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Kass is on my mind. I know she’s been hurt once. I’m certain she’s bleeding, in pain. My stomach twists, and I drop my fist willing the car to move faster.
“We need to get to her.” It’s a noise barely above a whisper, but I feel the car accelerate.
We have to go all the way up and around the university. We’re on the border with France as we drive past the stadium. I check my watch. It’s five thirty.
“The email has gone,” I say, wishing I had my motorcycle.
Being in this huge vehicle we have to follow the wider streets, whereas on my bike, I could cut through alleys. I shift in my seat and rest my forearms on my legs.
“Come on!” I practically growl.
“Two more lights,” Freddie says, and I hear the tension rippling through his voice as well.
I would say run the lights, but this is an incredibly busy area, filled with commuters to Nice and tourists catching helicopter flights further out to sea. If we’re right, it’s actually a brilliant place to hide two hostages. No one would ever think to look here. If we’re wrong, we’re losing valuable time, and I fucking know what happens when Blix is told no or made to wait. The gruesome package we received while searching for Zelda is at the forefront of my mind.
Finally we make it past the Avenue des Guelfes, and we’re racing toward the shore where the shipping warehouse is across the street from the helipad.
“Which place do we search first?” He shouts, but I’m out of the car and racing toward the large, white airline hangar.
I push my legs so hard my thighs burn with exertion, and as I slam through the door, I sweep the area fast. An enormous black helicopter with white stripes down the sides and over the tail sits in the center of the enormous structure. A man in a dirty blue jumpsuit is at the back, and at the noise of the four of us stampeding in, he steps back, holding up a wrench.
“Que ce passé-t-il?” He’s startled and wanting to know what’s happening.
I explain in French we’re searching for a party of men holding two women. He’s confused, and I explain as best as I can without revealing the queen has been kidnapped.
“I’ve been here all day,” he says in French. “No one like that has come or gone.”
Stepping back, I face Freddie, Rex, and Stefano. “One place left.”
We’re out the door and headed back up the short distance to Central Export. A main office faces the road with a large warehouse rising behind it. The facility is blocked off from the main road by a chain-link fence, but no one appears to be manning the guard hut. Since I’m ahead of everyone, I race around the fence to the squat orange-stucco building. The windows are dark, and when I reach the glass doors they’re locked. The front counter is empty.
“NO!” I shout just as Stefano joins me.
“Stand back!” he says, and I immediately comply.
He pulls what looks like a large pocketknife from his side holster, and turns it in his fist, lifting his blazer over his face just before slamming the tool into the glass. The door shatters at once, and we both charge through it, ducking under the steel bar on the inside.
The dark front office has two doors behind the counter, and we split up, right and left. Freddie and Rex are behind us. My door is bolted shut, but Stefano’s opens easily. He flicks on a light, and I dash across looking all around the empty storeroom to verify no one is in it. A small bathroom is off the side, but the light isn’t on.
“Look!” Freddie shouts.
He’s pointing to heap on the floor that makes my insides clench. It’s a pair of navy slacks I recognize as belonging to Kass. Even if I wasn’t sure they were hers, they’re soaked on one side with a dark stain that can only be blood.
“Fuck!” I shout, pushing out of the room and returning to the bolted door. “We’ve got to get this open!”
I step back and kick it with my booted foot as hard as I can. It doesn’t budge. I push up on the counter and hit it hard with both feet. Still nothing.
From the other side of the door, I hear a noise that shrivels my insides. It’s screaming. Nonstop screaming over and over. It’s Kass.
“FUCK!” I shout louder. “Get this fucking door open! We’re out of time!”
“Go to the back and try to get inside,” Freddie shouts to Rex, who dashes for the broken glass doors. “You! A battering ram is in the trunk of our Mercedes.”
Stefano is out the door, and I look at Freddie. The screaming has stopped, which is worse than hearing it. Why did it stop?
“We’ve got to get in there…”
“Search for a key.” He rips open drawers, shoving papers aside as I search the walls and doorjambs. The search is futile, but Stefano is back carrying a small red battering ram.
