Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) (37 page)

They rushed down to the hall’s last door.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed they’re not copies. Do you remember any titles? Or
are
they titled?”

Pete grinned as he banged on the door. “‘Remember.’ Heh, you forget who you’re talking to, man! Take note …” He theatrically wiped an invisible marquee in the air. “…
Elenchus, Atop Red-drowned Soil, Epitaphios,
and
Daemones
.”

The door finally swung open, with Matt standing bewildered, as if sprayed with cold water.

A tall, collegiate, twenty-something guy ogled them. “Holy hell, what the f—Oh, hey … um … Pete. Sorry, um …” American. He eyed Matt and Joss as he scratched his shaggy beard. “Étienne’s not here yet.”

“That’s all right, Leo.” Pete pushed in past him. “We need to gather everyone together right away. We’ve got a building emergency.”

Pete’s voice trailed off while Leo, back in the doorway, scratched his belly through his T-shirt, squinting at Joss and Matt, then Joss, then held on Matt. “Do I … Have we-?”

Matt composed himself and stuck out his hand to shake. “We haven’t met. This is Joss Lynn. I’m Matt. We should be getting in there.”

Leo absently shook his hand, shuffling backward. “Leonardo,” he said. “Leo.”

Matt grabbed Joss’s hand, pulling her past the mystified twenty-something, and emphasized, “There really is an emergency, Leo.”

Pete had already assembled most of the marine archaeologists, and they gathered the stragglers on the way out. The Leonardo kid was holding the door open, and as Joss approached among the murmuring herd, she watched his eyes hunting through the crowd, swiftly finding and locking on Matt, in front of her. Clearly, Leo was more concerned with a familiar face than the prospect of an armed assault.

Evacuees bunched up at the exit, and Matt slowly advanced to within a couple feet of the captivated American kid.

Joss saw his gears cranking … more beard scratching …

Aaaaand … blam-O! Recognition!

“No …
way!
” he said.

Matt glanced Leo’s way as they rolled by, and said, “Mr. Dunch … Can we chat?” For some reason Matt had adopted an airy manner.

They stepped outside the door, moving aside to allow others to exit. Joss stuck to Matt’s wing, and observed the awestruck Leonardo float through the doorway like a ghost, his face alight as if he’d just witnessed the greatest magic trick in history.

Matt called down the hallway, “Hey there, you two!” A young man and woman slowed and turned, wondering if he was talking to them. “Come here for a second.” They shared a glance and hesitantly returned. The woman had a cell phone in her hand. “Does that get signal in the basement?”

“Yeah,” she said. “In the garage, at least. Why?”

“May I borrow it?” A pleading smile. She groaned and plopped it in his hand like owed money. “Thanks.” He looked at the guy, a stocky surfer type in flip-flops, with a long, sun-bleached-blond ponytail. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

“Um, Josh.”

“Nice to meet you, Josh.” Matt held up the woman’s phone and gestured to Josh and Leo. “Either of you have Tiffany’s number in your phones?”

They answered “Yeah,” in unison.

The woman’s brow puckered. “How do you know my name?”

“Ah, someone said it inside,” Matt said, and hurried her off. “Go on now, catch up with the group!”

Befuddled, she resumed toward the stairwell.

“Where was I? … Right. Joss, may I have the van keys?” She pulled them out and tossed him the clacky little ring. “Thanks. Hey … where’s Pete?” He poked his head into the suite’s exit.

Joss guessed, “He’s probably doing a final sweep of the offices.”

Matt peered over at her. “Probably right. You mind grabbing him?” And didn’t wait for her answer before turning back to the two confused, waiting guys.

She snapped a nod anyway, and darted back into the marine group’s suite.

“So, Josh, what do you do?” Matt asked casually.

“I’m, um … I’m the cook. On the boat.”

“Sweet …” was the last thing Joss heard Matt say before she cut left toward a big open cubicle area.

“Pete? Peter?” She peeked into each office and conference room until reaching the last. No Pete. She shouted, “Pete!” and listened. Nothing. She jogged back to the reception area, catching a glimpse of Matt still talking to the guys outside the suite, and continued her Pete-hunt into the opposite wing. Still Pete-less, she went to tell Matt. Unless there were secret passageways here, there definitely wasn’t anyone else in the office.

She hung a left, hit the final stretch to the lobby, and Matt appeared, heading her way.

“No?”

She threw her hands up.

He stopped and waited for her. “I must’ve missed him. Probably went up to get the third floorers. Let’s get you down to the vault.”

“Sure, yeah,” she said, looking up at him. “What was that all about with the lads?”

“I sent them to prep for an errand.” Matt handed her the borrowed cell phone. “And you’ll cue them when the time is right.”

“I have a feeling that’s all the information you’re going to give me.”

Earnest confusion.

She gave him
the lids,
as her mom always called the expression. “
How
will I know when the time is right?”

“Right, of course … That’s still on the T-B-D list.” He walked into the nearest street-facing office.

Joss watched him from the doorway. He crept to the side of a vertical blind-shrouded window, and ever-so-slowly pushed the first hanging panel aside. Careful to keep out of the sunlight, he craned his neck to inspect the street.

“They’re still in the minivan at the end of the block. Thing is, there’re two other vehicles and six other guys, one of whom is the least predictable factor.”

“How do you know? Is it Rostik?”

“Yes it is,” Matt said, and moved slowly right to examine the adjacent apartment building. “Unfortunately, his own guys don’t know where he went to post watch. He simply radioed them to stay put, and said he was heading to another vantage p—Shit.”

“What?”

“Found Rostik.” Dropping the ninja sniper act, he whacked the blinds aside and gazed back down the street.

“You saw him?”

“I saw a dark sliver between two mini-blinds slowly close.” Before she could ask how mini-blinds plus dark sliver equaled Rostik, he added. “And there’s the radio call. They’re getting out. We have to move.”

As they ran out of the suite and toward the stairwell, Matt said, “You hold onto that phone, okay? There’s a text message to Leo already primed on the home screen if you wake it up.”

Scuttling behind him, she unlocked the screen to verify there wasn’t a passcode. Indeed, an unsent message sat ready on the screen. “It’s just a period,” she said.

“Yeah, it could be anything. They’re just waiting for a text from that phone.”

He paused by the stairwell door, opened it a crack, and listened.

She whispered, “So do I send it now? What’s the cue?”

He shook his head and put up a hand for silence, held it for an instant, then swung the door open. “Tread lightly,” he hushed.

Of course, they were the metallic-type stairs that thrummed and echoed for anyone but cats wearing socks. Matt led them down with modest racket, balancing well the values of both haste and stealth. When they reached the ground level, he switched places with her, taking up the rear for the last flight down to the garage level.

She pushed the latch bar, shouldered the door out of their way, and popped out into the basement lobby. A sudden jerk from a tight grip around her upper arm. She almost fell on her ass, but caught her balance, freezing in place. She scowled silently at Matt. He had one hand holding her still, a finger pressed to his lips, and an elbow impeding the self-closing door.

And then she heard it, too: Russians in the stairwell (or Ukrainians, or whatever). Two or three different voices. They didn’t seem to be going up or down—probably listening to determine which.

Time, as it often preferred, decided to crawl. Maybe twenty words were spoken between the unseen intruders, but in Joss’s mind it felt like the sun had fallen, risen, and burned out. She moved only her eyes back to Matt, observing his were closed. He seemed to be holding his breath. She followed suit, and a few seconds later, the exchange ended with a metallic stair ringing out—Matt instantly exhaling and easing his death grip on her arm. He’d discerned their direction from the sound of the very first step. Clanging footfalls climbed, quieting as they went, and Matt released her entirely, guiding the door to a muted closure.

Fortunately, Pete (or whomever entered last) had left propped open one of the double doors to the big hallway. No need for Matt to give it that solid—and probably quite loud—shouldering.

They strode past the garage entrance and, just as Joss crossed in front of the elevator, a loud
ding
sounded above. Both heads shot right to see the illuminated P1 above the doors. Without hesitation, they continued inside the white corridor, and Matt maneuvered her around the propped door and into the corner behind it. From the lobby came the sound of heavy rolling, and dim flute music. Matt inched backward into her, setting one hand on her hip.

Now her pulse had really woken up. Now she wished she’d followed the damned crowd into the vault. Matt’s martial art stuff meant nothing against a gun. If it had to happen, she hoped it was quick. She’d always been a wuss about pain.

Strangely, though, there was no other sound from around the corner. Either the elevator had come down empty, or an expert slinker was gently making his way to the opening.

What if he shot through the wall? Pete talking about plated walls around the scroll vault made her think about the soft, flimsiness of every other wall in the world. She might as well have her back to one of those Japanese paper screen things.
Shōji?
Is that what they were called? Where the hell had that come from? She couldn’t recall ever knowing the name for the things. Her brain’s Department of Useless Stored Knowledge had decided to work, for once. Maybe to distract her from paralyzing terror.

Matt’s finger tapped harder on her hip. He’d been tapping her hip! She looked up to see him glaring down at her.
Tap tap!
His gaze flashed to the phone in her hand.

The text message!

She unlocked the screen and hit
SEND
. A semicircle swirled around, considering whether to deliver the message, or deliver the finger.

SENT.

The hammering in her ears rising, she turned the phone to show Matt and he nodded, returning his attention to the thin gap between door and frame.

It felt as though a good minute had passed since the elevator opened, but only now did the doors finally slide shut. Matt touched her hip again. The soft
tick
of a button press next door. The elevator rolled open once again. Someone was definitely out there.

A tiny plastic
click
preceded a hushed, bassy voice. “
Ya proveryayu podval
…
Da.
”

Unclick.

He must have had an earbud for his walkie-talkie. And no beeps before and after. Smart. Smarter if there was a larynxbud to keep others from hearing you talk, Joss supposed.

She closed her eyes. Now she could hear him moving closer to the corridor—the rustle of clothes, a faint wheeze in each exhale. Matt took his hand off her. She opened her eyes and saw him move a thick key from left hand to right. He rolled it in his palm until centered, then thumbed the thin end forward between his middle and ring finger. His fist tightened around the new punch-enhancer.

Wheezy was getting close. His shadow glided into view on the tile. Matt pressed his back into her.

The tinny sound of a voice through a little speaker stopped the man. His shadow arm moved up to his shadow neck. Another
click
, and he spoke at a less cautious volume.

“
Kakaya storona? Kakiye ulitsy? … Nyet, nyet mashin
.”

He turned and dashed away, his hard soles clomping as he went. The door to the garage opened, inviting in the drone of a giant ventilation system. He stopped in the doorway and radioed again, presumably reporting nothing to see in the garage.

Matt spun about, gave her another shush sign, and pulled her out of the corner. He pushed her toward the vault end of the hall, guiding her from behind, sticking to the side. She tread as lightly as she could, but wished he wouldn’t shove her along. It wasn’t helping her to move any faster or quieter.

She passed the first side door, and was abruptly stopped. Matt had a firm grip on the back of her shirt and, despite what she may have thought, there existed only two types of movement: Go! and Stop! Nothing between. He kept his fist tight in the small of her back while his other hand rested on the door handle, checking something. Beyond him, the elevator lobby remained clear.

Go!

He drove her forward another twenty feet or so to the next door.

Stop!

She watched the hall as he examined the new handle. A few seconds later, he jerked her back to him, slipped in the key, rotated the door handle, and thrust her into a pitch-black room. Her shirt was freed in favor of a perfectly soundless door shut.

The ribbon of fluorescent light tapered until it disappeared, and a twist-lock clicked in the darkness, followed by an exhale from Matt.

“Sorry about the manhandling,” he whispered, and his hand found her wrist. “Your ears are keener than mine. Also nice to have a second pair of eyes on lookout.”

Oh, hell. He was reading me the entire goddamn time.

“So listen,” he went on near her ear, “this is just a big empty room except for some old janitorial supplies that way.” He took her index finger and used it to point to the front, right corner. “And there’s a bundle of network cable hanging from the ceiling, all the way to the floor, over there.” He turned her gently by the hand and opposite elbow, aiming her finger toward the back, right corner. “Whereas the door that exits to the street …” She heard the smile in his voice. “… is around sixty feet
that
way, and we have a
mostly
clear path. Someone set down a spray paint can about fifteen feet in. Kicking it across the room would result in a less-than-smooth escape. I’m going to go first and lead us around it with plenty of buffer space between, so as long as you don’t swing out like you’re singing in the rain, we’ll be good the whole way.”