by Dee Davis
“All right. Yes. There is a guard inside that I trust. His name is Mikhail.”
“Great.” Simon nodded. “Quickly now, see if you can raise him on the radio. Tell him you’re bringing in some last-minute guests. We don’t want to alarm anyone.”
The man pressed a button on the radio, speaking quietly in what appeared to be Ukrainian.
“English,” Simon ordered.
“It doesn’t matter,” the guard said. “It’s not working.” He spoke again into the radio, this time in English, and then held it out for them to hear. A burst of static filled the room.
“They must be jamming the radio frequency as well,” Simon said, his mind turning over alternatives. The idea of walking into the room blind did not appeal, but they really had no other choice. At least they’d had a chance to study the blueprints. “Is there another way into the room besides through those doors?”
“No.” The guard shook his head apologetically. “There’s only one way in. It was designed that way for security.”
“All right, then we’ll just have to go in blind,” Simon said. “I assume you know how to use that gun?”
“Of course.” The guard was back to indignant.
“Okay then—” Simon paused, his eyes dropping to the man’s ID badge, “Danya, we’re going to count on you for backup.” He waited while Danya drew his pistol and then looked to Jillian. “You ready for this?”
“Absolutely,” she said, already moving toward the double doors. “And like you said, if things go south, we’ll split up.”
“You go first.” Simon waved the guard forward. “They’ll be expecting you.”
Danya looked for a moment as if he was going to balk, but then, with a nod, he pushed through the doors, careful to keep the gun out of sight.
As if on cue, the man standing at the podium off to Simon’s immediate left introduced Bilaal. A young man in a business suit and traditional kaffiyeh rose from his seat on the dais, his broad smile filling the room as he lifted a hand in greeting.
Across the room, another security guard started toward the door and the newcomers, but Danya waved him off with a shake of his head. Jillian moved farther into the room, keeping close to the wall, her eyes scanning the attendees for signs of danger.
Simon, his gun held down at his side, lifted his gaze to the mezzanine. The glare from the room’s chandelier bounced off the soundproof glass of the two translation booths situated on either end of the little balcony. In the middle, a narrow, open hallway connected the two rooms, the head of the staircase just visible at the center of the hall.
Bilaal began to speak, and all other noise in the room dropped to a hushed whisper. Above, in the hallway, something moved, light bouncing off something metal.
“Gun,” Simon yelled, already in motion as he ran toward the dais and Bilaal, taking the stairs two at a time, his mind registering Jillian running for the staircase and the assailant as he leaped into the air, the sound of a shot ringing through the room.
His body slammed into Bilaal, driving the younger man to the ground, the two of them rolling off the dais onto the floor behind it. For a moment, the room went silent, and then it erupted with cries of panic as terrified summit attendees dove for shelter.
“Are you hurt?” Simon asked, as he rolled off the Palestinian, wincing as red-hot pain shot down his injured leg.
“No.” Bilaal shook his head. “I am all right. But what happened?”
“Someone tried to kill you,” Simon said, fighting off the pain to look up toward the mezzanine where the shot had originated. There was no sign of the assailant or of Jillian. His gaze dropped back to Bilaal. “Do you have bodyguards here?”
“Yes.” The man nodded to two burly men pushing their way through the panicked crowd.
“Good. I’m going to need you to go with them. They’ll get you out of the building safely. My people should be downstairs by now. They’ll make sure you’re all escorted to safety.”
“What are you going to do?” Bilaal asked.
“I’ve got to help my partner,” he said, the word taking on a new depth of meaning as he thought of Jillian. “She’s gone after the shooter.”
“I can help,” the young man said, clearly eager for payback. “I have been trained. And I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing.” Simon shook his head. “If half of what I’ve read about you is true, you’re the hope of the future. So go, now. Be safe.”
Simon pushed to his feet, stumbling slightly as his leg protested. Damn it all to hell. Calling on every ounce of training he’d ever had, he pushed aside the pain, focusing instead on the mezzanine, watching for any sign of movement.
Then as soon as he was certain Bilaal was safely surrounded by his own men, Simon took off, heading for the staircase, ignoring the ripping pain accompanying each step. There’d been no further shots. But there was also no other means of escape, which meant the assailant was still up there—with Jillian.
About halfway up, he forced himself to slow his pace, not wanting to walk into an ambush. Behind him a stair squeaked, and he spun around, leading with his gun, but it was only the guard, Danya.
“What are you doing here?” Simon asked.
“I thought I could help,” the man offered, lifting his hand to show that he still had his gun.
“All right.” Simon nodded, motioning them both upward again. “But keep as quiet as possible. The guy up there is cornered, so he’s bound to be spooked.”
They covered the last of the stairs, and then together moved into the hallway, turning back to back in a slow circle trying to assess potential danger. But the hall was empty.
“Can you handle the room on the right?” Simon asked, shooting his gaze in the direction of the translation booth.
Danya nodded, already moving out, staying in a crouch as he made his way forward. Satisfied that the security guard knew what he was doing, Simon turned toward the other translation booth, inching forward, leading with his gun.
He paused at the open doorway, and then, heart pounding, swung inside. The room, like the hallway, was empty. On a sigh of pure frustration, he turned back in time to see Danya emerging from the other booth, shaking his head. They met in the middle, Simon spinning around, trying to find some other method of egress.
On the back wall, there was a shallow closet crammed with equipment and heavy metal shelving. There was no way it was big enough to hide a grown man, let alone a man holding a woman hostage. His imagination intent on presenting the worst-case scenario, Simon moved to the railing, looking down into the now almost empty conference room.
There was still no sign of Jillian.
He forced himself to replay the image he’d seen as he’d jumped to protect the Palestinian. She’d been running for the stairs. He’d actually seen her start up as he’d slammed into Bilaal. So she simply had to be up here somewhere.
He turned back to face the empty hallway, his mind spinning, his heart twisting in pain. Where the hell had she gone?
Jillian wasn’t sure where she was exactly. Only that she’d followed the assassin after she’d seen him disappear behind a metal shelf in the back of a closet and had emerged into what appeared to be a passageway running behind the walls of the conference room’s mezzanine.
The wallpaper was old and peeling, and some of the exposed boards in the ceiling and floor were rotted through. Whatever the original purpose of the passageway, it had clearly been abandoned long ago. And it wasn’t easy to make progress, but she knew the man couldn’t possibly be that far ahead of her. So she quickened her pace, shining her penlight ahead of her and keeping her back toward the wall as she picked her way around the rotting debris.
A part of her wanted to turn back. To wait for help to arrive. But she’d seen Simon diving for Bilaal and knew that his safety was their primary objective. Which meant that Simon couldn’t possibly come to her until he knew for sure that Bilaal was out of harm’s way. So waiting would mean losing the killer. And she
couldn’t let that happen.
She slowed as she approached a junction in the passageway, holding position for a moment, then risking a look around the corner. Another hall stretched off to the left, this one continuing straight ahead. Peering in both directions, she strained for some sign of which way the shooter might have gone, but everything was eerily quiet. So she headed left, praying that she’d chosen correctly, knowing that she couldn’t afford to let the killer get too far ahead.
There were openings along the way. What appeared to have once been doorways. But all of them were either boarded up or sealed off with heavy metal grating. And everything was caked with dust. She rounded a second corner, this time hitting a dead end, the wall abruptly terminating into a huge pile of debris.
With a sigh of frustration, she turned back, hurrying until she reached the intersection, this time continuing to follow the original passageway. It twisted and turned for another hundred feet or so with only two doors along the way. Both of them sealed shut.
At one point, she came to a huge section of the floorboard that had fallen through, and she had to brace herself against the wall to inch by. Once safely on the other side, she questioned her sanity, but quickly pushed the thought aside. There wasn’t time for second thoughts. If she didn’t keep moving, the killer was going to get away.
Just ahead, a large wooden archway loomed out of the shadows, fading brown paint covering the rotted surface. Beyond the arch, the hallway veered sharply to the right, and Jillian sucked in a breath, preparing to step around the corner, gun leading the way.
But just as she tensed to move, something hit her from behind, and she fell to her knees, her gun clattering across the floor, disappearing into the shadows.
“Get up,” a deep voice ordered, a hand yanking at her hair.
She kicked out, fists flying, trying to get a hold on her assailant, but the man quickly pulled her against his body, one arm circling her neck. She jerked her arm back, intent on slamming him in the gut with an elbow, but he only tightened his hold, pinning her in place.
“Do that again and you’re dead,” he said, his voice cold and flat. “The only reason you’re still alive is that, should I need it, you’ll provide a handy ticket out of here. But make no mistake, if you cause me any problems at all, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
CHAPTER 25
Simon slammed his hand into the wall, anger and frustration threatening to overwhelm him. He’d looked everywhere, and there was no sign of her. And no sign of any other way they could have gotten off the mezzanine. It was is if they’d simply disappeared into thin air.
He’d sent Danya back to get help. The rest of the team should be onsite by now. But there wasn’t time for him to wait. Jillian needed him now. There had to be another way out of here. He just needed to find it.
He blew out a breath, forcing his heart rate to slow. Anger wasn’t going to help anything. He had to focus. He’d searched every inch of both sound booths as well as the walls lining the hallway. There was no sign of a door—hidden or otherwise. Which left the closet.
Still fighting off the pain in his leg, he stepped inside the tiny space, the back wall lined with metal shelving. Every shelf was overflowing with junk. There appeared to be no room for egress of any kind. But appearances could be deceiving, the voice in his head whispered.
Simon pressed forward, shoving aside a broom and a mop so that he could move all the way to the back of the closet. And it was then that he realized the shelf wasn’t actually sitting against the wall. Instead, it was about two feet in front of it, and directly behind it, centered in the damn wall, was a hole about four feet wide and six feet high.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered as he pushed through the hole and stopped on the other side, the phone in his pocket vibrating. Activating the Bluetooth headset, he answered. “Kincaid.”
“It’s Hannah.” The sound of her voice was like manna from heaven. “Harrison managed to get around the jamming.”
“Jillian is missing,” he said, pulling out his gun and switching on the tac-light. “She’s just disappeared.”
“I know. I’m downstairs. The security guard you sent filled me in. Have you made any progress?”
“Yeah, I’m in some kind of passageway, I think. I got here through a closet. It must be how the assassin got in. And why Jillian’s disappeared. I’m guessing she’s following the shooter.”
“Makes sense,” Hannah said. “There’s a whole series of passageways running behind the walls of the building. I’ve got the blueprints in front of me. Originally they were designed as a network for servants. A way for deliveries to be made without being seen. They were abandoned years ago.”
“So which way do I go?”
“Straight ahead,” Hannah said. “There’ll be a turnoff in a few yards, but ignore it. You’re headed for a staircase just on the other side of an archway.”
Simon nodded, fighting to keep from running, the rotting floorboards combined with the pain in his leg making it impossible to maneuver as quickly as he’d like. At one point, he had to edge around a large hole where the floor had given away all together, but once on the other side, his light picked up the archway.
“I’m here,” Simon said. “What now?”
“There should be a sharp turn to the right, and then just beyond that, you should see a doorway leading to a set of stairs.”
He maneuvered around the corner, but stumbled as his foot hit something. Stopping, he bent down, his light sweeping across the floor, his heart stutter-stepping when he recognized a gun lying next to the baseboard. The same make as the one Jillian was carrying.
“I’ve found what looks to be her gun.” His voice faltered as he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. “But there’s no other sign of her.”
“Well, at least we know she came this way. Which means we’re on the right track.” Hannah’s tone was businesslike, but he could tell that she was as worried as he was.
He swept the light across the hallway again, and finally satisfied that it was truly empty, he ran forward, not caring about the danger anymore, sliding to a stop again when he found the door to the stairs. “Okay, the stairs are here, just like you said.”
“Go down,” Hannah said, her voice crackling a little as he began to make his descent. “Just keep moving until you get to the very bottom. You’ll be in the basement of the building, but still in the hidden passageway. According to the blueprint, the hall at the bottom will terminate at a door leading outside the building—directly onto the FDR.”
“So that’s how he got in,” Simon said, taking the stairs two at a time, careful to keep his light trained on the risers to make sure he didn’t fall through a rotten one.
“Yeah. On a normal day, you couldn’t possibly access it without risking death by traffic accident. But with the highway closed, it makes for a perfect way in and out. And the damn thing was sealed up so long ago, I doubt anyone has thought about it in years.”
“Well, thank God we found it,” Simon said, as he passed the first floor landing still heading down. “If we’re right, and that bastard’s got Jillian, I don’t have much time to find her. He’ll only keep her alive as long as he’s worried about being intercepted.” The thought sent a cold spike of fear stabbing through him, but he shook it off.
“I think I’m near the bottom of the stairs.” He rounded the final turn and stopped, the steps abruptly ending, the bottommost risers completely rotted away.
Shining his light on the floor below and using the railing to push off, he leaped down, landing hard, but staying on his feet, fighting through another surge of searing pain. “Okay, I’m here,” he said. “Which direction?”
“With the stairs directly behind you, turn right,” Hannah instructed. “Any sign of Jillian?”
“Nothing so far,” he said. “In fact, except for the gun, there’s been no sign of anyone. How much farther?”
“About ten yards. You should be able to see the door any minute.”
“I’ve got it,” Simon said, breathing hard as he threw it open, the bright sunlight making him squint.
It was weird stepping out onto the highway, even without cars. The road stretched across with three lanes on each side, and he stopped for valuable seconds trying to decide which way to go.
“There’s a pier just across the highway and down to your right,” Hannah said, and he silently blessed her for reading his mind. “It’s a water taxi landing, but it hasn’t been running since they shut the FDR down. However, there are some private docks as well. And if I was trying to make a quick escape, that’s where I’d head.”
Simon nodded, already heading across the lanes for southbound traffic, then running down the median toward the landing before crossing the final northbound lanes. There was a running path on the far side, and, ignoring the protesting pain, he accelerated into a full-out sprint when he hit the asphalt. Ahead of him, he could just make out two figures struggling as they moved across the landing toward a large cabin cruiser anchored just off a small jetty.
“I think I see them,” Simon said. “They’re heading for a boat. I’m closing the distance, but I don’t think I’ll be in time.”
“Just keep moving,” she urged him. “Drake and Avery are coming in just down from the pier. They were heading for the highway from the access ramp on Thirty-fourth. So at least you’ll have backup.”
“Won’t matter if he gets her on that boat before I can get there.”
As Simon rounded the corner onto the landing, he saw the figures ahead of him detach, one of them clearly trying to pull away. He lifted his gun, but the distance was too great and the bodies too close together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Drake and Avery, but they were even farther away than he was.
The two figures continued to fight, and Simon managed to close the distance enough so that he could see the sun glinting off Jillian’s hair. And then the man she was fighting grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her up and over the railing onto the cruiser.
