Jackson was already coordinating with his team, his radio chatter becoming more intense as additional security personnel spread throughout the building. "I'm having all exits monitored," he told Vic and Miles between radioed conversations as they moved quickly through the space. "And we’re making sure nobody leaves without being checked."
Miles could feel the situation escalating around them. What had started as a quiet search for one person had become a full-scale security operation in less than ten minutes. Auction guests were now highly aware of the increased activity, their conversations taking on a nervous edge as they watched uniformed personnel move through the exhibits. Miles estimated that roughly half the people they passed now seemed more interested in what was going on with security than the event itself.
As they drew closer to the area Rodgers had indicated, Vic quickly turned to Jackson. Miles could see her deep in thought, the quickness and drastic measures of the moment chiseled in her gaze. "I need you and your men to stay here," she told Jackson. "We may need backup, but we want to bring her in peacefully if possible."
“Roger that,” Jackson said. “Should I pass that on to the mayor’s men as well?”
“Yes, please do.”
They headed down the corridor Rodgers had indicated, past increasingly specialized exhibits. The mineral wing was quieter than the main auction areas, with fewer guests venturing into the more academic sections of the museum. Display cases lined the walls, filled with specimens that caught the light fromoverhead fixtures—quartz crystals, copper formations, chunks of fool's gold that glittered deceptively in the shadows.
The research areas lay beyond the public exhibits, accessible through a series of increasingly restricted doors. Miles noticed the security measures becoming more sophisticated as they proceeded—key card readers, warning signs about authorized personnel only, cameras mounted at strategic intervals.
They reached a door marked "Research Storage - Authorized Personnel Only" and found it locked. Vic rattled the handle, but the electronic lock held firm.
"We need someone with access," Miles said, looking around for museum staff. He looked behind them and saw Jackson standing at a distance as he had been instructed. Miles waved him forward and he came running with his keycard already out.
He swiped his key card and the lock disengaged with a soft click.
The storage space beyond was cramped and utilitarian, filled with metal shelving units holding boxed specimens and research materials. Fluorescent lights flickered on automatically as they entered, revealing a maze of equipment and supplies that seemed to stretch back into the shadows. But Miles's attention was immediately drawn to something else…a smaller door at the back of the storage area, barely visible behind a rack of geological samples. Unlike the electronic locks they'd encountered elsewhere, this door appeared to have a simple mechanical deadbolt.
“Will that one be locked, too?” Vic asked, glancing back to Jackson.
“Shouldn’t be.”
Vic nodded and said, “Hold steady, please. Don’t come through this door unless it’s an absolute emergency.”
Vic approached the door and tried the handle. It didn't budge. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening intently, then stepped back with a grim expression.
“Anything?” Miles asked.
“A voice…barely perceptible at all. But it’s definitely female.” She seemed to think about something for a moment and then said, “Miles, stand back."
"What are you doing?"
"Something's wrong here." Vic drew her service weapon, holding it in a low ready position.
Miles felt his pulse suddenly hammering. He wished desperately that he was armed, but bureau protocol didn't require forensic specialists to carry weapons in the field. He briefly thought of Elena and how she would feel if she knew what he was about to take part in. Still, he moved up beside Vic, unwilling to let her face whatever lay behind that door alone.
"You sure about this?" he asked quietly.
"No," Vic admitted. "But if Diana's in there with the mayor..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence. They both understood what they might be walking into.
Vic positioned herself beside the door, weapon raised and ready. She looked at Miles, who nodded despite the fear crawling up his spine. Vic drew back her leg and delivered a powerful kick just beside the door handle. The wood splintered around the lock mechanism, and the door flew inward with a crash that echoed through the storage room.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Vic entered through the shattered doorway first, followed by Miles. They saw a dimly lit space that had been transformed into something out of a nightmare. What should have been a simple supply closet now resembled a medieval torture chamber crossed with a chemistry lab. Everything had its appropriate place, but it had been hastily thrown together. A single overhead bulb cast harsh shadows across the cramped room, illuminating a scene that made Miles's stomach lurch.
Diana Hartwell stood over Mayor Callahan's prone form on a small, wheeled cart. Diana’s auburn hair was disheveled and her wire-rimmed glasses reflected the eerie light. The mayor lay unconscious atop the cart, a dark stain of blood spreading from a wound on his scalp. The blood trickled over the edge of the top of the cart. His expensive suit was torn and dirty, and his breathing came in shallow, irregular gasps.
On an old metal table against the far wall, Diana had assembled her instruments of death. A portable electric burner supported a small crucible filled with molten gold that glowed like liquid fire. The air shimmered with heat waves rising from the metal, and the acrid smell of superheated elements filled the confined space. Beside the crucible sat an array of tools—brushes, applicators, and containers filled with gold flakes that caught the light like deadly confetti. Miles knew enough about how gold worked to know that this wasn’t just a last-minute composition. Diana had been planning this for some time, perhaps even putting the pieces together in this forgotten closet for weeks.
"FBI! Get on the ground! Now!" Vic's voice cut through the stifling air as she raised her weapon, the barrel trained on Diana's center mass.
Diana's head snapped up, her eyes taking in the situation with calculating precision. For a moment, she seemed frozen, caught between her victim and her pursuers. Then her gaze shifted to the crucible of molten gold, and Miles saw something cold and determined flash across her features. To say she was “in the zone” would not do what he saw justice. She was utterly consumed by the act she was orchestrating.
