She took a couple steps toward the kitchen when she decided to swing back around.
A wire had been tripped, a niggling doubt. She wanted to see him again. Look at his face.
Rox touched her comms. “Change of plans. Avi, start scanning every waiter, bartender and caterer you see. Anyone wearing a white serving jacket.”
“Did you see him?” Avi immediately replied.
“I’m not sure—just—something’s off,” Rox chewed her lip, looking at the sea of white-jacketed men and women serving entrees in the darkened banquet room, as the MC made people laugh and chortle from a brightly-lit stage. It didn’t help that the bidding paddles were up too, making it harder to see faces. “Blue Team Leader, every member of the wait staff and catering team was checked for ID, right?”
“Of course,” Rush responded. “They’re all carrying RFID in their name tags too. Do you want us to rescan?”
“Yes.”
“We’re on it.”
Rox moved back into the gallery, heading in the direction the waiter had gone. “Eyes in the sky—anything come up?”
“Not yet. Lights just went down. It’s harder to scan now that it’s darker,” Avi responded.
Rox moved quickly, her feeling of unease growing stronger. “I’ll go look at everyone with my own eyes then.”
Chapter 29
April—Evening
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas
J A C K
Jack’s phone was blowing up inside his suit jacket pocket, the vibrations going off every few seconds now. He’d ignored it the first couple of times, but now the phone was vibrating incessantly. He smiled regretfully at Samantha, holding up his phone. She nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment she was fine as he excused himself. When Jack saw that it was his brother calling, he stepped quickly through the dining room and into an alcove, Anand following closely.
“Oh, thank fuck you finally answered!” Jaime said as soon as he picked up. “I’ve been calling you like an ex-girlfriend!”
“Now you got me. Che succede?”51
“We’ve got a big fucking problem.”
“What? What is it?” Jack asked, on high alert.
“The locater on the warhead popped five minutes ago, Jack. It’s right there—right where you are in the museum.”
“Holy fuck.” Jack waved Anand over.
“You need to clear the building out—”
Jack put his hand over the phone, telling Anand, “The bomb’s here. It’s in the building. We’ve got to get everyone out now!”
Anand immediately spoke into his comms, his voice low and urgent.
“How good is the read?” Jack asked his brother. “How accurate do you think your locater is?”
“It’s not my tech, but I’d say within twenty to thirty feet in either direction, which is a wide radius inside a building. The good news is it can’t be underground if it’s picking up a signal strong enough to transmit,” Jaime reasoned. “So I’m thinking it’s somewhere ground level.”
“And the bad news?”
“It’s outside of its radioactive isotope container, which means it’s activated. It’s bad, Jack,” Jaime told him, his voice thick with worry.
“Okay, calm down, fratu,” Jack told him. “Tell me what I’m looking for. What will it look like?”
“The container would have been large and heavy. It would have had to be wheeled in.”
“What does the container looked like?” Jack asked.
“It’s a round, metal cylinder.”
Jack rubbed his brow, trying to think how Lightner could have gotten it in with the level of security they had surrounding the place. “Got it. I’ll call you back.”
*
April—Evening
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas
R O X A N N E
The moment Anand told them the warhead’s locater had been reactivated, a variation of their plan went into play double-time. Rox alerted Alejandro, who leaned toward Samantha immediately, informing her. To her credit, she stood smoothly and calmly, winding slowly through the crowded tables like a bright red thread. Alejandro stayed in place for long enough to let her get to the edge of the floor before he stood as well, following her closely, his eyes tracing over everyone.
As soon as Samantha reached her, she told her, “Alert the FBI that the bomb is in the building. Have Avi activate the museum security. We’ll get everyone evacuated.”
“Lightner’s here.”
Sam cocked her head. “How do you know?”
“I feel it. In fact, I think I brushed past him. He’s wearing a waiter’s uniform.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Lightner’s not crazy enough to detonate the bomb while he’s still in the vicinity. He wants me and Jack, but he can’t get us both. I have to be the one to lure him out.”
“What about Jack?” Rox asked, handing Sam a Bluetooth comm.
Sam met her eyes as she fit the device into her ear. “Get Jack out. He’ll fight you tooth and nail, but do what you have to. I’m going to bring Lightner to me. Now tell Avi to wait five minutes, then flip the switch.”
Rox nodded, turning away to give the order as Sam headed for the back of the museum toward the gardens. Alejandro squeezed her shoulder as he passed her.
“¡Ten Cuidado!”52 he whispered.
“You too.” She squeezed his hand back before letting go.
A few minutes later, Avi threw on all the lights and engaged the museum’s security system. A disembodied, robotic feminine voice spoke over the museum’s hidden loudspeakers: “This is an emergency. Everyone please keep calm, and find your way to the nearest emergency exit. This is an emergency.”
People looked around in curiosity at first, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the sudden harsh flood lights marring the event. Their murmurs grew louder and more concerned as metal gates slid down to guard the individual art galleries, blocking entrances. All the teams moved into their assigned positions at the main exits, looking for the face they’d been trained to find.
“Man down! I have a man down in the kitchen!” Rush’s voice burst over the comms. “He was one of ours! His catering jacket and gun are missing.”
Rox tensed. The man who’d passed her carrying the tray—it had to have been Lightner! He wasn’t able to disguise his accent fully—but she recalled the tenor of his voice. Everything clicked into place. He’d probably made it in as a delivery guy, maybe even told the staff that the warhead was a keg he was wheeling in. It was the only way he’d be able to wheel in a metal canister that big without attracting attention.
“Blue Team Leader, have your team check the kitchen and supply areas—the bomb has to be in there or somewhere nearby!” she said urgently as she glanced frantically through the dozens of people moving like a river toward the main entrance, trying to spot the waiter again.
*
April—Evening
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas
S A M A N T H A
Her heart was pounding so hard, Sam wondered briefly if she’d have a heart attack before she made it to where she was going. She moved slowly down the empty corridor, listening to the disembodied voice of the security system drone on and on about exiting the building as lights flashed throughout the hall in a hypnotic strobe.
“Michaelson, you boys better be ready,” she muttered low as she limped toward the partially enclosed sculpture courtyard outside, in the opposite direction to the main entrance where people were being ushered out.
“Got you covered, boss,” he answered readily.
“Snipers also in position,” Talon confirmed.
“Anyone behind me?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Not yet,” Alejandro answered from his station behind a column, watching her progress. “But everyone saw you leave.”
“Remember—no one move on Lightner until I give the signal,” Sam told them. “Lightner’s mine.” Tonight was do or die. Either she’d make it out alive or Ligh
tner would. But it wouldn’t be both.
When she finally reached the double-paned glass doors, she saw the austerely beautiful sculpture garden behind the museum bathed in moonlight, the artwork glowing eerily in the darkness.
She knew the moment someone was behind her. The hairs raised on the back of her neck as she felt herself being watched.
Do or die.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Chapter 30
April—Evening
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas
W E S L E Y
“You need to tell Sammy, Mack. She deserves to know.”
Mack’s shoulders drooped. He stared hard at the ground, scrubbing a hand across his cheek. “I know it.” He looked up, his eyes dark with grief. “You gonna tell the cops?”
Wes shook his head minutely. “Not my place. I did this for Sam—to help her heal, but I will tell her, if you don’t,” he stated matter-of-factly, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. “I think it’d be better coming from you, though. Then she can decide what she wants to do.”
“I love her like my own,” Mack said mournfully. “Never had a little girl.” He looked up at the skylight, blinking fast. “This’ll kill her.”
“No, it won’t,” Wes responded. “She’s a hell of a lot tougher than all of us combined. But it’s the uncertainty that’s got her right now, Mack. It’s the not knowing.”
Mack nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Give me tonight. I don’t want to tell her here. Now’s not the time.”
There was always a chance that Mack would run, but that wasn’t Wes’s problem. Not anymore. Besides, he figured there was nowhere Mack could go that Samantha wouldn’t find him if she wanted to. Wes had done his bit. He’d gotten the truth for her. The rest of the chips would fall where they may. Wes’d done what he promised, and she’d chosen Jack.
“You have until noon tomorrow to tell her yourself, then everything I know goes straight to Sam,” he told the older man.
“I’ll do it,” Mack promised.
After he left, Wes stood alone in the gallery, looking at the Post-Impressionism art done in voluptuous, vivid tones of amber, cerulean, and greens. He made a slow, preoccupied revolution around the silent gallery, admiring the magnificent works of Rousseau, Gauguin, Seurat, Cézanne, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Van Gogh. It was a little mortifying for a man who’d carved a small space in the art world, who’d lived in Europe for a time, and who’d traveled extensively to admit he had spent almost no time admiring the greats. Wes couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the afternoon in a museum or a gallery anywhere, just enjoying stunning art work designed to titillate the senses and please the eyes. He’d wanted to wait to see the Louvre with Sam. He wanted her to show him her favorite pieces. He wanted to hold her hand as he picked his.
But it was a lost opportunity.
Another moment they never had.
Wes turned on his phone, writing a quick note to Carey. He attached the recording of Mack’s pained confession. He hoped the man would do the right thing tomorrow morning, but if he didn’t, Carey would step up. Wes was certain of it. And that would free him to leave…
Maybe he would go to Paris. See the Louvre after all.
Wes’s pensiveness was broken by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall some distance away. He stood very still at the end of the gallery, listening. Then he saw a flash of red as Sam swept pass.
Wes began moving toward the entrance, thinking he’d just see her one more time. It would hurt, but he wanted to look into her eyes. He wanted to say goodbye… the right way. The way he should have all those years ago.
Suddenly, the museum’s alarm system went off, the sound jarring. Rolling metal flaps immediately descended over the walls, shielding the artwork. Wes paused, listening to the message over the loudspeaker, calling for evacuation.
Was it a fire?
Some kind of theft?
Just then, Wes saw a tall, gaunt man walking quickly in the same direction as Samantha. The man looked like a waiter, but at that distance, he couldn’t tell.
Frowning, Wes followed.
*
April—Evening
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas
J A C K
As soon as the alarm system went off, it was organized mayhem. Sluggish to start, people were soon heading for the exits like they’d let a lion loose in the main gallery, herded by a combination of MFAH guards and Sam’s security team.
Jack pushed against the tidal procession of people, craning his neck as he searched for Sam.
“We have to go,” Anand told him, gripping his shoulder. “Follow me.”
Jack shook him off. “No—where’s Sam? I’m not leaving without her.”
Anand shook his head, a warning look flashing in his dark eyes as he gripped Jack’s arm firmly. “I’m following her orders, Mr. Roman. She asked that we take you to safety.”
“No, goddammit!” he shouted over the din. He tried to shove Anand back, but the man blocked him smoothly, spinning and twisting Jack’s arm behind his back.
“Sir, please calm yourself. I’m trying to protect you. I’m following her orders.”
“Where the hell is she?” Jack gritted out, breathing heavily, fear, anxiety, and anger coursing through him, making him break into a cold sweat.
Rox appeared in front of him, wearing a wig and glasses. She clasped his shoulders, squeezing. “Calm. Down.”
“Fuck off! You calm down!” Jack shouted back, straining against Anand’s hold as he glared at her. “Where’s Sam?”
She ignored his outburst. “Sam told me to give you a message. She told me to tell you: trust her.”
Jack struggled anew but it was no use. For his diminutive stature, the bastard had Jack in a vise grip he wasn’t likely to let go of. His arm was aching now from the exertion.
“Where is she?” he spat out again, winded as he glared her down.
“Trust her, Jack,” Rox repeated. “You have to go. Anand will escort you out. We’ll have you in the Wyatt chopper in a few minutes.”
“I’m not leaving without her!” he insisted, anger and fear blooming through his veins.
“Yes, you are.”
The commotion increased as the place was swarming with the FBI and the Houston PD. Rox touched her ear piece, all business. “Get bomb squad to the kitchen. Rush found the warhead. It’s not on a timer—he needs to disable the detonator.”
Jack listened with wide eyes. Then in a last, desperate attempt, he stepped back and shoved Anand hard against the wall, body slamming the man in a mighty, backward heave. Anand’s grip loosened but not all the way. Jack was still trying to shake him off when Rox stepped forward, wound her right arm up and spiked a vicious hook that he had no time to jerk away from, even though he saw it coming.
Rox landed the punch right on his chin.
Lights out.
*
April—Evening
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas
S A M A N T H A
It was a warm night, soft with just a touch of humidity, like slipping into bath water. The air was scented with the sweet, sultry tangle of honeysuckle vines and plumeria, planted around the walls of the modern sculpture garden. The space was spare and contemporary, centered around a long, rectangular reflection pool that glowed in the moonlight. She heard the sounds of sirens coupled with raised voices in the distance, saw the red and blue flash of police lights glancing off the smooth marble like a moving watercolor come to life.
“Blue team leader status—the bomb’s manual trigger is hooked to a command mechanism that’s syncing to a three-digit code,” Rush reported.
“What does that mean?” Rox responded over the comms.
“It requires constant authentication or it detonates,” Rush answered grimly.
Sam walked straight ahead, not turning even when she heard the door open behind her, trying to get some distance between her and the building so Talon
and Henri could get a clean shot. She stopped only when she reached the edge of the garden at a wall of tall, topiary bushes sculpted to look like towering obelisks. The space was dimly lit by cleverly hidden sconces and the eerie glow of a full moon. She hoped he couldn’t see the goosebumps on her arms.
“Red is your color,” Lightner said behind her, his crisp British accent cutting through the humid air like a stiletto.
“I was hoping you’d like it,” she answered, relieved her voice was at least steady as she stared him down.
The surgeon he’d blinded had done a good job of remaking him. Lucien Lightner’s previously leonine good looks were now more indistinct. The kind of face that was difficult to place and easy to forget.
“I must say, I’m not loving the new look,” she told him, looking him over. “You were a rather handsome man before—maybe even a little devilish. Women like that,” she remarked dryly. “But now you’ve been reduced to…” her smile was slow and insolent as she gestured toward his waiter’s uniform. “—The help. It’s not a good look, Lightner,” she goaded. “Pitiful, really, how far you’ve fallen.”
If the comment vexed him, he didn’t show it, stepping closer toward her until he was about halfway between her and the door they’d come out of. He had a gun with a silencer in his hand, his other hand tucked casually in his pocket.
“Well, I must admit it was a bit tedious to have to do all this,” he replied with a sigh. “But I had to find a way to get you over a barrel, didn’t I, Samantha?”
“And what barrel would that be?”
Lightner held up a fob, dangling it neatly from a car key chain before swinging it back into his hand. He pressed the button, making a small red light glow briefly. “It’s very simple really. I’ve activated a dead man’s switch on a bomb I’ve placed in the building.”
“The code is changing constantly,” Rush said into her ear. “He must be triggering it somehow—like a radio frequency. Is he holding anything?”
“A key fob?” she scoffed, more for Rush’s benefit than to rile Lightner.
“Yes!” Rush exclaimed. “He’s using radio frequency from that fob to send a new authentication code to the bomb every few seconds!”
Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three Page 48