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The guests start screaming and running in different directions as no one is sure where the bomb is located. I twist the neck of the guard and let him collapse on the floor. Moments later, his jacket is around my shoulders and the familiar weight of a semiautomatic is in my hand. I take out the guard in the corner with an elbow to the nose. Two down, a million more to go. Over the melee, I see Petrovich disabling the guard across the way. I’ve got the ammunition and weapons of two. That’s enough. With a jerk of my head, I indicate I’m headed into the private rooms of the Hudson compound. I pull out the phone from my pocket and engage the GPS tracker. It’s good within five feet, Mendoza informed me.
The signal indicates that it’s northwest of my position, but as I look to the northwest, I see only a well-manicured lawn. The house doesn’t extend to the northwest from my position near the terrace and the French doors leading to the pool. Basement then. Damn it. I wish I had a blueprint of this fucking place. The tracker doesn’t map depth, only location. Regan was led north and then backtracked, but the private area of the house is too closed off. I’m going to have to find another way in. In the kitchen I find chaos. People are screaming and running several directions. I grab a worker by the collar as he sprints past me.
“Onde fica a adega?”
He shrugs and wiggles like a worm on a hook. Worthless. “Where’s the fucking basement?” I scream, but no one answers the crazy Texan.
Methodically, I start throwing open doors. Closet, pantry, stairs to a cellar. Bingo. I run down the stairs, past wooden boxes and shelves of cheese and casks of wine. It smells cool and fresh, as if there is regular circulation of air down here. The thick brick walls mask the upstairs disarray, and I can hear the trickle of water and the hum of electricity and not much more.
I move through the cellar as soundlessly as possible, noting that its size outpaces the house that sits atop of it. About thirty feet in, the room stops and there is nothing but stacks of foodstuffs and wine bottles against the wall.
But the freshness of the air quality down here doesn’t fit with the room ending at thirty feet. Above me I see the air ducts and an electrical conduit that don’t terminate at the brick wall but actually continue beyond. I start tapping to find the opening. Between two barrels of wine and crates of something, I find a vertical seam in the brick. To the left, on the floor is a depression. I fit my foot into the depression and press downward. Holding my breath, I lean against the bricks and am rewarded with the sound of a lock mechanism disengaging. A slight push and the hidden door swings inward on well-oiled hinges. The hum of electricity is louder now, and I wonder if the hacker lair is positioned down here. It would explain the conduit, the well-circulated air, and the noise.
I have a gun in either hand as I creep down the hall, my one shoulder glued to the brick wall on my right.
“I’m hungry,” I hear a female say. The voice is muffled, but it doesn’t sound like Regan.
“What do you want?”
“Root beer float. For me and my new friend. I think she looks like she needs a root beer float.”
“Hudson isn’t going to like that you brought her in here.”
“The crying was bothering me. Wasn’t it bothering you? How am I supposed to work if there’s all this crying?”
God, that voice. I know that voice.
“You’ll be the one crying if he puts you in the locker. Last time he did that you wouldn’t stop sniveling for days,” the male voice sneers back.
“And he lost several hundreds of millions of dollars, so I think that I won’t be going back into the locker anytime soon. That wouldn’t make sense.” Oh Jesus. I slide down onto my butt. It’s Naomi. The relief I feel at hearing her voice is sapping all my energy. I want to lie down on the concrete and cry like a baby.
“Saying that Hudson makes rational decisions is your first mistake. Eh, your problem.” There’s a pause, then I hear him speak. “The Emperor wants a root beer float. Make that two.” Another pause. “What the fuck is going on up there?” I creep closer until I’m right outside the door. The voices are crystal clear now. I place the guns back in my pocket. My sister is in that room. Maybe even Regan. I can’t take the risk that I’m going to shoot either of them. “All right.” He sounds annoyed. “I’m coming right up.” There’s a rustling sound. “Something is going on upstairs. Stay put.”
