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Sam worked his way around the guests until the tray was empty, spotting Remi coming up on his left. He took the stairs down, holding his empty tray at his side, hoping he looked like the hired help taking a short break rather than someone about to burglarize an exclusive German villa. Wondering where Remi was, he turned, saw her starting down the stairs behind him, then stopping when someone called out, “Marta!”
Helga, the woman who’d cornered them in the garage, stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips. And though Sam couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, it was clear that she was demanding to know what Remi was doing.
Remi held up her empty tray with her right hand, saying something to the woman, as she moved her left hand behind her back, waving for Sam to continue on.
He hesitated, then hurried down, knowing that Remi would’ve never signaled for him to go on if she’d thought there was the least bit of trouble. A moment later, she was exchanging her empty tray for one full of hors d’oeuvres, before making her way back into the crowd. Little he could do about that. Deciding that she was probably safer up there than with him, he ditched his tray in the bushes, walked back to the garage, then moved the uniform rack. After double-checking his phone for the code that Rube provided, he punched it in, breathing a sigh of relief when the red light turned green.
Just as he slipped in, a man entered the garage and walked up to the uniform rack. Sam was stuck. He couldn’t close the door without being seen or heard and so he pressed back against the wall, looking through the crack in the door, gun aimed. Just when he thought he’d been seen, the man grabbed a uniform, then turned away and walked out.
Sam pulled the door closed, then took his small flashlight from his pocket, the dim blue glow reaching just a few feet in front of him. The hallway sloped down, no doors on either side as he followed along, judging it to be at least the length of the open lawn, then the terrace above him. A door at the end blocked his way, its red light indicating it was alarmed.
He used the same code. The door opened into another hallway that branched off in three different directions. He took the left, followed it to the stairs, then up. At the third level, a guard stood at the door.
No doubt, he’d found Tatiana.
Now all he had to do was take out the guard.
He pulled a coin from his pocket, then tossed it low across the floor. The guard, hearing it hit the wall, took a few steps in that direction. Sam crept up on him, shot his arm around the guy’s neck, then locked it with his other arm, squeezing against his carotids as he pulled the man off balance. The guard, unable to speak, grabbed at Sam’s arm, trying to free himself, his feet thrashing out as he tried to turn away. Within seconds, the guard’s strength waned, and his body jerked as the oxygen supply to his brain was cut off. The moment he went limp, Sam dropped him to the floor, then found the keys to the door and opened it.
The only furnishing in the room was the chair where Tatiana, bound and gagged, was seated. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him dragging the guard in.
Sam removed her gag, then took the knife from his pocket to cut her ties. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She rubbed at the rope marks on her wrists. “I take it the trade for the key didn’t work?”
“We didn’t get that far,” he said, cutting through the rope around her ankles. “As far as Rolfe knows, that deal’s going down at midnight.” He tossed one of the ropes to her and she helped bind the guard’s feet while he took the hands.
“Why midnight?” she asked.
“He’s a bit preoccupied. Looks like some political fund-raiser thing.”
“No wonder he was in such a hurry to get home, never mind they seem to have forgotten about me. If not for that, who knows where I’d be.”
The guard started to stir. Sam gave his gun to Tatiana so he could place the gag in the man’s mouth. “Let’s get out of here before he comes to.”
53
Why do you waste your time with such things?” Leopold asked.
Rolfe drained the last of his wine from his glass, then glanced out the window down to the terrace below, where his guests mingled beneath propane heaters. If not for the constant scrutiny he was under, he’d let them drink themselves to oblivion, never once stepping out there. “It’s important to keep up appearances,” he said.
Suffering through the occasional social event so that he could appear philanthropic had served him well over the years. It created an illusion of legitimacy. When those occasional investigations into his extracurric
ular activities veered a little too close, there was never a shortage of high-ranking people willing to vouch for him, never mind overlook the whispers of his involvement.
“Americans?” Leopold commented.
Rolfe followed the direction of his gaze. “The Ambassador to Germany and his wife.”
“Why?”
“U.S. connections are always good. I have special interests over there.”
“Legal?”
“Depends on one’s viewpoint.”
Leopold turned back to the guests on the terrace. “What does a party like this cost?”
