“Or arguing,” Balenger said. “Or a man getting drunk and beating his wife, or a woman getting into a warm bath and committing suicide by slitting her wrists and bleeding to death.”
“Or a boy using a baseball bat to smash his father’s head into jelly,” Vinnie said. “All of those things happened here. Eventually, over the life of the hotel, every room had something terrible happen in it.”
“That was the whole idea of the Paragon Hotel,” Balenger said. “All our emotions, good and bad. Carlisle wanted to see everything humans were capable of, so he built himself a small version of the world.”
“Do I look like I care?” Tod demanded. “Where’s the damned vault?”
Balenger glanced from the staircase all the way along the exposed passageway. His gaze rested on a section of wall in line with the long wall in Danata’s living room, where metal shutters hid windows that once looked out on the boardwalk and the beach. “There’s a door between those shutters. Where do you suppose it leads?”
“A balcony?” Vinnie suggested.
“Or maybe a patio. Each of the hotel’s levels is set back,” Balenger said. “When Danata walked out the original door, he was standing on the roof of the room below him. I bet he had a patio there. Planters filled with bushes and trees. An outdoor table and chairs. Maybe a sun lounge. Lean back. Have a drink. Watch the girls on the beach. That’s how I’d have wanted it. But Danata had a long career as a mob enforcer. He didn’t stay alive for decades by being stupid and sitting out in the open. People in the rooms to the right and left would have been able to see him. A guy whose brother got shot by him might be tempted to rent the room next door and blow a hole in Danata’s head while he was having a drink and watching the girls.”
“So?” Tod asked.
“In Danata’s place, I’d have built extensions along both walls of my suite. Extensions that went all the way to the edge of the patio and the roof. Walls that kept people in the other rooms from seeing him.”
“So fucking what?”
“Maybe the extension on this side is as wide as this passageway. Maybe the passageway continues all the way to the edge of the roof.” Balenger studied the six-foot-wide section of wall at the end of the passageway. At shoulder level, a screw projected from the right and left. Without asking permission, he walked along the corridor and tapped the wall. “Sounds hollow.” Again, he studied the screws. “With my hands taped, I can’t pull at these.”
“Stand back.” Tod aimed the pistol.
When Balenger was an unthreatening distance away, JD stepped between upright two-by-fours and approached the end wall. He gripped the screws on each side and pulled, but nothing happened. “Those screws are in solid.”
“Tug harder. I think they’re handles.”
JD yanked, then stumbled back as a partition broke free. Headlamps and flashlights pierced the dark continuation of the passageway.
“And there’s your vault,” Balenger said.
It was about ten feet farther along, occupying the height and width of the passageway. Its borders were black metal while its door was brass, now tarnished green. Balenger imagined how it had once gleamed. In the middle, the door had a handle and a dial. Imprinted at the top was CORRIGAN SECURITY, the name of what Balenger assumed was a no-longer-existing company.
“We had to tear down the wall to get in here,” Vinnie said. “How could Danata have reached this?”
Balenger noticed an alcove to the left. He stepped back to where JD had removed the partition that hid the continuation of the passageway. The partition had been in line with the wall that faced the boardwalk and the beach. A bookcase occupied the right corner of that wall. Balenger hadn’t tried to move the bookcase because it seemed obvious that nothing could be behind it.
Now he went back to the room and tugged at the bookcase.
“Vinnie, give me a hand.”
But both of them were unable to budge it.
“I’ll get the crowbar,” Vinnie said.
“Carefully,” JD said.
“Wait a second.” Hampered by his taped wrists, Balenger shoved aside books on the right of the middle shelf, pawed along the inside of the case, and touched a metal catch. He flipped the catch upward and pulled at the case. It swung open. The space behind it was the alcove Balenger had seen.
“The extension that goes to the edge of the roof must have a box in this corner,” he said, “some kind of decorative effect, probably with flowers or shrubs in front, so Danata didn’t have to look at just a plain wall when he sat outside. The box and whatever’s in front disguise the exterior of the alcove.”
Balenger stepped through the open bookcase, entered the alcove, turned right, reached the passageway, and turned left to face the vault.
“Okay, that explains how Danata went from his living room to the vault,” Tod said. “But it doesn’t explain the staircase. Wouldn’t it have bugged him? Wouldn’t Danata have started wondering what kind of creep Carlisle was that he needed a hidden staircase?”
“I don’t think Danata knew about the staircase,” Balenger said. “All the construction was outside on the patio. The workers didn’t have a reason to break into the interior wall.”
“All I care about is the vault,” Tod said. “Open it.”
Balenger pushed down on the handle and pulled. The door didn’t move. His spirit sank. “Locked.”
“You begged us not to kill the old guy. You said he knew how to get into the vault.”
Now we come to it, Balenger thought. The moment for which they kept us alive. In a sweat, he recalled the Iraqi insurgent threatening to cut off his head. The question again insisted: How do I make now last a little longer?
Balenger crossed the room toward the professor, who continued to lean back in pain.
“Bob.”
Conklin moaned.
“Bob, do you know the combination?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Tod asked. His tattoos seemed like creatures rippling across his cheeks.
“Concentrate, Bob. This is really important. Tell us how to get into the vault.”
“A guess.”
“A guess?” Tod said angrily.
Conklin breathed with effort. “The diary.”
“Yes, tell us about the diary,” Balenger said.
“Carlisle used one of his peepholes to watch Danata unlock the vault. Carlisle saw the combination.”
“And?” Mack asked. “What are the numbers?”
“Carlisle wrote in his diary that Danata used his name for the numbers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Bob, was he talking about some kind of alphabet-number transference?” Balenger asked.
“Think so.”
“‘Think so’ isn’t good enough.” Tod aimed.
Balenger saw an end table next to the sofa the professor lay upon. He drew a finger along its dusty surface.
“This is the alphabet.” He wrote in a fury. “I’ll match a number with each letter. A is 1. B’s 2. C’s 3.”
“We get the fucking idea,” Mack said.
“Danata. D is 4. A is 1. N is 14. A is 1. T is 20. A is 1. If we put them in a sequence, we get 41141201. That’s the combination: 41, 14, 12, 01.”
“You’d better be right,” JD said.
Balenger rushed into the exposed passageway and reached the vault. Trying to steady his hands, he dialed 41 to the right. “The other numbers! Can’t remember. Vinnie, read them to me!”
Vinnie did.
Balenger continued, dialing 14 to the left, 12 to the right, and 1 to the left. Pulse racing, he turned the handle and tugged at the door. It resisted.
No!
“Let’s cap ’em all and grab as many of these thousand-dollar ashtrays and candleholders and shit that we can carry,” JD said.
“But we don’t cap the girl right away,” Mack said. “Sweets and I have a date.”
“I started in the wrong direction!” Balenger insisted. “I should ha
ve started left instead of right!”
He dialed 41 to the left, 14 to the right, 12 to the left, and 1 to the right. Praying, he yanked at the handle, pulling. The door remained solidly in place.
No!
“End of story,” Tod said.
“Please! Give me a chance to think! The theory makes sense!” What am I doing wrong? he thought.
The professor murmured something. Balenger only caught the last word. “…name.”
“What?”
“Wrong name.” Conklin strained to speak louder. “Not Danata.”
“He’s delirious.” JD walked over with the crowbar, ready to swing it. The youngest of the group, he craved the most violence, Balenger realized. “Let’s put the old bird out of his misery.”
“While I show Sweets the bedroom,” Mack said.
“First name,” Conklin said.
“Carmine!” Balenger said. “Wait!” He moved to another table and wrote CARMINE in the dust. “C is 3. A is 1. R is 18. M is 13. I is 9. N is 14. E is 5. The sequence is 3118139145. That’s the combination! Five sets of numbers: 31, 18, 13, 91, 45.”
“Five sets?” Tod asked. “A little while ago, you were sure there were four.”
“Just leave the professor alone! He gave us a direction! If this works, he earned the right to live a little longer!”
Balenger’s throat cramped. That was all he worked for—the right to live a little longer. But this time, despite the rumble of thunder that sounded so much like approaching explosions, there wouldn’t be a Ranger unit to rescue him.
“Show us.” Mack’s hands slid along Cora’s shoulders.
She was oblivious, her eyes staring at infinity.
Balenger ran to the vault and tried to steady his shaking headlamp. “Vinnie, read me the numbers!” This time, he started to the left: 31, right 18, left 13, right 91, left 45.
Flashlights blazed toward him as Tod, Mack, and JD stepped into the passageway. They shoved Vinnie ahead of them.
“Turn the handle, hero. Pull the door,” JD said.
Please, God, please, Balenger thought, and pulled.
Suddenly, JD screamed.
Whirling, Balenger saw a dark specter crash into JD and knock him down.
“Husband. Killed my husband.” Cora had an ashtray in her hands, pounding. “Motherfucker killed my husband.”
JD groaned.
Lights zigzagged insanely.
“Motherfucker.” Cora aimed the ashtray at JD’s teeth.
JD raised his arm. Taking the blow on his wrist, he moaned.
“Don’t try anything, hero.” Tod aimed the pistol at Balenger.
“Furthest thing from my mind.”
“She’s your date,” Tod told Mack. “I thought you were watching her. Get the bitch under control.”
“Pull her off me!” JD shouted, frantically protecting his face.
“Motherfucker. Motherfucker.” Cora plunged the ashtray toward JD’s forehead.
JD blocked it.
Mack grabbed her, straining to pull her away, but her fury was more than he expected.
“Get her off.”
Mack yanked the ashtray out of her hands.
Now she pounded with her fists.
“I sure hate to do this.” Mack picked up the crowbar. “A terrible waste.”
“No!” Balenger said. “I’ll do it! I’ll stop her!” He lunged toward Cora, hooking his taped wrists over hers. She struggled to disentangle her arms, but Balenger twisted to the side, the pressure torquing her off JD. He crawled onto her, resisting her efforts to squirm away.
“I guess you’re useful for something after all,” Tod said.
“You need her. Don’t kill her,” Balenger said.
“Oh, I need her, all right,” Mack said. “But afterward…”
JD came to his feet, wiping blood from his lips. “Give me the crowbar.”
“No! You need her! You need all of us! The gold coins!”
“Are you still bullshitting about that?” Mack said. “Those gold coins, if they even exist, are worthless—we can’t get into the damned vault.”
“No! I think I heard the tumblers click. I think I unlocked it.”
“From the start, all you did is lie!”
“If I can open the vault, if I can show you the gold coins, you’re going to need all of us.”
“For what?”
“To carry the coins! They’ll be heavy. You’ll need help getting them downstairs and through the tunnels. Otherwise, it’ll take twice as long. You won’t get out before the storm hits.”
“You think there are that many?”
“Why else would Danata have put in a vault that big?”
Tod and Mack looked at each other.
“Do it,” Tod told Mack, “while I make sure this bunch doesn’t try anything.”
Balenger felt pressure inside his rib cage. The force of adrenaline made his chest seem to swell, about to explode.
Still holding the crowbar, Mack put his flashlight under his arm so he could grip the vault’s handle.
Tick, tick, tick. No past. No future. Now’s almost over, Balenger thought.
Mack shoved down on the handle. He pulled. The vault door moved. Time seemed to stop.
“Fucking amazing,” Mack said. He got out of the way as he swung the door outward.
Balenger’s headlamp shone inside. So did Vinnie’s. And the flashlights that Tod, Mack, and JD aimed. Thunder rumbled through the broken skylight outside the room. The hotel trembled. Then everything became silent. No one seemed to breathe.
The gold coins were in metal trays on shelves all the way up the right side of the vault. More coins than any of them could have imagined. Perfectly preserved. In pristine condition. The absence of dust on them made them seem to absorb the lights aimed into the vault and give off a glow.
But that wasn’t what they stared at. It wasn’t what made them gape.
“No,” Vinnie said.
The stench of piss and shit escaped from the vault. What occupied all their stunned attention was a woman in a dirty, transparent nightgown, which showed her breasts, her nipples, and the triangle of her pubic hair.
For an instant, Balenger was tricked by the shadows. His horror mounting, she appeared to be someone he knew.
The woman’s blond hair hung like a rag mop. Frail, haggard, in her late twenties, she cowered, pressing as far back into the vault as possible. A sleeping bag was crumpled at her feet. Candy-bar wrappers and empty water bottles lay on it. A toilet pail was in a corner. She raised her hands to shield her frightened eyes from the stabbing lights.
Balenger felt his knees weaken. He had the dizzy sensation of dropping through a trapdoor into insanity.
“Jesus,” Vinnie said.
Mack’s voice broke. “What the hell is…”
As Balenger rose to his knees, he noticed that even Cora was stunned into submission.
Mack stepped toward the vault’s entrance. His flashlight cast a stark shadow of her head. “Lady, how did you get in there?”
She whimpered, cowering with such desperation that it almost seemed possible she could push her way through the vault’s back wall.
Mack still had the crowbar in his hand. “What happened?”
“For God’s sake, you’re scaring her,” Tod said. “Give JD the damned crowbar, and get her out of there.”
“Is he here? Is he coming?” The woman moaned.
“Is who here?”
“Did he send you?”
“Nobody sent us.”
“Help me.”
Mack stepped into the vault. Headlamps and flashlights cast his shadow as he reached for her. “Who did this to you?”
The woman gaped at his hand.
“Whoever he is, I’m not him,” Mack said.
“…not him.” The woman gaped now at the grotesque night-vision goggles dangling around Mack’s neck.
“He didn’t send me.”
“…send you.”
“But I�
�d sure like to know who the sick fuck is. Take my hand. Let’s get you out of there.”
Legs unsteady, the woman stepped across the sleeping bag. She hesitated, sobbed, and took his hand.
“How did she breathe in there?” Tod wanted to know.
Mack peered at the back of the vault. “Holes. Somebody drilled them.”
“You need to…” The woman almost collapsed. Mack held her up. “Hurry. Get me away from him.”
“Don’t worry,” JD said. “If he shows up, with us here, he’s the one who’ll need to worry.”
“Thirsty.”
“How long has it been since…”
“Don’t know. No sense of time.”
“Give her some water,” Tod said.
She drank greedily, so desperate that she didn’t seem to notice the white burn scar on Mack’s cheek.
“Hurry,” she pleaded. “Before he comes back.”
“What’s your name?” Mack took her from the passageway into the candlelight of the living room.
“Amanda.” Her voice was raspy from not having been used. “Evert. Are we in Brooklyn? I live in Brooklyn.”
“No. This is Asbury Park.”
“Asbury…? New Jersey?” It was as if she’d been told she was thousands of miles from home. She frowned at the shadowy wreckage. “My God, what is this place?”
“The Paragon Hotel. It’s abandoned.”
Amanda inhaled sharply. In the candlelight, she recoiled from the tattoos rippling across Tod’s cheeks.
His hand shot angrily to his face.
“You’re not listening,” Amanda begged. “We need to get out of here before he comes back.”
“Who is this guy?” Mack asked.
“Ronnie. That’s what he makes me call him.”
“No last name?”
Eyes wild, Amanda shook her head desperately from side to side.
“What’s he look like?”
“There isn’t time,” Amanda wailed, tugging at Mack to take her to the door.
“There are three of us,” JD said. “Believe me, if we find him, whatever he did to you, the bastard won’t be doing it anymore.”
“Three? But what about…” Amanda turned toward Balenger, Vinnie, and Cora. Her gaze dropped to the duct tape binding their wrists. She moaned.
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