“How do you figure?”
“The vault has a failsafe. I worked with DysonArt Systems, and they installed one of their top models. Two combinations. One will open the vault, no problem. The other opens it, waits fifteen seconds, then drops a hidden wall, trapping whoever is inside. If it’s a good guy, he can get out using his control app. If it’s not, bang, you’ve caught your bad guy.”
“Control app?”
“A phone app, but it’s also wearable as a watch. Looks like one of those fitness tracker watches, with the DysonArts logo on the face.”
“Hopefully the owner will be thinking straight and give them the code to trap them.”
“Even if he panics, he can drop the interior wall from the app.”
“I’m impressed,” Damien said.
Jackson laughed. “I’ll tell Morgan Dyson you said so. The Damien Stark seal of approval. They’ll probably want to add it to their brochure.”
“Funny man,” he said, but he appreciated the levity. It had centered him again, helped him focus. “Okay, it’s time to do this. You know the drill, Ryan. And get Dallas involved. I should have hooked him in already.”
“Already on it,” came a new voice. Liam Foster. One of Stark Security’s prime operatives, and one of the former members of Dallas’s team of agents, Deliverance.
“Liam, good to hear your voice, man.”
“We’ve got hostage rescue, a bomb squad, and a federal task force already underway. They’ll move in quiet and quick and take out the perimeter guard.”
“Let them know I’m here. I’m not in the bar with the others. And make sure they don’t do anything rash. I don’t know what the situation is down there.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve worked with these people before. They’re solid. Seagrave knows them, too,” he added, referring to Colonel Anderson Seagrave, the western commander of the government’s covert Sensitive Operations Command. Seagrave worked out of California, but he knew the teams all over the country. He was a solid operative, both before and after he’d lost the use of his legs, and there’d been more than one time that Damien wished that the man worked for Stark Security directly. Seagrave had good instincts.
“You know I trust you all to do what needs to be done. Right now, I need to figure out a way to get down to the bar. Jackson, that’s where you come in. I need to get to my wife, and I’m open to suggestions that won’t get me killed. The stairwell’s a risk, but unless I can figure out another way, I may have to take it.”
“You could let the team handle it,” Jackson said after the others got off the line to get busy. “This isn’t exactly what you’re trained for.”
“Would you trust anyone else if it were Sylvia?”
There was a beat, then his brother said, “Understood. How can I help?”
“You designed this place. Tell me how to get down there without being seen. Soon enough, they’re going to realize they haven’t heard from the goon they sent up here. I need to get off this roof.”
“Okay,” Jackson said after Damien explained exactly where he was holed up. “I want you to go around the pool and behind the bar. You’ll see some equipment for the air-conditioning and the elevator shaft.”
Damien was already on the move as Jackson kept talking. He hated getting out of sight of the stairwell, but he knew it was inevitable. “Okay,” he said as he passed the bar. “I see the equipment.”
“Good,” Jackson began, then told him how to get inside. “Once you’re in, there’s a workman’s access ladder inside the elevator shaft. If you can get into the shaft, you can go all the way down to ground.”
“I don’t need to go that far. I just need to get to the bar.”
“Understood.” Jackson sighed. “Okay. Let me think. The panel on the lobby level is part of one of the wall panels near the reception desk. It’s not intended as an access point, so it’s screwed shut. But when you first enter the elevator shaft, there should be a ledge with a back-up stash of tools. If the workers haven’t moved it—and they’re not supposed to—you can grab the tool belt and strap it on.”
“Right,” Damien said, picturing it. “Got it.”
“You’ll need the screwdriver, so you could just take that. But better have more than you need than not enough.” He continued to walk Damien through the process of getting down the elevator shaft, locating the lobby level, and getting out through the access panel.
“If you can manage that,” Jackson continued, “you should be able to get out without being seen. The panel opens behind the reception desk. So long as you stay low and quiet, you should be relatively invisible.”
“Should be isn’t good enough. What’s my backup plan?”
“Unfortunately, your backup plan is to manage to get from one side of the shaft to the other, then balance on a four-inch ledge while you pry open the elevator doors and crawl out that way. But then you’d be more or less in plain sight. Also not ideal. So cross your fingers that you can get out through the access panel.”
“Roger that.” Damien sighed, considering the way this day had gone, he had a feeling he was going to be hanging by his fingertips in an elevator shaft in front of a four-story drop to the ground floor, trying his damnedest to pry open a set of doors before his fingers slipped. It wasn’t a nice idea. “I’m in a goddamn action movie.”
“And all action movies have a happy ending,” Jackson retorted. “You’ve got this.”
“Yippee ki-yay,” Damien said, making Jackson chuckle.
“There’s no reception in the elevator shaft,” Jackson said. “Once you get in there, you’re on your own. Text us when you get out so we know you got through.” He drew a breath. “I’ll see you and Nikki when it’s over,” he said. “And Damien? Don’t play the hero. Shoot to kill. It’s the best way to stay alive.”
“Roger that,” Damien said. They ended the call, and as soon as the line went dead, he felt bereft and alone. He drew a breath, picturing Nikki. He had one goal, one purpose, and she was it.
Knowing he was running out of time, he hurried to the access panel. It was opened with a combination lock that the owner would have reprogrammed. Jackson, however, always kept a failsafe programmed in for those owners who were disorganized enough to lose their own combination, and then need access years later.
Damien dialed in the failsafe, pressed the button, and exhaled with relief when the panel swung slowly open. Score one for the good guys.
He peered down. It was an elevator shaft, all right. Thankfully it was only an eight-story building, but he would be just as dead if he fell. It looked like the elevator was stopped at the second or third floor, which meant he’d only fall six stories from up here on what was essentially the ninth floor. But that was hardly a consolation.
The ladder was to his right as Jackson had said. Before he climbed on, he checked the AK-47’s magazine. Empty.
He frowned. That left him with only a handgun. And if Barclay and his crew had another magazine, they’d have another weapon.
He considered keeping it with him, either as a bluff or in case he managed to acquire a magazine, but decided it was better to be nimble. He took out the magazine, then dropped it and the rifle down the shaft. Maybe they’d hear the clatter of it hitting the elevator car and assume he was on the first floor.