Camille’s heart was pounding in her chest. Art had moved quickly ahead of her and was now standing at the entrance to the hotel, urging her to hurry. She had almost made it to the top of the stairs when she felt a tug on the back of her coat. She tipped backwards on her heels.
“Gotcha!” a man’s voice exclaimed from behind her.
But she did not intend to be caught that easily. Camille threw her arms backwards and slipped from her coat. She glanced behind her just in time to see the man stumble back down the steps, her coat still in his grip. Camille bounded up the last two steps to the entrance to the hotel.
Art and Camille burst through the doors of the hotel and into the lobby.
The smell of cloves, pine needles, and oranges filled the room. Thick strands of evergreen garland strung with white twinkling lights hung everywhere, and a massive Christmas tree adorned with purple and gold ornaments stood in the middle of the lobby.
“Run!” Art yelled at Camille, and pointed to a wide set of stairs to their right.
But Camille did not run.
Next to the lobby doors was a tall brass umbrella stand. Camille grabbed an umbrella from the holder and thrust it through the handles of the lobby doors, like a makeshift dead bolt.
Art was impressed. The umbrella wouldn’t hold their pursuers back for long, but it might buy them just enough time to get away.
6:48 p.m.
Saturday, December 16
Hotel Monaco, Washington, DC
James Appleton was a small, fussy man, which made him the perfect person to run the Hotel Monaco. He expected everything to be perfect. He expected all employees to be at their posts. He expected all guests to have a perfect experience at his hotel. But right now things were not as he expected, and Appleton was in crisis mode.
A massive SUV had crashed into the east side of his hotel just twenty minutes ago. A large crowd—including many of his employees—had gathered by the windows on the east side of the lobby and were watching the scene unfold outside. As of now, the valet stand, concierge desk, and bell stand were unmanned. One floor up, in one of the hotel’s ballrooms, the American Font Association’s Christmas ball had just gotten under way. Appleton grimaced at the thought of the flashing lights and sirens right outside the windows of the ballroom. A party at the Hotel Monaco was not a cheap endeavor, and Appleton knew that the American Font Association, a notoriously fastidious group, expected everything—everything—to be perfect. Appleton decided that he had better head outside to make sure the police handled the accident as quickly as possible.
Heading toward the front door of the hotel, Appleton noticed two kids sprinting from the entrance toward the grand staircase. He was starting to yell at them when he noticed the front door: the two juvenile delinquents had barred the doors to his hotel with an umbrella. Outraged, Appleton yelled for security, realizing almost immediately that his entire security team was standing next to the window on the far side of the room watching the action outside.
I’ll take care of this myself, Appleton fumed as he headed across the lobby toward the front doors.
Regina Cash managed to grab McClain before he could tumble down the stairs to the sidewalk below.
“I’m starting to hate these kids,” he growled.
He threw the girl’s coat to the ground and sprinted up the stairs to the entrance to the hotel. He pushed on the doors, but they didn’t budge.
He pulled. The doors still didn’t budge.
McClain looked through the glass on the front of the entrances. Someone had inserted an umbrella through the door handles.
There was no time to waste.
“Stand back,” McClain said to Cash. “I’m going to bust through.”
He backed up as far as he could on the small landing, took a deep breath, and sprinted toward the double front doors.
James Appleton reached the front doors of the hotel, grabbed the umbrella, and pulled it from the handles.
Appleton went to throw open the doors. He had a few choice words for the police officers at the scene of the accident outside.
Eric McClain braced for the impact with the double doors.
But instead of hitting the hard brass frames, he found only air.
As soon as Appleton had flung the doors wide open, a man flew past him and into the lobby of the hotel. Off balance, the man tripped down a small set of marble steps, stumbled uncontrollably across the lobby, and crashed into the bottom of the hotel’s massive Christmas tree.
Appleton gasped.
The tree teetered ever so slightly, and for a moment, Appleton thought it might remain upright.
But the tree fell—slowly and majestically. The evergreen hit the marble floor with a thud and a whoosh. Tinsel, strings of lights, and pine needles flew everywhere. Glass ornaments exploded throughout the lobby.
The large crowd that had gathered to watch the accident scene through the windows now turned in unison toward the events unfolding in the middle of the hotel.
One man held up a drink and yelled: “Timber!”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Chapter 26
6:52 p.m.
Saturday, December 16
Hotel Monaco, Washington, DC
Regina Cash stared at the enormous Christmas tree splayed across the floor of the lobby and directly on top of Eric McClain.
“Do you think he’s dead?” one of the guests in the lobby asked.
“Hard to tell,” said someone else.
“Do we need a chain saw?” asked a third person.
A moan emanated from somewhere deep within the mass of branches, pine needles, ornaments, and tinsel.
Regina Cash did not have time to dig McClain out from under the tree. She had just spotted the boy and the girl at the top of the stairs to her right. Cash contacted Nigel Stenhouse. It was now up to them.
Art and Camille made it to the top of the stairs and onto a broad landing overlooking the lobby. Nicely dressed men and women milled about the second floor with drinks in their hands—no one seemed to be paying attention to the two kids. The high walls were painted gold and covered with large mirrors and massive paintings. Just like the lobby below, the landing was decorated to the hilt for the holiday season—garland, lights, and wreaths hung everywhere. At the far end of the landing was a wide hallway. A sign above the entrance to the corridor read CONFERENCE FACILITIES AND BALLROOMS.
Art pointed toward the hallway. “That way,” he said.
Chapter 27
6:54 p.m.
Saturday, December 16
Hotel Monaco, Washington, DC
Regina Cash spotted the boy and the girl as soon as she hit the top of the stairs. The kids had a respectable lead—they had just entered the long hallway leading to the conference facilities and ballrooms. Cash sprinted across the landing to the entrance to the corridor. The passageway was well lit—the kids would see her coming from a mile away. Cash quickly located a panel of light switches just inside the hallway. It was time to turn the circumstances to her advantage.
The bright lights in the hallway dimmed suddenly.
“Uh-oh,” said Camille.
Art glanced behind them. The middle of the hallway remained reasonably well lit, but along the walls there were simply dark shapes and shadows.
“Be cool,” Camille said. She tugged on Art’s arm to slow his pace. The hallway had grown increasingly crowded as they made their way. They moved quickly but tried not to run so as to avoid drawing any attention to themselves.
Up ahead, at the end of the corridor, was a large mirror that seemed to take up most of the wall. Art looked in the mirror for any sign of their pursuers coming up from behind. Again, nothing but dark shapes and shadows along the walls. That worried him.
A large arrow on the wall next to the mirror pointed to the left. PARIS BALLROOM, the sign read. More important, a rectangular box near the ceiling pointed in the same direction—bright-red glowing letters spelled out EXIT.
“I guess I know which way we’re heading,” Camille said.
Art nodded and then glanced back over his shoulder. It was still impossible to make out any details in the darkened hallway, but he knew their pursuers were back there somewhere.
“Let’s go,” he said. They turned the corner and headed toward the ballroom and the exit.
They found the corridor outside the ballroom packed with people. White-coated servers with platters of appetizers bobbed and weaved between dark-suited men and women in dresses. Art and Camille immediately spotted another rectangular box on the far side of the crowded hallway. This one had no arrows. It read simply EXIT, indicating a door leading to a stairwell.
Camille didn’t hesitate. “We’re going in,” she said as she grabbed Art by the hand and pulled him into the middle of the crowd.
“Excuse me, coming through,” Camille said over and over again as she squeezed herself and the boy through the crowd.
In less than a minute they had reached the far side of the room and stood beneath the exit sign. The stairway was directly in front of them.
“Down the steps and we’re out of here,” said Camille triumphantly.
Art stepped over to the window next to the door and peered down at the road below. He motioned Camille over and pointed outside. Directly across the street was a large black SUV.
“They’re waiting for us,” he said.
Camille pounded her fist on the wall. “They’re everywhere!” she wailed. “How are we going to get out of here?”
Art looked back at the crowd standing in front of the ballroom for any sign of the pursuers. He found little more than dark silhouettes and indistinct faces. He still had no idea how many people were after them—or why.
It was only a matter of time before the pursuers caught up to them. If the boy and girl were going to get out of the hotel, they would have to do something drastic.
Art turned to Camille. “I changed my mind,” he said. “We’re going down the stairs.”
Chapter 28
6:58 p.m.
Saturday, December 16
Hotel Monaco, Washington, DC
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Camille as they stepped inside the stairwell. “There could be twenty of them waiting for us out there.”
“I’m not kidding,” Art replied. “We’re going to walk right out the exit.”
Camille stared at him.
He’s lost it completely, she thought.
Art took off his jacket and handed it to her. “It’s cold outside,” he said.
Camille took the jacket and slipped it on. Her mom was going to be furious that Camille had lost her red jacket with the white polka dots.
Art opened his backpack and took out his Yankees cap. “Put it on,” he said. “Your red hair can be seen from a mile away.”
The girl took the cap and snuggled it down over her mound of red hair.
“Just walk right out the exit?” she asked. “That’s your plan?”
“Yep,” the boy replied. “That’s my plan.”
Art pointed at a small box on the stairwell wall—just next to the door leading back into the ballroom hallway.
Camille smiled.
Regina Cash made her way over to the window and stared down at the sidewalk below. She could see the SUV parked across the street. She knew that Nigel Stenhouse was waiting for the kids somewhere outside the emergency exit, figuring they wouldn’t dare to go out the front door of the hotel.
But there was no sign of the kids.
Be patient, she told herself. Everything’s going according to plan.
And that’s when it happened.
Up and down the entire hallway, small strobe lights near the ceiling started flashing. Immediately the multitude of conversations in the hallway stopped. No one seemed to know what was happening.
No one but Regina Cash.
I really hate those kids, she thought.
Cash covered her ears with her hands. She knew what was coming next.
The noise started a moment later—a high-pitched, pulsating sound.
Briefly, the crowd remained frozen in place, uncertain what to do. Then someone in the throng yelled, “Fire!” and in an instant, everyone rushed toward the exit sign.
As soon as he pulled the small red lever, Art moved away from the door. Lights immediately started flashing in the stairway, followed by the piercing sounds of the fire alarm. Art and Camille covered their ears. In the confined space of the stairwell, the noise seemed unbearably loud. Art kept his eye on the door, waiting for the crowd to appear. But there was nothing—just the sound and the flashing lights. Had his plan not worked?
Where is everybody? he wondered. He looked anxiously at Camille, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.
And then, suddenly, the exit door burst open. The stairwell filled with people, who started filing down the stairs toward the emergency exit.
Camille grinned at Art, who smiled back.
They squeezed into the crowd heading downstairs.
7:02 p.m.
Saturday, December 16
Downtown streets, Washington, DC
Nigel Stenhouse ripped the receiver from his ear. The piercing noise had almost burst his eardrum. He had been waiting outside with his eyes peeled on the emergency exit door when the noise started. Stenhouse, looking up at the windows of the hotel, saw the flashing lights and instantly recognized what was happening.
Someone had pulled a fire alarm.
Smart kids, he thought. Regina should have been more careful.
He knew that the plan would have to change. Within a few seconds, a crowd of people would start pouring out the exit. And somewhere in that mob was a young boy who held the key to a massive fortune.
Things were about to get exciting.
Stenhouse took a position just to the side of the exit door and prepared to act. He would have to move quickly—identify the kid in the masses, grab him, and move him to the SUV by any means necessary. It wasn’t the best of circumstances, but the noise and confusion of the crowd would provide some cover. The team couldn’t let the boy get away yet again—there was too much at stake.
Stenhouse pressed his back against the stone exterior of the hotel. His frosty breath drifted out into the night. For a moment, the only noise was the muffled sound of the fire alarm from inside the building. The exit door remained closed.
A few seconds passed, and nothing happened.
Stenhouse wondered whether everyone had been shuttled to another exit—perhaps through the front of the hotel?
And then the door creaked open ever so slightly. It seemed to pause in that position. Stenhouse readied himself. For a moment, everything was still.
Then the door exploded wide open. The muffled sound of the fire alarm gave way to a full-throttle blare. People poured out in waves. Stenhouse tried to maintain his position by the door, but the crowd was too thick and moving too fast. The man soon found himself standing in the middle of the street at the far edge of the mob.
Surrounded by a throng of people, Art and Camille squeezed through the exit door and onto the sidewalk. Art had forgotten how bitterly cold it was outside. A light snow continued to fall. The crowd of partiers, however, did not seem the least bit deterred by the fire alarm or the cold or the snow—in fact, it was as if they had simply moved the festivities outdoors. The sidewalk next to the hotel was filled with people who mingled about with drinks in hand. No one seemed to notice, or care, that the temperature was well below freezing.
Art spotted the black SUV he had seen from the window on the second floor. He could see the exhaust pouring from the rear of the vehicle.
He and Camille needed to get out of there, and fast.
To his right Art could see the massive stone façade of the National Portrait Gallery. Heading that way was out of the question—he and Camille had almost been cornered by their pursuers in that area, and for all Art knew, some of them remained there. The k
ids would need to head in the opposite direction.
He got Camille’s attention and pointed to their left. Camille nodded her understanding.
Regina Cash spotted them. The kids stood on the far side of the crowd to her left, no more than twenty feet away. The girl was now wearing the boy’s coat and a hat.
Not much of a disguise, Cash thought.
She looked around for any sign of Nigel Stenhouse but couldn’t see him in the large crowd. She tried contacting him on her two-way radio, but the only thing she heard in her earpiece was static.
She would have to handle this herself.
Don’t rush, Regina cautioned herself. Let the kids make the first move. Just watch and wait for the right opportunity.
Her patience paid off. Instead of sticking to the safety of the crowd, the kids broke free and started walking south along the sidewalk.
Chapter 29
7:07 p.m.
Saturday, December 16
Downtown streets, Washington, DC
A long line of cars were parked along Eighth Street just outside the Hotel Monaco. Regina Cash realized that the vehicles would provide the perfect cover for catching up to and overtaking the kids. She pushed through the crowd and quickly made her way into the street, over to a small blue car. Using the car to conceal herself, Cash lifted her head ever so slightly and peeked through the window. On the other side of the vehicle, she could see the boy and the girl moving quickly along the wide tree-lined sidewalk. They had a bit of a lead, but the distance was manageable. Cash knew she would have to move fast to reach them. She glanced around for any sign of Nigel Stenhouse, but he was nowhere to be seen. She reached into her coat and withdrew a small air pistol that fired a tranquilizer dart. Cash would have one shot to subdue the boy. Once that happened, the girl would have no choice but to cooperate.
The Van Gogh Deception Page 12
