not?” I asked, navigating past the room service dolly, which was stacked with empty gold-plated trays. Marcus found some untouched pastries and grabbed one, shoving it in his mouth.

  “My tech team has a program running, constantly scouring the web for any shapes and items that meet our criteria for the Tokens. Now that we have the measurements from the first couple samples, they’ve made a hit.” Hunter’s voice was labored, and he took a drink of water.

  Marcus plopped into the chair beside Hunter. “You’ve located a Token?”

  “We have. In the wild.”

  Tripp brought over a tablet, resting it on its stand as he scrolled through a few images. “This man discovered it while hiking through Ni’ihau.” It showed a fit man of about thirty-five standing on a boat, shirtless. Tripp scanned to the next picture and used his fingers to zoom on the tablet. “There’s the Token.”

  I stared, unbelieving. “Are you certain?”

  Tripp went to the next image, and it began playing as a video. The rest of the boat vanished, leaving the Token, which rotated, yellow lines encompassing the piece. Hunter jabbed a finger at it. “A software program has determined the size is precisely that of your first two samples. This is a Token, and he was at the exact location of its hiding spot earlier this year. Someone beat us to it.”

  “Who is he? Does he know what he has?” Veronica asked.

  “Not as far as we can tell. He’s probably using it as a paperweight. We must travel to Los Angeles as soon as we’ve recovered the Token hidden in Paris,” Hunter exclaimed.

  “He’s a film executive. Works for one of the big guys and lives in Silver Lake.” Tripp switched to a map of the area, the satellite image zooming onto a house with a long driveway and a kidney-shaped pool in the backyard.

  “What’s the plan?” Marcus asked. “Go in all covert style, masked up with guns?”

  Tripp’s arms were crossed, and he smiled as if that would make his day.

  “Nothing of the sort. We’ve established that Cal Harken is holding a Christmas soiree at his house in three days time. What he doesn’t know is that Frank Winkle and his lovely wife, Chantelle, have been added to the guest list as executives of the up-and-coming production company, Park Place Movies.” Hunter’s eyes twinkled.

  “Who the hell is Frank Winkle?” Marcus asked.

  “I am,” I told him. “And I suppose my wife will be played by the flawless Veronica Jones?”

  She rolled her eyes at my comment. “Hunter, couldn’t you have made me the executive instead? And Rex my bumbling assistant?”

  Hunter lost his smile. “I don’t care how you get that Token; just do it. It wasn’t easy to fabricate my fledgling fake movie business in order to garner an invitation. So you’ll go to that party, drink a cocktail, and steal the damned Token from this Harken fellow before we depart to our final destination.”

  “And where is that?” Veronica asked bravely.

  Hunter glanced at me, but I shook my head. “You’ll learn soon enough,” I said firmly. “In the meantime, we have a plan. But first, we’ll scout the location in the morning.”

  Tripp tapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Okay, kid, give it up.”

  “Marcus, show them.” I’d kept the details close to our chests, but we were mere hours from traveling onto the streets to search for the Parisian Token.

  Marcus used the tablet, pausing before he finished adding the coordinates into the mapping system. “This is encrypted, right? No one can access anything?”

  “Tight as can be,” Tripp answered.

  Marcus finished, and the map zoomed to a spot in the center of the second arrondissement. The Louvre was only a few blocks from there, but the location didn’t seem right. It took us to a simple street with nothing notable around it. We’d obsessed over this before we’d left home, but Marcus seemed sure we’d find a secret marking to identify where Luis had hidden the Token when we searched the region.

  “This is it?” Veronica asked.

  “That’s what we have. We’ll know more when we see it tomorrow.” I yawned and checked the time. “Or today.”

  “Everyone to bed. We’ll convene at eight in the morning,” Hunter said.

  I stopped by the exit and faced Hunter and Tripp. “I think you should stay here tomorrow, Hunter. Your face is too recognizable. If anyone sees you waltzing around with me in Paris, we’ll be ambushed in minutes.”

  He pursed his lips and stroked his white beard before responding, “What do you think, Tripp?”

  “He’s right. We’ll do it.” Tripp seemed hesitant. “You’ll linger inside this room, and don’t answer the door for anyone.”

  “I am not a—a child,” Hunter stammered. “I can handle my own affairs.”

  “You’ve seen what the Believers can do. You hired me for protection, and I’m suggesting you listen to my advice. I’ve dealt with far worse tha
n a fanatical cult.”

  I watched the exchange with interest and appreciated the manner in which Tripp handled his employer.

  “Fine. Get to bed.”

  As I walked to the elevator, it felt like eight AM would come far too quickly.

  8

  Marcus walked across the street, rain pouring off his umbrella. “This sucks.”

  It was a miserable morning, doubled in its effects by our moods. We’d scoured the street for an hour already, finding no discernable markings or hints of the Token’s location.

  “The coordinates are only an approximation. Plus, these buildings are renovated. It could have been moved during a remodel,” Tripp said, kicking at a bike fence. We were half a block from a café, and the smells of espresso and breakfast pastries wafted over despite the downpour. “Maybe we should go inside, regroup,” he suggested.

  “Fine by me,” Marcus said. He walked quickly, his soggy shoes squelching with each step.

  I started after them and checked to see if Veronica was following. “You coming?”

  The rain fell harder, battering my clear umbrella, and a gust of wind nearly tore it from my grip. “Veronica!” I shouted, but she didn’t acknowledge me. I stopped at her side, trying to see what she was staring at.

  Water drifted across the one-way street, and I reached for her as a car drove by, not slowing as it splashed us, soaking me from head to toe. “What a jerk!”

  Rain rolled down Veronica’s face, and she smiled despite being bathed in water. “I think I know where it is.”

  “The Token? Where?” I asked.

  Her finger pointed to the sewer drain along the sidewalk.

  “In the sewers?”

  “Why not? The coordinates show the position, not the depth.” She beamed at the revelation, and I pulled her into a hug.

  Someone honked at us, and I grabbed her hand, directing her to the sidewalk. “You did it. Now we just need to figure out how we access them.”

  The café was a warm respite from the morning storm, and we joined Marcus and Tripp in a booth closest to the kitchen. Their jackets dripped on the floor, hung from another table’s chairs, and we added ours to the pile.

  “I say we ask to speak to the building manager. They might have…” Tripp stopped as he looked up at us. “What has you so happy?”

  “Veronica thinks the Token is in the sewers,” I said.

  “And that makes you pleased?” Marcus asked. “Way I see it, we can’t go into the sewers in the middle of a rainstorm, not to mention in the heart of a city like Paris. There has to be some…”

  “Bring up the map. See what can be done,” I told Marcus, and he took out his computer.

  I headed to the till, ordering four hot drinks and an assortment of pastries. By the time I returned, Marcus’ expression was grave. “The sewer is there, but…”

  “But what?” I asked, sliding the tray to the center of the table.

  “Have you ever heard of the Catacombs?”

  “Sure, the Catacombes de Paris. Pretty famous tourist spot,” I said. My mother hadn’t allowed us to visit them on our trip, despite my incessant begging. “They’re intricate, with tunnels and caverns spreading out under the city. Many are unmarked and blocked off from public use, but they’re down there.” I plopped into the seat beside Marcus and saw the map of known tunnels, with the city map overlapping.

  “And you’re suggesting there’s a section of the catacombs underneath our coordinates?” Tripp sat across from us with his hands wrapped around the warmth of a coffee cup.

  “It appears so, but it’s not part of the publicized network,” Marcus said.

  “How do we access it?” Veronica asked.

  “No clue. I doubt that kind of information is easily available online.”

  Marcus began to search, but there was a glint of curiosity in Veronica’s eyes. I could see the wheels spinning. “What is it?”

  She blew on her drink, sipping it before responding. “One of my clients mentioned coming to Paris. He hired some locals to escort him into the catacombs. He filmed the whole thing. I guess there’s like a whole world under Paris. They once found a cavern with a bar and movie theater in an abandoned region. It’s also super dangerous.”

  “Collapses?” It was something we were used to in the archaeology field. Everything was always underground, and years of weather and water tended to make things unsteady.

  “Those are a possibility, but also people. My client was fine, though, and he had a great time.”

  “Can you speak to him? See where he obtained the tour guide?” I asked.

  “Hunter said no outside contact,” Tripp barked.

  “He also wants the Token, doesn’t he? I’ll send him a message.” Veronica’s phone was in her hand a split second later, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. “Done.”

  I didn’t like the idea of waiting around. “Now what?”

  Her phone beeped. “These kids love texting.” She tapped it and read the message while we all waited impatiently.

  “What does it say?” Tripp asked.

  “I guess they call them cataphiles. People who enter illegally and hold parties, or just graffiti inside the caverns. He met one at a nightclub. A place called Charme.”

  “Nightclub? We don’t have that kind of time,” I said, not thrilled with delaying this mission any longer.

  “Unless you have a better plan, we head to Charme and ask for Juliette tonight.”

  “And if she’s not there?” Tripp asked.

  “Then we find another way.”

  ____________

  The music was far too loud, and I felt like one of the oldest people there. The truth was, even as a college student, I’d hated going to late-night bars. I’d always preferred the quiet, comfortable pub-style establishments, with the sound of pool balls clacking and darts being thrown into colorful boards.

  Marcus walked with a cocky gait, and Tripp loomed behind me like a stone wall. His gaze darted around, and I was almost surprised the big man at the doors let us in at all. Veronica had mentioned her wealthy client, and the man softened, opening the velvet rope for us.

  The joint was packed, and I guessed most of the young people were done with school for the semester—or maybe it was always like this in the heart of Paris at midnight.

  Kids with glowing makeup pressed past me, aiming for the dancefloor, and I searched for a place to talk to a bartender. I noticed a bar behind a growing line of patrons, and moved for it.

  “Veuillez m’excuser. Urgence,” I lied to them, pretending to have an emergency, and a few people let me by until I was at the front of the line. The bar was busy, and two men prepared complicated drinks with a kind of casual ease that told me they weren’t in a hurry to get things done.

  I spoke in French and waved the closest bartender down.

  “What’ll it be?” he asked without making eye contact.

  “I’m looking for a girl. Juliette. You know her?”

  “I know a lot of girls. And a few Juliettes.”

  I reached into my pocket and slipped out fifty euros. I passed it to him across the bar, and he finally glanced up, the bill disappearing as quickly as it came. He didn’t say another word, just pointed to the stair leading above the bar.

  I nodded, and saw Veronica near the dancefloor. “I think I found her!” I shouted, and she came along, leaving Tripp with Marcus.

  The pumping music got quieter as we ascended the stairs, and a group of twenty-year-olds hung out on a few leather couches, a bottle of liquor centering the table and a lot of empty shot glasses sprawled out.

  I walked up to them, scanning the group, but it was Veronica who seemed to know how to introduce herself. She changed her entire persona, her hips moving to one side, her foot stance shifting. “Juliette?” she asked, her voice light and airy.

  A couple of guys glanced at a purple-haired pixie cut, and we had our target. I spoke French again. “Juliette, we’d like to discuss something with you.”


  She slinked away from the men, moving from the couches. “Are you American?” Her voice was throaty, her English fairly smooth. I caught the eye of one of the guys, and he frowned at me before returning to his quiet conversation.

  “We are. We’re looking for a guide,” Veronica answered.

  “Are you? I don’t do that kind of thing anymore,” she said, and turned her back on us.

  “Wait. Juliette, we’ll pay,” I said, loud enough for her to hear me over the music blasting below us.

  She paused. “I have money.”

  Veronica had already asked her contact what he’d paid Juliette for the tour, and it was substantially less than what we were about to offer. “Three thousand euros.”

  She stiffened, and even though she was facing the other direction, I could sense the smile building on her face. Before I had to do any more convincing, she spun on her Converse heel, jutting her hand out. “Deal.”

  ____________

  The streets were almost silent, or as quiet as they could be in a city like Paris. No matter the hour, there would always be the ringing of a distant siren carrying across the vacated cobblestone roadways. We’d explained our destination to Juliette, and demanded she stay off her phone for the duration of the journey, which she’d hesitantly accepted.

  Tripp held on to her phone, and I was almost surprised someone would concede the lifeline and walk into the underground with four strangers like this, but our guide seemed unperturbed by any of it. I suspected Veronica’s presence gave us a credibility we wouldn’t have had otherwise, and I was once again glad for her company on the team.

  “We cannot enter near the destination, but I think we can find it below,” she assured us in English.

  The area was rougher here, and I was happy the rain had ceased as we strolled down the road, hugging the old stone building’s wall as we crept to the church. It stood like a Gothic monster in the night. I had no illusions that the building wasn’t spectacular in the sunlight, but everything turned sinister as the dark night sky cast its shadow across Paris.