The Book of Names (32 page)

Beside him, Yael and Dillon pressed themselves against the railing, gasping for breath.

“Stacy's here,” David said raggedly. “These maniacs are trying to end the world. Those voices . . . those names I heard . . . they belong to the people these monsters have been methodically killing. Stacy's one of them—maybe the last one. We have to find her and get her out!”

“God help us.” Dillon went pale beneath his ruddiness. “Where is she?”

“I don't know. You might want to have a few words with God and help us find out,” David said between clenched teeth. “Before they catch us and kill us too.”

 

The voices grew louder.

I'm going in the right direction
, Stacy thought.
But how will I get down to where they are?

She scurried faster, feeling her lungs closing up from the stirred dust. Her fingers had skimmed along room ducts as she'd crawled. Slatted ones, like the ones in houses. The voices had to be coming from a duct nearby.

Suddenly, as she reached the bend once more, the women sounded like they were right below her. She ran her hands along both walls, trying to find a duct—or another trapdoor. There had to be more than one.

She twisted her way back through the bend. It was even harder going backwards, and at first she got stuck. But she wedged through and then she found it—a trapdoor, like the one the man had told her to replace when he'd hoisted her into the shaft.

Cautiously, holding her breath, she gripped it by the sides and slowly began pushing it away. It was heavy, like the other one, but when she managed to move it several inches, she was able to peer into the tunnel below. She heard the women—they were close now.

“You may want to fight and die, Irina, but I want to stay alive,” one of them sobbed.

A girl with a throaty voice answered her. “Be a coward if you want, Louisa, but
I
want to get back to my Mario. And I will die trying.”

Stacy shoved the panel the last few inches. The opening was the same size as the one she'd come up through. But the floor looked so far away.

Taking a deep breath, she slid her legs through the opening, bracing her elbows against the sides of the shaft until her feet dangled as low as they could go.

Pretend you're Michael Jordan, dropping from a rim shot
, she told herself as she slid her hands to grip the lip of the opening.

She hesitated, and then let herself go.

She landed hard and felt something pull in her ankle.
There's no time for the disabled bench
, she thought, sucking in her breath. She was in a tunnel much like the one where she'd been held. It was deserted. But the women were close by, she could still hear them arguing.

Stacy pushed herself to her feet, and limped along the tunnel toward their voices. She passed several paintings, all of them creepy—dark colors, with snakes and weird symbols. She hurried on, freezing as she caught sight of the wrought-iron gate down the passageway. Her heart lurched. It looked like a prison gate.

She half-ran toward it—and then she saw them. Several dozen young women locked in an enormous room. It was arranged with beds, like a dormitory. The women looked worn and pale, like they hadn't seen sunlight in years. They were younger than her mom, Stacy noticed, and a few didn't look much older than she was. But their shoulders were hunched like old women's, and their hair hung long and unkempt.

What were they doing here?

One of the women gasped as she saw Stacy limping toward the gate. Suddenly they were all lined up there, staring at her with incredulous, hollow eyes.

“Who are you?”

It was the one with the throaty voice. She was pretty, with dark hair and large eyes fringed by long lashes.

“I'm Stacy. Who . . . who are you? Why are you all in here?”

“Irina. My name is Irina.” The young woman gripped the bars tightly. “Thank you, merciful God,” she whispered with a glance upward. She peered at Stacy again, her face taut with hope. “We are prisoners. Help us! There's a key.”

“Where is it?” Stacy scanned the walls, seeing no shelves or hooks.

“Down the tunnel. Behind one of the paintings. Quick!”

“Which one?” She was already hurrying back toward the pictures, her ankle throbbing more with each step.

“We don't know,” another voice called down the tunnel. “We just see them take it from behind one of them. Hurry, please hurry.”

Stacy lifted one painting after another off the wall.
Where was the key?
Any second she thought to hear someone coming. She would end up locked behind the gate with them.

Thinking of those worn desperate faces, she struggled with the largest painting, nearly toppling backwards as it popped from its hook. And then she saw it. A large black key, shaped like an F, hung on a nail behind the painting.

Fingers shaking, she grabbed it and forced herself to run despite the pain in her bad ankle. Her hands were trembling so violently it was difficult to fit the key in the
lock, but she managed it at last, and as the gate sprang open she was nearly trampled.

The women rushed wildly past her, fleeing down the tunnel. Only Irina stopped. Kissed Stacy on the cheek, sobbing softly. Then grabbed her hand.

“Come with us, little angel—run!”

 

“I assume you have a game plan.” Dillon peered cautiously up the stairs.

“I'm pretty open to suggestions.” David swiped at the sweat on his brow. “What was yours?”

“To get whatever gemstones they might have.”

“Have you seen any?” Yael's head whipped toward him.

“Two—inside a lighted glass case. They're up in that war room behind the balcony. Where the bigwigs meet.”

“You were up there?” David's eyebrows shot up.

Dillon's mouth twisted into a grimace. “Briefly. Tagging along with my new best friend. As we were coming down the stairs, one of his colleagues popped out of that glass door wanting to speak to him inside. I didn't get further than the doorway, but there was no mistaking what was in that case.”

“Are the stones accessible?” David asked.

“If we can break the case. But getting in there . . .” Dillon shook his head grimly. “I went down below hunting for a weapons cache. An axe, a metal pipe, anything. Instead, all I found were friends.”

Yael smiled faintly at him, extending a hand streaked with blood. “Yael HarPaz.”

“Sorry, can't imagine what happened to my manners,” David muttered, then his gaze met Dillon's. He was filled with a regret he couldn't even begin to express. “I should have trusted you,” he said thickly. “Forgive me.”

“Pick up the tab on our next three breakfast excursions, and we'll call it even.”

Suddenly from below came the rush of pounding footsteps.

“Let's get out of here,” David said in alarm. They surged toward the main level, but as they reached it and started toward the auditorium, they were stopped by the sight of a half dozen Dark Angels bounding toward them.

“What have we here?” A woman's voice spoke from behind.

David recognized it immediately. Rocked by disbelief, he wheeled and stared into the imperious eyes of Katharine Wanamaker.

Katharine Wanamaker.
The woman who'd consoled his mother for months after his father's fatal heart attack. The woman who'd always prepared Waldorf salad at holiday dinners, even though David was the only one who ate it.

“Why don't you get Judd?” he told her between clenched teeth. “We'll have a family reunion.”

Her laughter trilled mockingly. “For all Judd knows, I'm in Georgetown locking up a major bequest to the symphony.”

He doesn't know
, David thought. “Judd called you after we left the restaurant in New York, didn't he? He didn't give us up—
you
did.”

He lunged for her, dragged her against him, and spun around to face the Dark Angels. Yael darted forward, pressing the barrel of Domino's gun into Katharine's neck as Dillon braced himself for the onrush of attackers.

“Stop right there, or she's dead!” David shouted.

He could hear the stampede rushing toward them up the stairwell. Panic kicked adrenaline through his bloodstream.

In seconds they'd be swamped from both directions by Dark Angels.

Where was Stacy?

As Katharine struggled to break free, he tightened his grip.

“Move again and I'll shoot,” Yael warned her.

The Dark Angels rushing down the tunnel hadn't slowed.

“Where's my daughter?” David's voice sliced into Katharine's ear, even as he dug his lingers deeper into her flesh.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Give up, David.” She twisted her head toward him, her eyes malevolent. “You can't win.”

“Where's Mueller—”

She never had a chance to answer. The Dark Angels skidded to a halt, their attention suddenly diverted by the horde of women swarming at them from the stairs.

“What in the world?” Dillon gaped at the bedraggled figures racing as if all hell pursued them.

“Get them back down there!” Katharine ordered the Dark Angels.

David roared at her. “All I want to hear from you is where Crispin Mueller is hiding himself! And where he has Stacy!”

Through the pandemonium now raging in the tunnel, Yael clicked off the gun's safety.

“Stacy!” David shouted at Katharine.
“Where's Stacy?”

 

Caught up in the chaotic stampede of women on the stairs, Stacy heard something through the thunder engulfing her. It was faint, far off, but she heard it—David's voice. He was shouting her name.

“David!” The cry tore from her throat, and she stumbled on the steel steps. Irina's hand steadied her. She recovered quickly, her breath bunching in her throat.

If she fell now, she'd be trampled. The women were running like maddened cattle in an old western movie. She ran faster, gasping for air, praying for it to be true, for David to be here. . . .

As she crested the staircase she found herself in a tunnel just like the one below—this one filled with people.

Her eyes frantically scanned the faces—David!

She screamed his name and he turned his head toward her, amazement on his face. It seemed to be happening in slow motion. Then she saw the joy in his eyes and she broke free of Irina and darted toward him.

But someone grabbed her around the waist, yanking her off her feet. She writhed and screamed, and saw David shove the woman he was holding away to leap toward her.

“Let me go!” she screamed, twisting her head up at her captor, and then she screamed again. Terror bubbled through her.

The man holding her was the one with the different-colored eyes. The man who'd killed Hutch. Who'd hurt her mother.

“David, help me—” she shrieked, but then she saw another man tackle him and heard the deafening blast of a gun.

 

David collided with the ground, his jaw slamming into the floor. Black circles shimmied before his eyes and he heard a gunshot. Opening his eyes, he tried to lift his head, but two Dark Angels were pinning him down. He saw Yael a few feet away, her arm twisted behind her back, a Dark Angel now brandishing Domino's gun. He heard Dillon grunt and the thwack of blows. Despair overtook the pain.

“Take the Hidden One up to the Situation Room,” Katharine urged.

The man holding Stacy shouted orders. “You—hold Shepherd and the other two in the reception area while I find out what the Leader plans to do with them.” He glared at the other Dark Angels. “Why are the rest of you standing there like baboons?” He was already dragging Stacy away. “Round up those women. Go!”

All David knew was that Stacy was crying. The sounds were tearing his heart, fading away down the hall as he struggled uselessly against the men pinning him.

He wanted to kill the monster who'd grabbed Stacy almost as much as he wanted to kill Crispin Mueller
What good was my vision, what was the point of my hearing their pleas? I've failed everyone
, he thought as he was yanked roughly to his feet, as the three of them were hauled along the tunnel toward the reception desk.

He winced when he saw the size of the welt swelling along Yael's cheek. Blood dribbled from Dillon's nose. And some of the fleeing women, whoever they were, had already been recaptured.

It's over.

A black-haired man emerged from the auditorium and strode briskly toward them. He was tall, suave, and self-assured.
A honcho
, David thought, his eyes eviscerating the man. He could feel the Dark Angels straighten as the man approached.

“Prime Minister DiStefano, we've found Shepherd. What would you like us to do with him?”

DiStefano.

Before DiStefano could open his mouth, a figure burst from beneath the reception desk with a howl of fury.

A woman.

Streaking toward DiStefano and wielding a blur of long, glinting metal. She fell on him, plunging her weapon into his heart, burrowing it deep with a strength that defied her slight stature.

His mouth agape in shock, DiStefano emitted only a low gurgle and then toppled backwards.

Stunned, the Dark Angels froze an instant before releasing their grip on the prisoners. Shouting for help, two of them rushed toward the fallen man, while the other three dove for the attacker.

Crazed, she slashed the bloodied knife through the air with frenzied determination, holding them at bay. Then with a shriek, she whirled and bolted for the staircase.

Yael was running too. Panting hard, she reached the nearest of the ouroboros sculptures. Desperately, she wedged herself between it and the rock face.

This has to work. You have to do it.

Bracing her back against the jagged wall, she summoned her strength and shoved at the ouroboros. Grunting, she ignored the rock biting into her spine, struggling to budge the sculpture even as Dillon fought with the crew-cut Dark Angel who'd released her.