She noticed movement down the next hallway and ducked behind the kitchen island. A quick peek around the corner revealed a heavy man in a black suit walking her way. From the little white cord dangling from his ear, she knew he was one of Immelman’s guards. The guy was out of shape with a fleshy face and neck, drooping ears, big bags under his eyes, and speckles of gray through short black hair. Adriana had a fleeting thought as to why bodyguards usually wore formal-style black suits; they couldn’t be easy to fight in. She let the thought go and pulled back from view as the man closed in, his head swiveling back and forth to check in both directions.
I need to see what’s down that hallway.
Adriana assumed that Immelman’s personal quarters were upstairs although many modern floor plans were featuring the master bedroom on the main floor, which could mean he was on this level. That would certainly explain the guard walking her way. She continued to move back toward the sink, creeping on the balls of her feet and on her fingertips like a stalking cat going in reverse. Her rucksack was strapped snugly to her back, but she felt at any second it could swing loose and make a sound. She rounded the corner near the sink just as the man passed by. His head twisted the other way, making sure the coast was clear at the front entrance.
Her feet moved quickly, spinning her around so she could go forward. Using the same creeping motion, Adriana stalked back to the other end of the island and glanced after the guard. He was entering the den area when she had a sudden sinking feeling. The man had just walked right through several water spots she’d dripped on the floor as she came down the hall. While he’d not been paying much attention to the floor, especially in the darkened house, if he saw the little pools, it was only a matter of time until he investigated.
Down the hall in the other direction, the path was clear. Adriana moved stealthily across the floor and into the next corridor. The first door she came to was open and led into a laundry room. That wasn’t helpful. She continued on and came to a closed door on the left. Her fingers wrapped around the knob, and she turned it carefully, aware that even the slightest squeak could alert an unseen guard. The sliding mechanism clicked, causing her to steal another glance back in the other direction to make sure the guard hadn’t heard the noise. The coast was still clear, and she pulled the door open, saying a silent prayer that the hinges wouldn’t make a sound. Luckily, they must have been well oiled because the door swung free without a peep.
Beyond the threshold, a darkened staircase descended into a basement. Adriana had not expected that based on their limited research of the floor plan, but if she was the one hiding a priceless painting, a basement might be the best place. She took a wary step down and pulled the door closed behind her. The steps were made from the same bamboo as the rest of the flooring in the home. This caused more than a little concern, as sometimes wooden steps tended to creak. As she took each step, Adriana felt slightly relieved that they made no sound. A dull light emanated from the far corner of the room, casting a dim glow onto the wall near the staircase.
Reaching the bottom of the steps, she examined the room. The floor was smoothed concrete like you would find in a garage. The walls were poured concrete, painted white. A few boxes were stacked in a corner nearby. Two chairs leaned against the wall to the right. She could see the light was coming from a nightlight plugged into the far wall. Adriana frowned. It was a dead end.
She started to turn around to go back up the stairs when a voice froze her in place.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know you’d come here?”
Her head twisted around slowly. Immelman stood four steps above her, holding a gun at waist level, the barrel pointing straight at Adriana’s head. He was still fully dressed as if he’d just got home from work, and he’d only removed his suit jacket. Behind him, Allyson was being held tightly by two beastly guards in suits, an apologetic look on her face.
“It’s no matter,” Immelman said, “we have ways of taking care of these little problems. Please,” he motioned to the center of the room, “step over there.”
Adriana didn’t move, instead keeping her feet planted firmly in place. She stared into Immelman’s icy eyes but said nothing.
He waved the pistol menacingly. “Don’t make me ask again, or I’ll shoot you right now.”
Adriana wondered why he hadn’t already, why she and Allyson were even still alive at this point. The answer lay in two distinct possibilities. Either Immelman was some kind of sexual deviant and had sinister plans for the two women, or he wanted something from them in the way of information. While the former was certainly plausible, Adriana’s guess was Immelman wanted to tie up loose ends.
Namely, Hummels and Koenig.
21
Immelman stared down at Adriana. She and Allyson were tied to the wooden chairs she’d noticed leaning against the wall in the basement. Part of her wondered if that’s why the two seats were there in the first place. Immelman had planned this whole thing, at least the part where they tried to break into his house and take the painting. If it was even there.
The guards had tied their wrists behind their backs before tying their arms to chairs. Now they were off to the far end of the room, laying out two large sections of plastic drop cloth. Allyson watched the two men nervously as they spread out the plastic overtop of a blue tarp. There was only one reason they would be doing something like that. And it wasn’t because they were up for some late night painting.
A cold chill shot through Allyson’s spine. She’d faced death before: staring down the barrel of a gun, feeling the sharp edge of a knife against her skin, and a plethora of other times when she thought her number was up. But none was as macabre as what she and her counterpart were facing now.
Immelman noticed her trepidation and sidestepped in front of her. He bent down and grabbed her chin with his forefinger and thumb, moving it forward so she could look at him. Her neck muscles strained as she tried to fight it, but the harder she tried, the tighter his grip on her chin, and her jaw started to ache. Finally, she gave up and stared into his eyes.
“Do you know what they are doing?” he asked. Before she could even nod, he answered his own question. “They are preparing to dispose of your bodies.”
One of the guards, a man with thinning brown hair and a receding hairline, moved over to one of the boxes and pulled out a circular saw. It looked similar to a Skilsaw but without the guard on the top, allowing it to cut through larger diameter items. The other guard returned up the stairs and disappeared. A clump of bile climbed into the back of Allyson’s throat.
Immelman went on. “Of course, the condition your bodies are in when we dispose of them is completely up to you.”
“Enough chitchat,” Adriana said, using a phrase the banker had used in their conversation earlier in the day. “We’re not here to do business. What do you want from us?”
She was brash, even to the end. Truthfully, Adriana was scared, but unlike the woman next to her, she refused to give Immelman the pleasure of letting him see it. The thought of being chopped up and, most likely, thrown in the lake, wasn’t her idea of a good way to go. Moments like this could cause some people to think of their family or loved ones. Sean’s face popped into her mind for a moment. He’d been good to her, let her run free like the woman she wanted to be. But focusing on him right now wouldn’t get her out of this situation—if there were any getting out of this situation. That likelihood seemed slim at best.