He tapped again three times.
What had happened to Kitsune?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Mike couldn’t believe her luck. When the palazzo had been renovated, the bathroom was given two doors, one to the main hallway and the second that opened onto a passageway to the interior of the house. She wouldn’t have to get rid of Adcock. He couldn’t cover both doors. She went out quietly through the interior door and hurried down the deserted hallway, this one similar to the front foyer, with white plaster walls covered in discreetly lit art, all of it starkly modern. She went to the end of the hall to a door she knew from the plans led to stairs to the lower levels. As she went through the door, the lights went out around her.
Mike stepped into complete darkness. She pulled the bag out of the front of her jeans, put in the earwig, clicked it on. She pressed the flashlight button on her cell phone. It glowed, giving off enough light to get down the stairs.
“Perfect timing, Nicholas. The EMP is working. I’m in the stairwell. It’s very dark.”
He acknowledged her with one tap. He would only signal back if there was a problem. When the door closed behind her, she walked carefully down the pitted, worn stone stairs, thankful for the grip on her boot soles.
She made it to the basement quickly and found herself stepping into a large room with four identical doors, not the single one she was expecting. Which door was the right one? She pictured the blueprint of the basements; yes, only the one door, and it was on her far left, facing the interior of the mountain. She walked quickly to the door and quietly turned the knob. It was alarmed, she knew; there were cameras in the corridor, but without the power, there were no lights, no Klaxon wailing. Nicholas’s micro-EMP had worked perfectly. She’d give him a big hug for that one.
She said quietly into her collar, “Checking in. She’s not here yet, I’m going in farther to see if there’s another door.”
The smell of dirt and must were ancient, but there was a newer smell as well, human sweat. Someone had come through here minutes before her for the scent to linger like this. Thank heavens she’d missed whoever it was. She moved carefully, pausing every few steps, wondering where Kitsune was. Had she chosen the wrong door?
She stepped into a large storage space that was between the basement proper and the actua
l tunnel. For art storage perhaps. No, that wasn’t right; it was far too damp and musty down here to store anything valuable.
There had to be another door, another way out of this space.
She followed her cell phone light another few steps, saw a corner up ahead. She pressed the phone hard against her leg, blacking out the light, and turned into the new corridor. Three steps in, she froze.
There was a fight going on, she could hear the noises clearly, amplified in the dark enclosed space.
It had to be Kitsune, and she was in trouble.
Mike’s first instinct was to rush forward, but she stopped herself when she heard three taps in her ear—a warning from Nicholas to get out and get back to him. Now.
Then, silence. Mike risked a quick look. She made out the figure of a man coming toward her with what looked like a small sack over his shoulder. She backed up, ran back into the corridor where she’d found the four doors, and ducked into the stairwell just as the man walked by. He was carrying Kitsune, and she was clearly unconscious. Or dead. As they passed, Mike heard a moan and breathed again.
But now both Kitsune and Grant were prisoners. Mike wanted to follow, but there came three more taps in her ear. She whispered, “Kitsune’s here, but there’s a problem.”
Three taps again. Crap.
At the top of the stairs she listened carefully and heard nothing, so she opened the door. The hallway was still empty. She started back toward the bathroom, paused. Which was the bathroom door? She was so brilliant she’d forgotten to count, and now she was faced with a long series of closed doors.
She’d walked halfway up the hall, pulling open doors, when a man came around a corner. He wasn’t a guard in black. He wore khakis and a polo shirt, black boots. He was tall, fit, young, quite handsome. Her hand hovered over her gun. Then she recognized him from his photos.
A British voice said, “What are you doing? Are you lost?”
Mike relaxed her hand and turned on a high-wattage smile.
“I am lost, how did you know? I went to the bathroom and I think I must have come out the wrong side. I’m supposed to be meeting my partner in the Blue Room, but I can’t figure out which door leads back. Can you help?”
“Partner?” the man asked.
“I’m Special Agent Michaela Caine, FBI. We’re here to speak to Cassandra and Ajax Kohath.”
He inclined his head. “Then you’re in luck. I’m Ajax Kohath, Agent Caine.” Up close, he was even more handsome, curling blond hair, chiseled features, like his twin sister’s. Her perfect counterpoint.
Mike nodded. “I’m very glad you came and not one of your guards.”
Her voice was friendly; his was not. “Let me get you to the Blue Room. It’s through here.”