He pushed through the high-rise revolving door and strode across the marble floor, his thousand-dollar shoes clicking on the hard surface with every step. When he reached the elevator, he stopped and pressed the up arrow. The button illuminated a bright red. A digital display over the doors told him the lift was on the ninth floor and on its way down.
Holmes hadn't had any trouble finding a place to lie low. He had a few unscrupulous associates in Hong Kong's real estate market. When he offered an exorbitant amount of cash for a condo downtown, they had the perfect location.
It was a penthouse villa on the fortieth floor. The condo featured an incredible view of the city, complete with a hot tub overlooking downtown.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
Holmes got in and pressed the 40 button on the panel. A moment later, the doors closed and he was whisked away toward the top of the building. He remembered back to a time when elevators were long, slow rides. This one, however, was more like an express lift. Getting from the ground floor to the fortieth took about a minute.
He watched the numbers passing quickly on another display over the doors. Suddenly, when the number hit 30, the elevator slowed. At 32 it came to a full stop between floors.
Holmes frowned. He reached out and pressed the 40 repeatedly. Nothing happened.
"You have to be kidding me," he grumbled.
The phone in his jacket pocket started ringing. He'd just bought the device the week before, and no one had the number. Like with everything else, he'd paid cash and used his alias to register the phone on the network.
He took it out and looked at the screen. It was a local number, but no one he recognized. Why would he? The only Hong Kong number he vaguely remembered was the friend who'd arranged for the condo.
Holmes pressed one of the buttons on the side of the phone to silence it. He slid it back into his pocket and started hitting the number again on the elevator panel. The phone started ringing again.
He looked at the screen once more and saw it was the same number. He hit the green button and put the device to his ear. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number," he said.
He lowered the device, but before he could end the call, he heard a voice on the other line. "Do I?"
The man was American.
Holmes's frown deepened as he put the phone back to his ear. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"
"Let's just say for most people, you'd be a hard man to find, Mr. Holmes."
He knows my name. He knows where I am. Those were just a couple of the hundreds of panicked thoughts rushing through Holmes's mind.
"Who is this?" he asked. He reached out and pressed some of the other numbers on the panel. The elevator remained still.
"You've been bad, Mr. Holmes. You killed innocent people."
Holmes tried to suppress his irritation, but it leaked out anyway. "Look, whoever you are, I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play here, but you're messing with the wrong guy. If you know what's good for you, you'll disappear. Or I'll make that happen myself."
"Like you did with your board of directors in Sydney?"
The question sent a chill down Holmes's spine. How did they know? How did they find me?
"Before you start spouting off a bunch of lies about that, you should just save it. I know everything. I know about your plan to take control of the company. I know how you killed those twelve men. I even know about the museum director you had executed."
Holmes did a 180 in less than two seconds. "Listen. I don't know who you are, but let's get together and talk about this. Okay? We can meet and discuss what you want. That's what all this is about, right? You want money? I can give it to you. I have millions. You can have it."
He started mashing the buttons faster now as his desperation reached its zenith. He banged on the elevator doors, loud enough for the man on the other end to hear.
"No one is going to help you, Mr. Holmes. That floor is full of offices. And no one is at work right now. You're all alone. And no, it's not about money. It's about taking one more piece of garbage out of this world."
A loud boom shook the elevator from above. Holmes's feet left the floor as the lift dropped. He struck the mirrored ceiling and then heard the emergency brakes engage just above his head. He crashed to the floor, smashing his bag of rice and chicken in the process.
Holmes picked himself up off the floor. Relief flooded his emotions, replacing the terror that had momentarily taken hold. I'm alive. I'm alive!
He stood up and brushed some rice off his expensive suit. The phone was on the floor beneath the panel. He tentatively bent down and picked it up, feeling a sharp pain in his knee from the fall. It was probably just a bruise. He'd be okay in a few days.
"So that was your plan? Kill me in an elevator? Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the sense of irony you have about all this, but it looks like you forgot the emergency brakes."
"Did I?"
A renewed sense of horror overwhelmed Holmes. He tried to wedge his fingers into the seam between the doors, but they wouldn't move.
"Look, I'll give you whatever you want. Okay? Just let me out of this thing, and I'll take care of it." He took a step back and looked up at the number on the display. It read 27.
"Sorry, Mr. Holmes. I have to be going now. Goodbye."
"No. No, wait!" The call ended.
Holmes flinched as he waited for the elevator to drop again, but it didn't. Instead, he was consumed by the eerie silence in the confined space. He swallowed and slowed his breathing. After standing still for nearly a minute, he started laughing. "He mucked it up," he said out loud. "Well done, whoever you are."
He pressed some of the buttons again, with the same result. Then he noticed the red emergency button. "I was rather hoping to avoid the fireman, but it beats waiting around in here." His finger depressed the button.
Four rapid explosions came in quick succession from the roof above. One of them blew a hole through the corner of the ceiling.
Holmes's eyes widened at the realization. Terrified, he screamed as the elevator's last brake blew out.
The lift dropped again, plummeting down the shaft.
Holmes hit the mirror above once more. He stared down at the floor as the display to his right showed the numbers falling almost two at a time.
Half a block away, Sean Wyatt stepped out of a noodle bar with a bag of takeout. He heard the thunderous crash come from the building across the street a few hundred feet away. The ground vibrated for a moment, and everyone around him on the sidewalk looked around, wondering if it was an earthquake. They only gave it a second's thought.
Sean pressed the green button on his phone and put the device to his ear.
Two seconds later, Emily answered. "Yeah?"
"Just wanted to say thanks for tracking him down for me. I appreciate it."
"Anytime. We can't have those types running around, can we?"
Sean had called Emily about Holmes before he'd been captured by Jack Robinson. He knew the man was up to something. When Holmes left the country, it was Emily who'd tracked him to Hong Kong.
"The fewer, the better," Sean said. "Gotta go. I'll talk to you when I get back stateside."
He ended the call as he rounded a corner into an alley. Bending down fluidly, he dropped the phone into a storm drain and kept moving. He walked into a cloud of steam that poured out of pipes on a nearby wall. Sirens blared in the distance, echoing down the canyon of buildings in the city as Sean Wyatt disappeared into the mist.