The Bone Chamber

Had he been dressed in a tux, he might have masqueraded as a drunk guest. Dressed as he was in all black, he doubted he’d pass muster as anything but an intruder. And since it didn’t look as though he was going to be able to avoid discovery, he decided that he’d have it occur on his timetable. Drawing his knife from its sheath, he leaned down, grabbed a handful of pebbles, getting ready to toss them so that they’d hit the guards from above. An intended distraction, make them wonder what was going on. He hoped.

He brought his hand back, ready to toss the pebbles, when the second guard said, “I’m going to finish the perimeter. Enjoy your cigarette.”

“I’ll meet you at the fountain.”

The second guard walked off, his footsteps fading in the gravel. Griffin held on to his stones, decided the farther away the other guard was, the better for him, and so he waited, while the first guard smoked alone. A minute went by, and the guard looked at his watch, not seeming in a real hurry to join his comrade. He took another long drag, the cigarette glowing, then suddenly turned toward the statue. Griffin’s only hope now was that he’d simply toss the cigarette, then be gone. But no. The man walked the two steps over to the conical bush, bent down and knocked the lit end from his smoke on the ground, then flicked the butt underneath the lowest branches.

Griffin saw the man’s shoulders tensing.

He rose, sidled around the statue, pointed a gun at Griffin. “Who are you?”

Griffin palmed his knife, kept it out of sight. “I was at the party. I’m just here to find a friend.”

The guard motioned with his gun. “Get your hands where I can see them.”

Griffin threw the gravel in the guard’s face. In the same movement, he moved his arm up, knocked the gun away. The guard lunged. His left hand arced toward Griffin. A glint of steel, the whistle of a knife. The guard plunged it toward his gut. Griffin grabbed the guard, spun with him, heard a loud hiss. Felt his side freeze. Gas knife.

The guard stepped back. Griffin moved with him, not giving him any space to plunge that knife. It would explode his insides in an instant. One step to the left, Griffin followed. Eye to eye, each with a knife. The guard smirked. He might have missed the first time. But he knew he had a partial burst of gas left. Enough to do some serious damage. Griffin hefted his knife. Another step to the left. Griffin did the same. The guard, heavy on his feet, telegraphed his moves.

The moment he lunged again, Griffin stepped back, came around him, brought his knife to the man’s throat. The guard refused to give up, and Griffin grabbed him by the hair with his other hand, swung him around, and brought his head crashing down onto the base of the statue. Still alive, the guard slumped to the ground, unconscious. He took the guard’s handcuffs, cuffed the man’s hands behind his back, then looked around, figured he had maybe five-ten minutes before the other guard made it around the perimeter and realized that his partner wasn’t waiting at the fountain as he’d said.

No time to waste.

Griffin sheathed his knife, stepped out, kept to the shadows, made his way through the gardens to the side of the house, and just beyond that, the garages and outbuildings. Two other men emerged from a side door of one of the outbuildings: another uniformed guard and a man wearing a white shirt, dark jacket. Griffin was too far away to determine who the man with the guard was, but the way he stood there, looking around, indicated to Griffin that he hoped they weren’t seen.

Which meant that was precisely where Griffin wanted to look first.

There were still twenty cars parked between him and the garages, a few with “CD” plates belonging to the corps diplomatique, which meant Adami was going to play host until his most important guests left. And there, near the front, was the Lancia that Tex and Sydney had arrived in. After checking for guards, Griffin scurried to the closest car, ducked down behind it, then carefully weaved his way through the vehicles to the side door of the outbuilding where he’d seen the two men standing. The door was closed, and of course, locked. Question was, attempt to get in there, or through a different door? And more importantly, if he did go through, was it alarmed?

It was a series of locks, breached in seconds with a lock pick. Once inside he looked around, saw no indication of an alarm panel. There were stairs that led up, probably to the servants’ quarters, and stairs that led down. Nothing else but the two staircases. He chose down, figured they wouldn’t risk any servants seeing anything, no matter how much they paid them. But at the bottom of the steps, there was only one door at the end of a short, stuccoed hallway, and when he opened it, it led into a room filled with cleaning supplies. The first thing he thought was that this was an odd place to have just one room, and so he checked for hidden doors. And found none. So upstairs it was, he thought, closing the door, then backing out.

That was when he felt a slight breeze, or maybe he heard it, like the faintest whispers of air moving where there shouldn’t be any air moving. He listened. There it was again. A rubbing sound, or something scraping. He turned back, ran his hands along the bricks, feeling for anything that seemed off, and then he felt a ridge, pushed, and a door swung open.

He stepped in, closed it partway, and only then dared to use a small blue cell light, one that wouldn’t be as easily seen from a distance. He shone it around the room, saw the space was cut from stone, and small, barely ten by ten, completely empty but for a pile of muddy rags in the corner. He started to walk toward it.

“Syd?” he whispered.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something flying down at him. He raised his arm, deflected the blow. Pain shot through his limb. Something metal clattered to the stones. He stepped back, pulled his knife. Turned. A quick flash of his light.

Sydney.

She backed away.

“Syd. It’s me. Griff.”

“Oh my God. I thought you were one of them, coming back.”

“Are you okay?”

It took her a moment, but finally she nodded. “I hurt like hell. Cut my hand on that shovel I tried to hit you with. I used it to cut the rope.”

He flicked the light across the shovel’s blade, saw it covered with rust and dirt. “Where’s Tex?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry…”

“Let’s get out of here. We need to hurry. Can you walk?”

“I have no idea.”

“Try,” he said, putting his arm around her. Her knees shook, but she seemed okay, no broken bones that he could see. She looked like hell, covered in mud, never mind there was enough blood on the floor to concern him. “You’re bleeding.”

“My hand. God, it hurts.” When she tried to walk on her own, her knees gave out. He lifted her in his arms, carried her out of the room and up the stairs. At the entrance, he opened the door leading to the grounds, stepped out into the night air. He glanced right, then left, before crossing the distance to the remaining cars parked between the outbuilding and the main house. He was fairly certain he couldn’t carry her out the back way, the way he’d entered. Maybe he could get to the Lancia that she and Tex were forced to leave behind.

“We’re almost there,” he told her, glancing down, seeing her eyes were closed. He could feel the blood soaking into his shirt.

“Stop right there.”

Griffin froze. He was ten feet from the Lancia. Ten goddamned feet. He looked up, saw the same two men he’d seen exiting the outbuilding, realized who the second man was. Leonardo Adami. “Perhaps you didn’t notice. The lady is hurt and she needs help.”

“Perhaps you didn’t notice the gun pointed at you.”

“And what?” Griffin said, looking around, trying to see if there was anyone there who might help. No cops in sight, only one of the diplomatic drivers, asleep behind the wheel of his sedan. He glanced at the weapons Leonardo and the guard were pointing at them. Nine-millimeter Berettas. “You’re going to shoot me here with the police on the grounds? How the hell are you going to explain that?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“Look, it’s me you want. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“And what did you have in mind?”