The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) (27 page)

Tatum nodded.

Alexander stood at the door and gave her a quick wink. “You are going to be my little sister,” he said. Then he closed the door behind him.

Tatum didn’t touch her dinner. She was too nervous.

* * *

Victor Klosko was seated in his office, staring at the array of video monitors behind his desk. His men had been deployed as instructed. The castle was locked down. No one could enter or exit without his personal approval—not even Silas himself.

He rose from his desk and walked to the glass enclosure to watch his viper sleep among the bed of grass. Klosko smiled at the snake, then turned to view the video screens. He could see the ballroom and all the gathered guests. He could see multiple points of the exterior grounds, rain falling through the glow of the vapor lamps. He could view each of the individual hallways, and see his men come and go, moving about, keeping watch. And he could see the roof.

Something caught his eye.

He walked away from the snake and stood in front of the wall of video screens. He touched a key on his computer keyboard to recall a specific camera angle. The screen flashed back to a view of the roof from a camera mounted atop one of the four towers. From this angle he could see the narrow asphalt landing at the top of the iron ladder mounted to the exterior wall. Something about the video image disturbed him. He leaned in closer.

It appeared that an air vent cover had been removed.
 

FORTY

The challenge was to control the speed of his passage through the ventilation shaft. It was a snug fit, but Archer was still concerned about moving too quickly and initiating a free fall. His legs were spread to maintain adequate resistance against the opposing walls.

He shined the penlight beneath him and saw that he was rapidly approaching an elbow in the aluminum shaft. This meant he would soon be able to move horizontally rather than vertically.
 

He lowered himself the final few feet and crouched in the dark corner. Water from his clothes puddled beneath him. He was breathing heavily and the sound of it echoed down the shaft. He checked his watch. It was nearly nine o’clock. The voice in the back of his mind kept telling him Tatum might be in physical danger. And something told him he needed to reach her sooner rather than later.

There was more radio chatter. He kept moving as he listened. There still had been no intruder alerts.

Archer crab crawled forward using his elbows. He had no idea where the network of ventilation shafts might eventually deposit him. He kept moving. The shaft rumbled as the air-conditioning unit kicked on. Cool air passed around him. His clothes were soaked and he shivered. He reached a vent and pressed his face to the metal grid. He was above an empty room. The lights were off. It was hard to make out any details. He continued forward.
 

After another twenty feet he reached a second vent. Light shone up through the slats. And he heard voices talking. He pressed his face to the vent and saw movement, members of the service staff working busily. They were in a hallway. He saw cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. The same boxes he had watched them unload from the truck. From the printing on the outside of the boxes he could see they were filled with perishable goods for the kitchen. Boneless chicken breasts, and crates filled with vegetables packed in ice ready to be refrigerated. He had to be somewhere near the kitchen.

Archer moved on and came to a vent over another empty room. He could see pale light coming through a window, and he could hear the rain. The lights were off. He decided that this would be the place to exit the ventilation shaft.

 
He retrieved the folding knife from his pocket. Not an easy maneuver considering the lack of space. He opened the blade with his thumb. Pressed the side of his face to the vent to make certain no one was present inside the room below him. The vent cover was attached from the outside, so there was no way he could take out the screws to remove it. Besides, the vent wasn’t even wide enough to fit his head through, let alone his entire body. Thus, he would have to do some cutting and create his own exit.

Archer made a fist around the knife handle and scored a crude outline with the blade tip of where the cut needed to be made. There wasn’t arm room enough to produce much power, so he’d have to make the most of what limited space he had. Then he punched the tip of the blade into the aluminum sheathing, and the sound of the strike echoed like cooking pans falling to a kitchen floor. Archer winced, every muscle in his body freezing as he listened. The blade had barely pierced the sheathing at all. He drove the blade through the same hole a second time, burying the entire five-inch blade all the way to the handle. He would have to cut through drywall as well as the aluminum duct. Then he began to saw. Progress was slow but steady. The job took ten minutes. He cut along three sides and then pressed down against the aluminum flap, the fourth side acting as a hinge. Chunks of plaster and plaster dust settled to the floor below. Sweat poured off his face.

Archer folded the knife and put it away. Then he put his legs through the hole and dropped to the floor. It was a twelve-foot drop. His arms were burning from the laborious work with the knife. He glanced up at the hole in the ceiling, then cut his eyes toward the door. He gave himself half a minute to catch his breath. Then he checked to make sure a round was chambered in the Beretta and peered out into the hallway.

* * *

 
Klosko sent two men up the ladder to inspect the roof. From his office he watched them on the video screens. He suddenly felt anxious. He saw the first of the men reach the top of the ladder and step off onto the roof. He could see rain blowing through the amber light.
 

Klosko spoke into a walkie-talkie. “What do you see?” he asked.

On the video screen the man was leaning into the ventilation shaft, shining a flashlight into the hole.
 

“The vent louver has been removed. There are screws on the ground,” the man reported. Klosko watched him shine the light on the asphalt where the screws had been dropped.

The second member of the security force stepped off the ladder and the two men stood side by side in the rain, white circles from the flashlights bobbing along the wall.
 

“Does it look like anyone has been up there tonight?” Klosko said.

“Hard to say, sir,” the first man reported.
 

The second man had his head poked through the hole, inspecting the walls of the shaft. He spoke into his walkie-talkie. “There are scuff marks on the walls of the ventilation shaft, as if from the sole of a shoe,” he reported.

Klosko felt his blood pressure begin to rise.

“I want that shaft inspected
now!
” Klosko demanded.

Klosko scowled at the screen as he listened to the two men debate the best approach to entering the shaft. Finally, the shorter of the two volunteered to be lowered inside to take a look around. He went in feet first and quickly disappeared from sight. The other man leaned in with his flashlight and watched his progress. Then he reported back to Klosko.

“He’s on his way,” he said.

Klosko grabbed the Glock pistol from his desk and snapped in a fresh magazine of bullets. Then he ran to the elevator. He could smell something in the air. Like a hound picking up the scent of fox on a foggy Russian morning. And he believed the smell was Ryan Archer.
 

* * *

 
Archer eased the door shut and stood for a moment running through his options. His primary concern was being spotted by cameras scattered throughout the castle. It would be nearly impossible to navigate the halls without being picked up by the surveillance system.
 

He remembered the hallway crowded with service staff. That area couldn’t be far from this room and the service staff wouldn’t be as likely to notice him. Still, it was a risk. He peered out the door again and scanned for cameras. He saw a lens mounted at the far end of the hall. He needed to make it through the door beneath that camera. The hallway looked simple and utilitarian, with cheap carpeting and gray paint on the walls. Archer remembered the online photos of the castle—ornate architecture and art on the walls, fancy crown molding and marble floors. This area was certainly not representative of those photos.
 

He closed the door and looked around the room. There was a simple metal desk in one corner. And boxes piled high along the walls. The room was cluttered and looked disorganized. It was probably used for storage or as a catchall.
 

Suddenly he heard footsteps in the hall. A shadow appeared in the light beneath the door. The doorknob turned and Archer had less than a second to decide how to handle this. He simply remained standing where he was, two paces from the door.

The door opened and a young woman in a service uniform reached for the light switch. The room lit up and she had taken a full step inside before her eyes discovered Archer. The synapses of her brain didn’t have time to do the necessary work. Archer didn’t give her time to produce a thought.
 

He grabbed her by the front of her work coat and jerked her inside, clamping his other hand over her mouth. Then he pushed the door shut with his foot.
 

He pushed her against a wall and threatened her with his eyes. There was no doubt at all what he was communicating to her. Her eyes were big, blue, and bright. Strands of blonde hair had escaped from beneath her hat and fell in her face. Archer could feel a scream building beneath his hand.

“Shhhhhh,” he said, his nose an inch from her face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She nodded, eyes wide with terror. She was breathing fast. She was at least a foot shorter than him, and very petite. She was pale and thin. Her eyes studied him, then they found the hole in the ceiling and her mind quickly put two and two together.
 

Archer had a big decision to make. He couldn’t let her walk away and he needed part of her uniform. But she would scream to the heavens the instant he removed his hand from her mouth. She was dressed like a member of the kitchen staff, with a white coat and hat, and there was a dusting of flour on her cheeks.
 

“Can I trust you to keep your mouth shut?” he asked.

She nodded her head yes.

Archer knew better but loosened his grip slightly. The younger woman narrowed her eyes and bit into his hand, quickly sinking her teeth through the skin. This actually made his decision much simpler. He punched her in the face a single time and she crumbled to the floor without a sound. Her nose was bleeding but her pulse was strong. She’d sleep it off and wake up after the excitement was over.

Archer took her coat and hat. He did his best to push his arms through the tiny sleeves and pull the coat over his shoulders. He shrugged at his reflection in the window. He looked like he was wearing a child’s clothes, but he would have to make it work. He adjusted the hat so that it partially obscured his face. Then he grabbed an armful of the boxes along the wall at random and opened the door.
 

The door at the end of the hall was unlocked and he pushed it open with his shoulder. It branched into another hallway. A man with a reddish beard was barking orders. His back was turned to Archer and Archer used the opportunity to quick-step-it around a corner with his load so as not to be spotted by any type of authority figure who might take notice of an unfamiliar face.

Swinging double doors opened to the kitchen. Archer ducked his head in, then stepped back out, using the load of boxes in his arms to shield his face from workers rushing past him. The coat was ridiculously tight. The cuffs barely reached his forearms. His flexibility of movement was limited. He spotted a clock on the wall. It was nine o’clock straight up.

* * *

 
Natalia crept as far from the window as she could. She had good balance, but the ledge was so narrow and the rain had made it slick. She was beginning to regret her decision.
 

Havitz opened the window, leaned out and spotted her.
 

“Get back in here, you stupid brat!” he said. His gun was in his hand.

Natalia’s heart was in her throat. Would he really shoot her? She twisted around so that she faced away from the wall. She was standing above an alley. Across the alley was another apartment building. Lights were on in some of the windows. She started yelling.

“Help!”
 

“Shut up, kid!” Havitz said. “I’ll come out there and push you off!”

His threats only made her angry. She knew he was too big to stand where she was standing. She could see lights on the road where cars were driving by.
 

“Someone please
help me!
” she screamed again. Her voice seemed so small this far off the ground.

She couldn’t see anyone on the ground, and people were in their apartments watching TV and stuff.

Havitz leaned back inside the bathroom. He turned in a circle, furious. He had to get the girl back inside. But how? Then he heard Grohl return.
Shit
, he thought. He didn’t want to have to explain what had happened, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Havitz went to the bedroom and found the boy still seated on the mattress.
 

“Your sister is in a lot of trouble,” he told him.
 

Sonny’s eyes looked big and scared. He wanted his sister to come back and sit beside him.

Havitz went out to tell Grohl the situation.

“You are an idiot,” Grohl said, setting a pizza box on the bare kitchen counter. “All you had to do was watch two little kids for twenty minutes.”

“Just help me get her in,” Havitz said.

Grohl put his head out the window and assessed the situation.

“Go to the bedroom window,” Grohl told him, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “She will be caught between us with no place to go but down. So she’ll either have to come inside or jump.”