The Bone Chamber (16 page)

Had he been dressed in a tux, he might have masqueraded as a drunk guest. Dressed as he was in all black, he doubted he’d pass muster as anything but an intruder. And since it didn’t look as though he was going to be able to avoid discovery, he decided that he’d have it occur on his timetable. Drawing his knife from its sheath, he leaned down, grabbed a handful of pebbles, getting ready to toss them so that they’d hit the guards from above. An intended distraction, make them wonder what was going on. He hoped.

He brought his hand back, ready to toss the pebbles, when the second guard said, “I’m going to finish the perimeter. Enjoy your cigarette.”

“I’ll meet you at the fountain.”

The second guard walked off, his footsteps fading in the gravel. Griffin held on to his stones, decided the farther away the other guard was, the better for him, and so he waited, while the first guard smoked alone. A minute went by, and the guard looked at his watch, not seeming in a real hurry to join his comrade. He took another long drag, the cigarette glowing, then suddenly turned toward the statue. Griffin’s only hope now was that he’d simply toss the cigarette, then be gone. But no. The man walked the two steps over to the conical bush, bent down and knocked the lit end from his smoke on the ground, then flicked the butt underneath the lowest branches.

Griffin saw the man’s shoulders tensing.

He rose, sidled around the statue, pointed a gun at Griffin. “Who are you?”

Griffin palmed his knife, kept it out of sight. “I was at the party. I’m just here to find a friend.”

The guard motioned with his gun. “Get your hands where I can see them.”

Griffin threw the gravel in the guard’s face. In the same movement, he moved his arm up, knocked the gun away. The guard lunged. His left hand arced toward Griffin. A glint of steel, the whistle of a knife. The guard plunged it toward his gut. Griffin grabbed the guard, spun with him, heard a loud hiss. Felt his side freeze.
Gas knife
.

The guard stepped back. Griffin moved with him, not giving him any space to plunge that knife. It would explode his insides in an instant. One step to the left, Griffin followed. Eye to eye, each with a knife. The guard smirked. He might have missed the first time. But he knew he had a partial burst of gas left. Enough to do some serious damage. Griffin hefted his knife. Another step to the left. Griffin did the same. The guard, heavy on his feet, telegraphed his moves.

The moment he lunged again, Griffin stepped back, came around him, brought his knife to the man’s throat. The guard refused to give up, and Griffin grabbed him by the hair with his other hand, swung him around, and brought his head crashing down onto the base of the statue. Still alive,
the guard slumped to the ground, unconscious. He took the guard’s handcuffs, cuffed the man’s hands behind his back, then looked around, figured he had maybe five-ten minutes before the other guard made it around the perimeter and realized that his partner wasn’t waiting at the fountain as he’d said.

No time to waste.

Griffin sheathed his knife, stepped out, kept to the shadows, made his way through the gardens to the side of the house, and just beyond that, the garages and outbuildings. Two other men emerged from a side door of one of the outbuildings: another uniformed guard and a man wearing a white shirt, dark jacket. Griffin was too far away to determine who the man with the guard was, but the way he stood there, looking around, indicated to Griffin that he hoped they weren’t seen.

Which meant that was precisely where Griffin wanted to look first.

There were still twenty cars parked between him and the garages, a few with “CD” plates belonging to the
corps diplomatique
, which meant Adami was going to play host until his most important guests left. And there, near the front, was the Lancia that Tex and Sydney had arrived in. After checking for guards, Griffin scurried to the closest car, ducked down behind it, then carefully weaved his way through the vehicles to the side door of the outbuilding where he’d seen the two men standing. The door was closed, and of course, locked. Question was, attempt to get in there, or through a different door? And more importantly, if he did go through, was it alarmed?

It was a series of locks, breached in seconds with a lock pick. Once inside he looked around, saw no indication of an alarm panel. There were stairs that led up, probably to the servants’ quarters, and stairs that led down. Nothing else but the two staircases. He chose down, figured they wouldn’t risk any servants seeing anything, no matter how much they paid them. But at the bottom of the steps, there was only one door at the end of a short, stuccoed hallway, and when
he opened it, it led into a room filled with cleaning supplies. The first thing he thought was that this was an odd place to have just one room, and so he checked for hidden doors. And found none. So upstairs it was, he thought, closing the door, then backing out.

That was when he felt a slight breeze, or maybe he heard it, like the faintest whispers of air moving where there shouldn’t be any air moving. He listened. There it was again. A rubbing sound, or something scraping. He turned back, ran his hands along the bricks, feeling for anything that seemed off, and then he felt a ridge, pushed, and a door swung open.

He stepped in, closed it partway, and only then dared to use a small blue cell light, one that wouldn’t be as easily seen from a distance. He shone it around the room, saw the space was cut from stone, and small, barely ten by ten, completely empty but for a pile of muddy rags in the corner. He started to walk toward it.

“Syd?” he whispered.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something flying down at him. He raised his arm, deflected the blow. Pain shot through his limb. Something metal clattered to the stones. He stepped back, pulled his knife. Turned. A quick flash of his light.

Sydney
.

She backed away.

“Syd. It’s me. Griff.”

“Oh my God. I thought you were one of them, coming back.”

“Are you okay?”

It took her a moment, but finally she nodded. “I hurt like hell. Cut my hand on that shovel I tried to hit you with. I used it to cut the rope.”

He flicked the light across the shovel’s blade, saw it covered with rust and dirt. “Where’s Tex?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry…”

“Let’s get out of here. We need to hurry. Can you walk?”

“I have no idea.”

“Try,” he said, putting his arm around her. Her knees shook, but she seemed okay, no broken bones that he could
see. She looked like hell, covered in mud, never mind there was enough blood on the floor to concern him. “You’re bleeding.”

“My hand. God, it hurts.” When she tried to walk on her own, her knees gave out. He lifted her in his arms, carried her out of the room and up the stairs. At the entrance, he opened the door leading to the grounds, stepped out into the night air. He glanced right, then left, before crossing the distance to the remaining cars parked between the outbuilding and the main house. He was fairly certain he couldn’t carry her out the back way, the way he’d entered. Maybe he could get to the Lancia that she and Tex were forced to leave behind.

“We’re almost there,” he told her, glancing down, seeing her eyes were closed. He could feel the blood soaking into his shirt.

“Stop right there.”

Griffin froze. He was ten feet from the Lancia. Ten goddamned feet. He looked up, saw the same two men he’d seen exiting the outbuilding, realized who the second man was. Leonardo Adami. “Perhaps you didn’t notice. The lady is hurt and she needs help.”

“Perhaps you didn’t notice the gun pointed at you.”

“And what?” Griffin said, looking around, trying to see if there was anyone there who might help. No cops in sight, only one of the diplomatic drivers, asleep behind the wheel of his sedan. He glanced at the weapons Leonardo and the guard were pointing at them. Nine-millimeter Berettas. “You’re going to shoot me here with the police on the grounds? How the hell are you going to explain that?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“Look, it’s me you want. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“I let her go, she walks out of here. You get me.”

“An interesting offer. But I have the advantage. My gun pointed at you.”

“And no less than four police you’d have to explain the gunshots to, and how she ended up here, when they’re looking for her down there,” he said, nodding at the police ve
hicles still visible down at the edge of the cliff, never mind those parked in the drive at the front of the house.

“My cousin was wrong about you. You do have a weakness.” Leonardo smiled. “Throw your handgun toward me, and your offer is accepted.”

Sydney stirred in his arms. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Doing what you did for me this afternoon.” Louder, to Leonardo, he said, “I’m going to lower her down. If you want my cooperation, you’ll get me the key to the Lancia, then let her walk over to her car, get in, lock the doors, then drive off.”

“Why not let her go back inside?” Leonardo said with a smirk.

“With her gown muddied and torn? You know how vain women can be. The key?”

“It’s in the car.”

He lowered Sydney to the ground, held her gaze, then nodded toward the Lancia, afraid that if he said anything further, they’d try to stop her, maybe even suspect his next move, which, considering he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do next, was laughable. Right now, he wanted Sydney safe.

Keeping his hands up and visible, he watched as Sydney ambled toward the car, using the other vehicles to balance. She opened the door, sat inside, then pulled the door closed. He heard the lock engage, then turned his attention to Leonardo and the guard.

A second later the car alarm pierced the air. Startled, Leonardo and the guard pointed their weapons at Sydney, who had opened the door, engaging the alarm. She slammed it shut as Griffin dove, scrambled for cover.

“We’ll kill her!” he heard Leonardo shout to him over the alarm.

Griffin ducked behind the front end of a limo, angling himself so the engine block stood between him and them. His weapon drawn, he watched their reflections in the rear windshield of the car to the front of him. They were walking forward, searching for him. When they passed by the car he
was hiding behind, he moved toward Sydney and the Lancia. He was a car length from it when several uniformed police came running out of the house to investigate the cause of the alarm.

Their shouts in Italian alerted Leonardo and the guard, who turned just as Griffin stood, tucked his gun at the back of his waistband, then raised his hands. He glanced toward the house, saw that several of the guests had followed the police out, as had Carlo Adami.

Griffin continued to walk toward the Lancia. “My wife had a little too much to drink,” he said in Italian, loud enough for the cops to hear. “She stumbled and fell and accidentally set off the car alarm.” One hand held high and visible for the police, he slowly lowered the other, and opened the car door. “The alarm,” he told Sydney. When she shut it off, he looked up at the men on the porch, and again in Italian, said, “My apologies, Signore Adami, for giving everyone a scare. But after tonight’s earlier accident, you wouldn’t want her to drive home alone, now, would you?”

Adami glanced at his cousin, then back to Griffin, his gaze narrowing. After a moment of sizing up the situation, Adami smiled. “You are wise to be concerned for her welfare, Signore Griffin. But perhaps she should not be behind the wheel?”

“Of course.” Griffin leaned into the car, not about to let Sydney out, exposed in her condition, and have someone point out that she looked like the woman who ran from the party and jumped in a stolen car. “Do me a favor, dear. Could you slide over the console into the passenger seat?”

Sydney scooted up onto the console, then over. The moment she was in her seat, Griffin waved to Adami, and in English, said, “Good night, and thank you for the invite.”

Adami gave a brittle smile, then turned back into the house. Leonardo glared at Griffin as Griffin closed the door, locked it, started the engine, then drove off.

“Thank you,” he told Sydney.

“Likewise. Don’t suppose you have any aspirin?”

“You’re probably going to need it. Don’t suppose you remember when your last tetanus shot was?”

“No.”

“Lucky you. Hear they hurt worse than anything else. We’re going to the hospital, have you looked over.”

She didn’t argue.

As they drove past the guardhouse, he saw one of the guards on the phone, watching them as they drove past. No doubt he was speaking to one of the Adamis, letting them know they’d driven by. He checked his rearview mirror. So far no one was following them. He didn’t think that would last; even so, he drove carefully down the winding road as they approached the turn to the cliffs, slowing at the flares the police had set out to warn other drivers of their presence.

He glanced over, saw Sydney look out the window at the police cars, then turn away, closing her eyes. He didn’t ask her about it, figured she’d tell him when she was ready.

And he was right. When they were halfway down the hill, she said, “The guard shot at us as we drove through the gate. The window shattered, but I thought it was okay. He was still driving…” He heard a deep intake of breath before she continued. “He wouldn’t answer me—”

Griffin looked over at her, saw her staring out the windshield, her gaze empty. “He was shot?”

“I don’t know. It could have been the gate, we drove through…Hit the roof. I don’t know.”

“What happened?” he finally asked.

“When he didn’t respond, I steered the car into the trees. I didn’t want to go over the cliff…Next thing, someone was dragging me from the car. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up in that room.”

“You did the right thing.”

“But that’s just it. I shouldn’t have done this…I didn’t want to leave him.”

“I know,” he said, checking his rearview mirror to see if they were followed. So far nothing.

“Why did you come back for me?”