Minotaur

27

Chapel yanked the door open and found himself looking Fiona right in the face. Her features were writhing with panic. “My boys,” she whispered.

Behind her, the door across the hall was open. It looked like a master bedroom lay beyond.

“If you hurt my boys—”

“They’re fine,” Chapel said. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to one side. Through the door of the master bedroom he was sure he saw someone moving. It had to be Favorov. “They’re in the closet. You need to get them out of here, as fast as possible,” Chapel whispered. He checked the pistol in his hand. “I’m going in there. Do not call out or try to warn him.”

Fiona’s eyes snapped to his. “Who?” she asked.

There was definitely movement down the hall. The guards from the first floor were coming and they were moving faster now. Chapel had no time left. He pushed past Fiona and dove into the master bedroom, locking the door behind him.

The room was well lit. Chapel saw a king-size bed flanked by low tables, a larger table off to one side, a couple of chairs. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the wall. A second door led to what he presumed was a bathroom.

“Angel,” he whispered.

“One heat source in there with you. You’re close,” she told him.

Chapel lifted his pistol. He saw no sign of Favorov. No movement at all. Clothing and papers were piled up on the bed. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills, neatly banded. Looked like fifty thousand dollars or so. Three passports. A revolver. Chapel picked that up and stuffed it in his pocket, keeping his own weapon leveled on the bathroom door. On the far side of the room from the bed stood a massive dresser, but the drawers were too small to hide a human being. Over by the bathroom door stood an upright wardrobe—Favorov could easily be hiding in there, but the door hung open revealing nothing inside but shirts and dresses on hangers. It looked like someone had torn through the wardrobe in a hurry. Favorov had been packing, getting ready to make his escape on his yacht. Except Hollingshead was sure the yacht was just a ruse.

Chapel stepped carefully toward the bathroom, expecting to be lit up by assault rifle fire at any second. Favorov was a smart guy, but he was also cornered, and even brilliant people did stupid things when they thought their liberty was in danger.

“All right, Favorov,” Chapel said. “You made a good try at it, but this is over. You can come quietly and I promise you won’t be hurt. A guy like you can afford an excellent lawyer, right? Maybe you won’t even do jail time.” Though if Chapel had anything to say about it the Russian would rot in prison for the rest of his life.

There was no response from the bathroom. Chapel thought he heard something, like a piece of wood being dragged across a tile floor. Then nothing.

“Angel?” he whispered.

“You’re facing him, no more than ten feet away—he’s low, down on the ground, he…”

She went silent, which always worried Chapel. It meant something had happened that she hadn’t expected. And Angel’s job was to always be one step ahead of everybody else.

“He’s gone,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“His heat signature… it just disappeared. He vanished. Chapel, I’ll admit I’m mystified here—”

Chapel didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence. He rushed forward into the bathroom. Nobody was in there. He threw open the shower door but it was empty. Only then did he notice that one of the cabinet doors under the two sinks was slightly ajar.

He kicked it open and jumped back, expecting to find Favorov curled around a U-bend. Instead what he saw made him swear out loud.

The usual shaving cream and spare toothbrushes and rolls of toilet paper you expected to find under a sink were all shoved to one side. Favorov had gone under the sinks, all right, but he hadn’t stopped there. Bending low Chapel could see that the back of the cabinet was actually a hidden door. It led into a crawl space behind the bathroom wall. He could see the top rungs of a ladder leading down.

Favorov had been smart enough to know that one day he might be trapped in his own house. So he’d built in a secret passage, one that might lead anywhere.