time.
The garage was supported by girders, so there were no walls between the vehicles. Since people weren’t parking the cars, there was no chance of getting a door ding. Another advantage of the automated garage was that thieves couldn’t break into or vandalize the cars. Unless, that is, they hid in the trunk of a car as Tyler had done.
That’s what the cameras at either end of the atrium were for, in case anyone tried this kind of trick. Tyler just hoped Stacy could keep the guard’s eye away from the monitor while he prowled around the garage.
Tyler went to the front of the Audi and stopped at the edge of the center atrium to note that he had ended up on the sixth level up from the bottom. It had been difficult to gauge how fast the system moved from inside the trunk.
In answer to his unspoken question, a bare tray whooshed by and stopped in front of a VW two levels below him. In a few seconds of whining motors, the bare tray was exchanged for the tray holding the car. It zipped along the tracks until it was at the end of the garage, where it rose until it disappeared into the ceiling. The VW’s entire retrieval took no more than a minute.
He searched the garage and saw the BMW with the license number Grant had given him. It was one level below him on the opposite side. Cavano’s Ferrari was on the lowest level, its bright red paint job shining like a beacon.
Cavano had mentioned putting the geolabe in the trunk when she was in her office, which had to mean the BMW. Since the Ferrari was a rear-engined V8 with no room for a trunk, it had only a small storage space under the hood. Still, it might have enough room, so he’d check there if he didn’t find the geolabe in the BMW.
To get to the BMW, he’d have to cross the center atrium, but at twenty feet wide the span was too far to jump. Mounted on either end of the garage were access ladders and narrow walkways for maintenance crews to work on the equipment.
Tyler was in the middle of the row of cars, so he squeezed past their trunks to make his way to the catwalk on his level, trying to stay out of view of the cameras as much as possible in case the guard glanced at his screen. He pulled his cap lower to shadow his face, making him unrecognizable even if the camera did catch sight of him.
In two minutes, he had crossed the catwalk, climbed down the ladder to the fifth level, and trekked past the back ends of the cars to the slot with the BMW, approaching from the passenger side. The heavily tinted windows and the darkness of the parking spot made it impossible to see the interior, but the most likely place for the geolabe was the trunk. The rear of the car, however, was so close to the wall that it would be difficult to stand behind the car and thoroughly search the trunk. He decided he’d push the car out from the wall to give himself some space to look through the luggage.
With no key fob to disable the security system, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way. No one would be able to hear an alarm down here.
Tyler put on the leather gloves he’d brought with him and raised the flashlight to shatter the window but stopped before he swung it down. Would they really set the alarm? he thought. Maybe they wouldn’t even bother to lock it.
He lowered the flashlight and tugged on the passenger-door handle. The latch released.
With nowhere else to put it, Tyler stood the flashlight on the roof. He pulled the door open and put a knee on the passenger seat of the left-hand-drive car. He flicked the manual transmission to neutral and released the parking brake so that he’d be able to push the car away from the wall. The trunk release was by the driver’s foot just inside the door. He leaned over and punched the button. The trunk popped open.
Tyler rose and was about to get back out of the car when he felt the cold metal of a pistol barrel press against his left temple.
He froze, and heard Pietro say, “ Buon giorno, Signor Locke.”
THIRTY-FOUR
P ietro couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d been forced to remain with the BMW because he had let Locke escape just the day before. Now he had a chance to make up for his failure.
He was supposed to keep an eye on both cars, but when he saw the interior of the garage, he couldn’t imagine there would be any kind of security threat. So he had stayed in the backseat to stretch out and listen to his iPod.
The music had been so loud that he hadn’t heard Locke approach. It wasn’t until the door opened that he realized someone was there. When Pietro saw who it was, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to redeem himself. He silently drew his SIG Sauer pistol and when Locke was upright again, he made his move.
He didn’t know much English, but the gun at Locke’s head made any additional communication unnecessary. His captive didn’t move.
With his free hand, he took out his phone and dialed Salvatore.
“Si?” Salvatore answered.
“Sal, I have a surprise for Gia,” Pietro said in Italian. “Come and get me.”
“She’s busy.”
“Then you and Tino. I have something she’s been looking for.”
“Okay. But this had better be good.”
“Just get me,” Pietro said, and hung up.
He tilted his head toward the door so Locke would close it. Locke pointed at it questioningly, and Pietro nodded.
But instead of closing it Locke slowly got out of the car with his hands up.
Pietro said, “No, no, no!” But the imbecile kept going until he was leaning with his hands against the roof, as if Pietro were a police officer making an arrest. Stupido.
Pietro didn’t really care about killing Locke, but Cavano would want him alive. Wounding him was always an option, but that would get blood all over the car. Pietro didn’t know how to say, “Get back in the car, you idiot!” He’d have to work on his English.
With his gun trained on Locke, Pietro opened his own door. Locke remained standing by the side of the car with his hands still up high.
Pietro got out to put Locke back in the passenger seat. As he stood and brought the pistol up, Locke whipped around in a lightning move and the heavy flashlight smacked into Pietro’s arm, sending the SIG flying.
Pietro cried out in pain at his shattered wrist. He stumbled back and lashed out with a kick as Locke came at him with the flashlight raised for the knockout blow.
His foot caught Locke in the midsection, sending Locke reeling back against the Mercedes parked in the slot next to the BMW. Pietro reached into his jacket pocket, drew his switchblade, and clicked open the wicked five-inch blade.
He crouched and warily moved toward Locke, his limp right hand cradled against his body. Pietro wasn’t going to bother trying to keep him alive any more. Even with one hand useless, he was a master with a knife. If he could just get in close enough, nothing would stop him from cutting Locke’s throat.
In the narrow space between the two cars, Locke feinted with the flashlight. Pietro dove forward hoping for a killing thrust, but Locke shoved him backward, knocking Pietro against the BMW’s back door, which slammed shut. Pietro swung around. The only thing between him and Locke was the open front door.
Locke rushed forward, the flashlight low, going for the upper cut. Pietro was ready to slash him across the neck as he went by, but before he reached Pietro, Locke struck the window of the open door, sending chunks of safety glass hurtling at Pietro.
Pietro instinctively shielded himself from the flying glass and only realized too late that it was a diversion. While Pietro had his hands up, Locke rushed in and brought the flashlight down like a lumberjack.
Pietro’s world went black.
*
Tyler kicked Pietro a couple of times to prove that the Italian wasn’t feigning unconsciousness. Convinced
