My fingers curled tighter and tighter around the satphone. The video faded away and a new message took its place. The game is called Do or Die, I read. Do as I say…
… or she dies.
Chapter 4
“Get over here,” Keith Donovan hissed from behind the side curtains. “We’re about to begin.”
Ignoring him, I reread the message. Then I played the video again, tracing her face with the tip of my finger. God, if anything happened to her…
A memory from the previous night played in my mind. I remembered touching her tanned face. Staring into her violet eyes. The ripples running through her wavy chestnut hair. The sweat glistening on her curvy body. The feel of her legs wrapped around my waist. The animal magnetism evident in her every movement.
I saw none of that in the video. She just looked, well, different. And not just on the surface. No, it was in her pupils. There was something there. Something unsettling.
Fear.
And not just ordinary fear. This was holy-crap-I can’t-think-straight type of fear. Which threw me for a loop. I couldn’t recall the last time — if ever — I’d seen fear in her eyes.
Who had taken her? Why? And how? She wasn’t some easy mark. She was a battle-hardened warrior who’d fought to the death in some of the toughest terrain on Earth.
Head down, I walked to the side curtains. Tapping the screen, I wrote out a new message: Do anything to her and YOU will die.
But I didn’t send it. Instead, I deleted the message and started to write a new one, designed to glean as much information as possible about the situation.
A new message appeared on my screen. Do anything to her and I’ll die, huh? I like that. Nice and snappy. But don’t flatter yourself. You’ll never find me.
I clenched my jaw. Well, how about that? My little texting buddy had read my unsent message.
Which meant my satphone had been hacked.
Another message appeared: Nice tux, by the way. But you’ve got a loose thread on your back, just below your left shoulder.
I reached behind me and felt around. Indeed, there was a thread just as the message had indicated. I pulled it off and let it drop to the floor.
Another message: Much better.
The implication was clear. Beverly’s kidnapper had eyes on me. Maybe ears, too.
I scanned the ceiling and nearest wall for cameras. I didn’t see any, but I noticed plenty of people around me, immersed in their smartphones. Was the kidnapper among them? Or had he or she hijacked their phones in order to commandeer their cameras?
I get it… you’re in control, I wrote. So, who are you?
Another message popped up almost as soon as I hit the Enter key. Just a girl with a good computer.
Or a guy impersonating a girl.
Would you believe me if I wrote OMG and LOLZ and told you how much I ADORE shoes?
I frowned. Got a name, computer girl?
Malware.
Cute, I replied.
Yes, I am. Now, I need something from you.
Sorry. I’m a one-woman kind of guy.
That’s because you haven’t met me yet. But until then, I need you to conduct an excavation. Proceed directly to 1199 Madison Avenue, at the corner of 75th.
An excavation? Like an archaeological excavation?
Yes, she replied. And don’t worry about tools. You’ll find plenty where you’re going. Oh, and Cy?
Yeah?
You have one hour to get there. Or she dies.
Chapter 5
Muffled shouts, tense and raw, rang in my ears. Outside the front curtains, shoes and high heels shuffled against ornate carpet. A dull cacophony of murmurs and whispers arose from the auditorium.
I checked the time on my satphone. 8:20 p.m. on the dot. That meant I had until 9:20 p.m. to reach 1199 Madison Avenue. Which was, come to think of it, rather odd. Even at a leisurely pace, it would only take five to ten minutes to cover the distance. So, why had Malware given me so much time?
I ran to the front curtains. Shifting the fabric, I made my way out onto the stage. Then I stopped. Did a double-take.
Attendees and members of the media, clad in their finest attire, were streaming out of the rows, joining gathering throngs near the three double-door exits. It was a major bottleneck situation, made worse by frantic pushing and shoving.
“What’s this all about?” Graham appeared at my side, clutching a tumbler full of copper-colored liquid in his hand. “Wait, let me guess. Is someone giving away grants for useless research in the Great Hall?”
“Come on.” I jumped off the stage and landed softly on the thick carpet. “I need to get outside.”
He downed his scotch. Then he tossed the tumbler. As it crashed to the floorboards, shattering into a million tiny pieces, he slid off the stage and joined me in the main aisle. Then he veered ahead, bellowing bloody oaths and pushing people out of his way.
I loved that about Graham. He didn’t waste time asking questions or demanding explanations. When push came to shove, he just shoved back twice as hard.
I followed at his heels, wading through the crowd, pushing my way toward the front. Along the way, I noticed some of the people who’d badmouthed me over the years. I made sure to push them extra hard.
A couple of security guards stood at the double doors, holding back the crowd. One of them, a thick-bodied man named Cody Webster, lifted his voice. “Everything is fine, folks. Please exit the aisle and return to your seats. Tonight’s program will begin momentarily.”
But this crowd, this gathering of hotshot explorers and media-types, had become unnerved. Like herds of cattle, they stampeded their way past the guards and through the doors. Instantly, the built-up bottleneck pressure released and I found myself shot out of the auditorium and into the Great Hall.
Ahh, the Great Hall. The beating heart of the Explorers Society. Even now, even after all this time, I still found myself gawking at its tall ornamental columns, its soaring arches, and its mixture of dark wood paneling and crisp, colorful carpets.
“Damn, that was fun.” Graham, red-faced and sporting a wicked grin, clapped my back. “Let’s go again.”
“This ride’s not over yet.” Walking quickly, I made a beeline to a pair of heavy oak doors, passing by mounted stuffed heads of long-extinct animals along with dozens of wood and glass display cases.
The closer I drew to the doors, the more noises I heard. Harsh noises and not too distant. Stuff like breaking glass, crunching metal, screams and chants, and were those… crackling flames?
Donovan appeared at the edge of my vision. With large steps, he hiked to the oak doors.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Get out of my way, Keith.”
“Please return to your seats, ladies and gentlemen.” Cody Webster’s booming voice filled the room. The crowd, now gathered in small clumps within the Great Hall, turned to look at him.
“What’s going on?” Betsy Reese, the world famous mountaineer, brushed hair from her eyes. “It sounds like a warzone out there.”
“I’ll tell you what I know. But only after you return to your seats.”