“Wow,” Remi breathed. “And here I thought your judo was just a hobby.”
“It is. It just happens to be a very practical hobby. Next one’s yours, by the way.”
“Find me a foil and you’ve got a deal. Mongolian red maple? Is there such a thing?”
“I have no idea.”
Sam knelt down, scooped up the man’s radio, then frisked him, finding a Glock nine-millimeter pistol in a hip paddle holster, a set of handcuffs, a hotel-style card key, and a key ring. This he tossed to Remi, who began trying keys in the door. Sam rolled the guard onto his belly, cuffed his hands behind his back, gagged him with his own tie, then dragged him by the collar into the corner and rearranged a few potted palms so he would be harder to spot.
“Got it,” Remi said, turning and holding up one of the keys.
“Did you check the door?”
She nodded. “Didn’t see any alarm wires. The striker plate and latch look pretty standard.”
“Well, we’ll know for sure in about five seconds,” Sam said, then inserted the key into the lock and turned the knob. Silence. No whooping alarms, no blaring Klaxons.
“Still could be a silent alarm,” Remi said.
“True. Hurry, over there.”
They sprinted to the corner and ducked down with the guard’s body. One minute passed. Two minutes and still there were no pounding footsteps or loudspeaker announcements.
“It can’t be this easy,” Remi said. “Can it?”
“No chance. No turning back now. Unless you want to, that is?”
“Me?” she replied with a smile. “I’m just starting to enjoy myself.”
“That’s my girl.”
On the other side of the door they found a ten-foot-long corridor painted in pure white and lit by recessed overhead fluorescent lights. At the far end of the corridor was another door, this one made of heavy steel and controlled by a wall-mounted card reader.
“Very tricky,” Sam said. “See that quarter-sized clear screen above the reader?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a biometric thumbprint scanner.”
“Which means there’s probably a security control center somewhere.”
“I agree. It looks like we need our friend. Wait here.”
Sam stepped out the first door then reappeared dragging the guard behind him. He handed Remi the card key, then together they hoisted the man up so Sam could wrap his arms around his waist and Remi had access to his cuffed hands.
“We might get as few as two chances at this before we trip something and attract some more company,” he said.
“Swipe first, then the thumbprint?”
“Right. I think.”
“Great.”
Sam spread his legs wider for leverage, then shuffle-walked the man’s limp form to the reader. Remi swiped the card, then grabbed the guard’s thumb and pressed it to the scanner.
The reader emitted a squelchy beep.
“Strike one,” Sam said.
“I’m nervous.”
“Second time’s the charm. Hurry, this guy’s getting heavy.”
She took a break, then tried again.
The reader let out a soft, welcoming chime, followed by a metallic snick as the lock disengaged.
“Open it just an inch before the lock reengages,” Sam said, backing away and laying the guard down. “Be right back.” He dragged the guard back out the first door, then returned.
“See anything?” Sam asked.
Remi eased the door open another inch, pressed her eye to the gap for a few seconds, then pulled back and whispered, “No cameras that I can see.”
“Let’s go.”
Remi opened the door and they stepped through. The room was circular, with gray-painted walls and navy blue carpet. Pot lights in the ceiling cast pools of light on the floor. Directly ahead of them, at the ten o’clock and two o’clock positions on a clock face, were two card reader doors. They each took a door, Sam left, Remi right, and checked for wires. They found none.
Repeating their earlier swipe/thumb process, they first checked the left-hand door. Inside was a small landing and a set of steps that descended fifteen feet to a burgundy-carpeted corridor lit by soft baseboard lights.
They checked the right-hand door. “It’s a square alcove, about ten by ten feet,” Remi whispered, pulling it open an inch. “Straight ahead is another door—a latch but no lock that I can see. The wall to the right is glass from waist height to the ceiling. On the other side is what looks like a control room—a couple computer workstations and a radio console. There’s another door, behind the workstations.”
“Lights?”
“Dark except for the glow of the computer monitors.”
“Cameras?”
She peeked again, this time dropping into a crouch and craning her neck. She pulled back again and nodded. “Only one that I can see—a blinking green light near the ceiling in the right-hand corner.”
“Is it fixed?”
“No, rotating.”
“Good for us, bad for them.”
“How so?”
“In a space that small they should have gone with a fixed camera and a fish-eye lens. No blind spots to hide in. Watch it, count how long it takes to make a complete pan.”
She did so. “Four seconds.”
Sam frowned. “Not a lot of time. You have a preference?”
“No.”
“Let’s go left first.”
They dragged the guard through the door, dropped him on the landing, then descended the steps, hunched over so they could scan the corridor ahead. They saw no blinking green camera lights. They kept going.
After thirty feet the corridor ended at an oaken door bearing a gold plaque embossed in Cyrillic lettering. While neither of them read Russian, the style of the plaque suggested its context: PRIVATE. KEEP OUT. The knob, too, was gold. Sam tried it. Unlocked. He swung it open.
Another circular room, this one thirty feet in diameter and pan eled in polished and center-cut burled walnut. The floor was covered in what looked to be a handwoven Turkish rug.
“That’s a Dosemealti,” Remi whispered.
“Pardon me?”
“The rug. It’s a Dosemealti—they’re woven by Yoruk nomads. Extremely rare and extremely expensive. I read an article about them last month. In every square yard of that thing are almost two hundred thousand hand-stitched knots.”
“Impressive.”
“Yes, but something tells me it’s not the prize of this room.”
“No kidding.”
Spaced every few feet along the curved walls were gleaming glass cases, each containing yet another piece of militaria displayed on a marble pedestal. The room was dark save a single halogen lamp mounted inside each case. Unlike the Sword Room, however, the decor here made it clear this collection was for Bondaruk’s eyes only. Any remaining doubt about this was quashed by the high-backed leather chair sitting in the exact center of the room.
“It has a distinctly thronelike feel, doesn’t it?” Sam asked.
