Janelle’s heart sprang into her mouth as she spun around.
It was a small woman dressed in black, carrying a stack of white towels.
Housekeeping.
The woman frowned at her. “Are you looking for someone, ma’am? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
As she drew in a calming breath, Janelle’s mind raced. Then she put her hand to her forehead, pretending to be confused. “No. I mean, yes, you can. I was trying to find the ladies room up here. I need a moment alone. I’m not good with crowds.” She laughed awkwardly as if embarrassed.
The woman smiled and gave her an understandable nod. “Yes, ma’am. It’s right over here.”
She led Janelle past the doors she had been heading for to a room on the other side, and opened the door.
Ladies room. An elegant one. It was empty.
Janelle managed to feign a rich-lady-to-servant smile. “Thank you. I’ll be fine in here. I just need a few moments.” In other words, go away.
The woman seemed to catch her drift. “Very good ma’am.”
She closed the door behind her and left.
Janelle let out a breath of relief and stared at the richly decorated powder area of the rest room.
Now what? All she knew was that she couldn’t be spotted again, or the housekeeper would know she was up to something. She’d probably call security. Couldn’t risk that.
There was no other choice than to wait for the woman to finish her work and go back downstairs or wherever she had come from.
Feeling the nerves start to scrape at her insides, Janelle sank onto a settee and counted down the minutes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Stuck in the ladies room.
That was all they needed. But all Simon could do right now was press on with the plan.
He crossed the room where men and women were gathered around a roulette table, chatting and cheering or sulking as they won or lost their bets.
His gaze went from face to face, but he didn’t recognize anyone who resembled the photo of Ivan Fischer he’d been studying on his phone.
He needed to blend in, he told himself, and moved over to the bar.
Wade Parker could do a better job of oiling his way through this crowd. Simon would have to rely on his training and play the role of the blustering tycoon.
As he approached, he spotted someone he did recognize. Dressed in a tux and with his hair neatly combed and his facial hair trimmed, it was hard to believe this was the same man who’d been in the backroom of Casa Ale last night. But the eye patch gave him away.
He turned his head and spoke softly. “EP at the bar.”
In Torres’s office last night, they had quickly assigned code names to each of the actors as well as the operation. Not the most sophisticated cryptonyms, but they would do. It was good Gomez was down here. That meant security upstairs was lax.
Simon allowed the camera in his glasses to capture Gomez, then turned and saw the man named Carrizo saunter up to the gaming table.
“Graybeard playing roulette,” he murmured into his stickpin as his camera caught the second image. Another good sign.
Suddenly someone slapped him hard on the shoulder, and Simon almost reached for the gun hidden under his cummerbund.
“I know you.”
Simon spun around.
A large man with bushy red hair and big shoulders that strained the seams of his jacket stood grinning at him with a mouthful of big white teeth.
“Do you?” Simon said.
“You’re American, aren’t you?” He had an empty glass in his hand, and his breath reeked of whiskey. He was drunk.
“I’ve lived in a lot of places.”
“C’mon.” The man attempted to smack Simon’s shoulder again and missed. “We went to Harvard together. I’m Billy. Billy Olivetti.”
Simon pretended to know the man. It was as good a way as any to show he was part of this crowd. “Of course, I remember you, Billy. Let me buy you a drink.”
He ushered the man up to a spot along the bar well away from Gomez.
The bartender came over, and Billy ordered a scotch on the rocks. Simon ordered a club soda. He engaged the man in conversation for longer than he wanted to. It took several minutes to extricate himself from the man, but Billy barely realized it when Simon finally stepped away.
Simon moved under an archway and into the next room, where a sumptuous buffet was spread out.
There he spotted Ponce with his plate piled high with food, chomping on a greasy chicken wing.
“P at the buffet,” he said quietly as he captured the man’s image and passed through and into the next room.
All three were down here. Now was the time. He hadn’t heard anything in his earbud for a while. It made him nervous. C’mon, Janey, he thought. Find those boys and get them out of here.
In the meantime, he had to locate Fischer.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Janelle opened the door to the ladies room and peeked out.
The woman in black was nowhere to be seen. She let out a breath.
She’d heard Simon’s voice in her earring. The three men who‘d met in Casa Ale last night were downstairs.
The coast was clear. This was her chance.
He knew she hadn’t found the boys yet. He was trusting her. She had to come through.
But time was getting away.
Pushing back her nerves, she left the ladies room and hurried to the door she had been going for before she had been interrupted.
She put her palm on the handle and pushed.
It didn’t budge. Locked.
This had to be the right room.
She opened the small sequined clutch purse she was carrying and took out the special tool Simon had given her—just in case she ran into a problem like this. The man thought of everything.
She’d used tools like this a time or two in her work at the Parker Agency, but Simon’s was amazing. All she had to do was center the handle on the keyhole, press the button, and a slim probe worked its way inside the chamber. It spun silently, and only a few seconds passed before she heard the pins click.
She pulled the tool out, shoved it back into the purse, and tried the door again. This time it opened easily.
She stepped inside, pulled the door shut behind her, and waited for her eyes to get used to the dim light.
She was in a wide French style room where the floor had turned to soft carpet. An unlit chandelier hung from the high ceiling. She didn’t dare turn it on. A small night light in the corner gave the space a dull glow, enough for her purpose.
Across the back wall hung heavy curtains. Plum-colored, she thought. To her left were gilded wall mirrors. A matching set hung along the wall to her right, hiding the door to the service elevator—the one the Castigadores had used to bring their victims up here.
In the corner near the elevator two large wooden crates had been discarded. Two heavy-looking pry bars lay on the floor beside the crates, along with the debris from breaking the enclosures open.
She was in the right place.
The only furniture in the room stood in front of the curtains—a pair of long settees placed next to each other and upholstered in a rich fabric of silver and blue. Scrolling armrests edged either side of them, and as she approached the nearest one she became aware of the heavy smell of men’s cologne and the sound of gentle breathing.
Then she caught sight of light brown hair on one of those armrests.
She hurried over to the settee and found the boys lying side by side, three on one settee, three on the other. They were all dressed up in little tuxes.
Cologne and tuxes. Was this how Fischer had the boys prepared for his customers? The idea made her sick.
But just now, they were all fast asleep.
Drugged.
But it couldn’t be much of a dose. They would have to be alert soon for the clients who were about to buy them. As she peered at them, she saw their wrists and ankles were bound with thick rope.
She had something for that. Pulling back her skirts she drew out her switchblade from her thigh holster, snapped it open, and went to work on the first little boy.
He moaned and turned as her blade sliced at the rope, and she had to be careful not to cut him, but he didn’t wake up. Right now that was for the best.
Then she heard a soft voice from the far side of the neighboring settee. “C’mon, amigo. Get up, please.”
Her heart in her mouth, she turned her head and saw the familiar head of dark curls.
Alejandro.
She left the boy she was working on and scooted over to him. “What are you doing here?”
“It is my friend, Diego. I have to rescue him.” He gestured to the sleeping child on the end of the settee.
He was a sweet looking fellow with short curly hair, round cheeks, and pouting pink lips.
“How did you get in here?” she whispered.
Alejandro blinked at her as if that was the stupidest question in the world. “I heard you talking in my papa’s study last night. I had to help. When Papa left today, I hid in the back of his car. While he got out to check things over, I climbed out of the back and hid behind a bush. I saw three bad men bring those crates inside. They were in a black van. I got inside and took the elevator they used up here. And now I’m trying to rescue Diego, but he won’t wake up.”
She couldn’t be angry at the boy. He had such courage. And as Torres said, he was too smart for his own good.
Besides, right now, she could use his help.
“The boys have been drugged,” she whispered. “I think we can wake them up, but first we have to cut these ropes.”
His eyes went wide as he spotted her knife. “Why did I not think of it.” He reached into his pocket. “I have this.”
He pulled out a pocket knife.
“Where did you get that?”
“From my papa’s desk.”
“You took it from your father’s desk?”
His big innocent-looking eyes tore at her heart. “I could not come here unarmed.”
Of course not. “All right. Use that to cut these boys’ ropes, while I do the others. Be careful not to injure anyone. And don’t make any noise.”
Alejandro nodded eagerly and went to work.
Janelle returned to the boy she’d been working on and found he had moved into an awkward position. Carefully, she lifted his arms and began hacking away at his ropes again.
At last they came loose and she started on his ankles. She was making progress, but it was taking too long.
She had to get these boys out before someone came to check on them.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Simon stepped under another arch and into the last room where a tense high-stakes poker game was taking place.
He’d thought about killing the mission when he’d heard Alejandro’s voice in his ear. But it was too late for that. He’d gathered from the conversation that Janey had found the kidnapped boys, that they were bound with rope, and that she and Alejandro were cutting them free.
He hoped they worked quickly.
Now it was time for him to play his part. But where was the illusive host of this soiree? Surely Fischer would be at his own party. If not, he wouldn’t be able to get the proof Torres needed. Whether or not he did, Simon wasn’t leaving until those boys were out of this place.
And then his gaze zeroed in on the corner of the room. Several people moved out of the way, and there stood the man of the hour.
Ivan Fischer.
Arms folded, a hand to his chin, he was watching the game intently.
Simon took a step toward him. Just as he did, a mechanical shriek pierced his ear.
“Cross talk.” He could barely make out Torres’s voice through the static.
There was too much interference from other electronics in the building. Hells bells, they didn’t need this now, but there was only one solution.
“Going dark,” Simon murmured into his stickpin.
Then he reached for the bud in his ear and turned it off. He didn’t like the move. It meant he couldn’t keep track of Janey or hear anything Torres had to say, though they could hear him. But he couldn’t risk any noises coming through his earpiece and giving him away.
And he had to act now.
Steadying himself, he slipped the bud into his pocket, straightened his coat, and stepped up to Fischer. He took a good long look at the man, making sure the camera in his glasses was sending the visual to the inspector, though he couldn’t hear a confirmation to that effect.
He was a fairly good looking man, though Fischer’s ash blond hair was styled in a side sweep to hide its thinness. He stood a few inches taller than Simon and wore the standard understated black tux, complete with cummerbund and bow tie, with an air of ease. Also like himself, he appeared on the thin side, but Simon could tell there was a well-conditioned body with little fat under the fancy clothes.
He had an oddly shaped scar under his nostril. Simon wondered if it was from some German manhood ritual. As Fischer stared at the man about to place a bet at the table, his glassy blue eyes radiated intelligence and caution.
This was a man who took no chances.
Simon would have to use his best con artist skills to get what he needed.
At the table, the player whose turn it was folded, and a low murmur of disappointment went through the observers.
Simon saw Fischer shake his head.
“Mistake, Mr. Fischer?”
Fischer turned to him as if he hadn’t noticed him there, though Simon was sure that wasn’t the case. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you think the man who just folded made a mistake?”
Interest piqued, Fischer faced him eye-to-eye. “It’s always unwise to second guess a gambler.”
“But surely you have an interest in the outcome of the game. After all, you are the host of this get-together, aren’t you? Or have I been misinformed?”
Fischer’s sharp eyes narrowed. “I am. And you are?”
Breaking into his most confident smile, Simon stuck out a hand. “Mateo Rodriguez, Quicksilver Enterprises.”
“I haven’t heard of it.”
“It’s a fast growing startup in Silicon Valley. In fact, we’ll be releasing a beta version of the QS Pro next month.” Simon attempted to sound like an overeager CEO.
“QS Pro?”
“It’s a wearable device featuring AI and integration with IoT.” He hoped the techspeak would intimidate Fischer enough to ward off too many questions.
Fischer nodded thoughtfully and raised a brow. “And you’re looking for investors?”
Simon rocked back on his heels. “Among other things. We would certainly make a nice addition to your portfolio.”
“Do you have a prototype?”
“I can have one sent to you from our office. I’ll put a rush on it. It’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll take a look at it.” He started to walk away.
Simon reached for his arm. “Mr. Fischer?”
“Yes?” Annoyance laced his tone.
Simon lowered his voice. “I’m looking for something else as well. Something small? I was told you could help me with that?”
Fischer turned around with a knowing smile that just betrayed a hint of greed. There was still caution in his eyes. “How small?”
“Oh, perhaps eight or nine.”
Fischer rubbed a finger under his scar, considering his next move with this stranger. But the lure of gain got the best of him. “What you’re speaking of is very expensive.”
Simon let out a cavalier chuckle. “I have money to burn.”
For a long time Fischer studied him, his expression growing more skeptical with every second. At last he said, “Do you have someone to vouch for you?”
He didn’t have an answer for that question.
Simon’s brain raced. Then he had a thought. Turning he peered through one of the arches and spotted the man he’d met
at the bar. He was now sprawled across the arm of a chair, his eyes closed, his mouth gaping open in a snore. Odds were he was one of Fischer’s special customers.
Simon pointed in the man’s direction. “Billy Olivetti over there. We met years ago. Went to Harvard together.”
Fischer looked at the man, looked back at Simon. Simon was certain Fischer was about to say no. Or call one of his henchmen over to take him outside for a talking-to.
Instead, still looking suspicious, he nodded. “Very well. This way.”
“Now you’re talking.” Step one accomplished. He hoped Janey was out of that room with the boys by now.
And with the muscles in his gut tightening like a hard fist, Simon followed the man up the stairs she had taken not very long ago.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Going dark.”
Chills had rippled over Janelle’s skin as Simon’s words echoed in her earpiece.
She knew what his signal meant. Something had gone wrong with the communication equipment, and he couldn’t hear her any more. But she could hear him. She knew he had found Fischer, spoken to him, and was now heading this way with the man.
Time was running out.
She’d been halfway through the ropes on the second boy’s wrists when Simon cut off her communication with him. Right now she was working on his ankles. The boys were waking up, too, wondering where they were, moving, and making noise.
“English, amigos,” Alejandro whispered to them. “She is American.”
“Señora hermosa,” one of them said, rubbing his eyes and staring at her.
“Shhh,” she told him, ignoring the compliment. “You all must be very quiet or the bad men will come and catch you again.”
Two pairs of round dark eyes stared at her in terror.
Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. Too late now. She began working on the third and final boy on her settee, who was still out. Taking his limp hands in hers, she carefully drew her blade over the ropes binding his little wrists. He was so small.
She glanced over and saw Alejandro was on his third and final boy, as well.
Escape from Danger Page 14