The Buried

CHAPTER 32

Once Winston started talking, he hadn’t held back. He’d told Orlando and the others that he and Terry Kuhner had taken Helen Cho to a private airfield in Marin County, where they caught a waiting Gulfstream jet south to the Van Nuys Airport in Los Angeles. From there, they transported her to a construction site in Koreatown.

“The night guard waved us right through,” he’d said. “There was a Suburban waiting for us in the underground garage. You know, a black one with tinted windows. Like you see in all the spy movies. Two guys get out and take the woman from us. While they’re putting her in the back of their car, another guy gets out. I was surprised because it was Mr. Rachett.”

“Thomas Rachett?” Orlando said, an eyebrow raised.

Winston nodded. “His people have hired me a few times, but I had never seen him in person before. He quizzed us on how things went down, and then told us our money would be in our accounts within the hour. After that we went our way and they went theirs.”

“So he’ll know where she is.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, he should know. Can I have the antidote now?”

“Does he still work out of that old theater?”

“I, uh, think so. Last I heard, he did.”

The Imperial Theater was one of the old downtown Los Angeles movie palaces. For decades most of them had sat unused and decaying, sad reminders of the area’s sparkling past. In recent years, many had been restored to their previous splendor and reopened to the public. Rumors were that the Imperial, too, had been redone, though no one but the invited was allowed inside.

Rachett’s public face was that of a successful businessman who had his hands in a lot of different things — construction, restaurants, real estate, and parking lots. His other face, the one the public doesn’t see, was that of a big-time fixer who meddled in politics, torpedoed rivals, and used whatever means necessary to exert influence on whomever he chose.

Orlando, Daeng, and Ananke were still thirty minutes from downtown when Orlando’s phone rang. On the screen was a single letter: M — Orlando’s shorthand for the Mole.

She hit ACCEPT. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Have you…seen the auction?” he said.

“Auction? What are you talking about?”

“Open…your e-mail.”

She logged on to her laptop and opened the e-mail that had just come in from the Mole. It contained only a link.

After clicking it and reading the page that appeared, she said, “Holy crap.”

Orbits couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that someone had known where he’d taken the girl.

He went over it and over it as they headed south. If someone had found out about his flight from Spokane, the person might have been able to have people in position to follow him when he landed. But he couldn’t see how that was possible. No one had seen him pick up the woman, so how could they have known he’d even gone to Spokane? Maybe they would have eventually figured it out, but he’d have landed and been long gone by then.

After several minutes of mulling it over, his gaze turned to Danielle. There was only one possibility.

Leaning over her, he checked pockets and hems, and patted down her legs and arms. Nothing. He rolled her onto her side and had Parnell hold her there while he searched her back. Still no bug.

He almost gave up, thinking he must have been wrong, when he glanced at her feet. He yanked her shoes off. The tracking chip was underneath the insole of her right shoe. A square hole had been cut into the rubber so it would fit nice and snug.

“Got you,” he said.

He moved up front to the empty passenger seat, rolled down the window, and tossed the chip and both shoes onto the side of the road.

With a laugh, he said, “Whoever you are, you’re out of luck now.”

With Dani’s tracking chip as their guide, Quinn and Nate were able to stay half a mile back as they followed the ambulance.

Quinn had plugged a set of earbuds into his phone to better hear the open line coming from the other vehicle. Unfortunately, what little conversation there had been came from the back of the ambulance, and he could barely make out every third or fourth word.

He leaned forward, concentrating, as a new noise came over the line. It sounded like someone moving around. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what was happening.

Definite movement. Perhaps—

A loud beep in his ear signaled an incoming call.

It was Orlando, so he put the connection with the ambulance on hold, clicked over, and turned off MUTE. “Did you find Winston?”

“We did,” she said. “Did you find Dani?”

“Kind of. They had her in this building but left a little while ago. We’re following.”

“Did you know her new friends just put her on auction?”

Quinn disconnected the earbuds from his phone and switched to speaker so Nate could hear. “Say that again.”

“An auction to buy Dani went live about ten minutes ago.” She filled in what details she knew.

“Any bids yet?” Quinn asked.

“Two were just posted. One for two-point-five million, and the next for four.”

“Does it say anything about how the winner will receive her?”

“No,” she said. “Whoa. First bidder just re-bid. Five million.”

“The ambulance stopped,” Nate said.

“Stopped?” Quinn asked, surprised.

He had pulled a dedicated tracking device out of their kit and propped it in the cup holder. He looked at it. Sure enough, the chip was now stationary. But that didn’t make any sense. They were on the interstate and Quinn and Nate had encountered no sign of slowing traffic.

“I’ve got to go,” he told Orlando, and hung up.

A few seconds later, Nate said, “It’s coming up. Right…about…”

Before he could say “now,” Quinn saw them.

“They found the chip.”

Dani’s shoes were lying on the side of the road, right where the tracking dot had stopped on the display. Though the chip’s loss was unfortunate, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Nate’s phone was still in the ambulance; they could track its location. But because the dedicated tracking device was able to only recognize the signal from homing chips and not from phones, they couldn’t listen in and track the phone at the same time. Still, as long as the others continued to use the ambulance, it would be okay.

Quinn was tempted to have Nate move within visual range, but held off. It turned out to be a smart move when a minute later, the ambulance exited the interstate and randomly worked its way through the local neighborhood before rejoining the main road. Clearly the men had assumed that after ridding themselves of the chip, their pursuers would close in and therefore had attempted to lose them.

Once they were back on the interstate, Quinn had Nate close the gap.

The Imperial Theater was on South Spring, in an area of parking garages, recently converted lofts, and trendy restaurants. It hadn’t always been that way. For decades, most of downtown had played host to only office workers during the day while serving the homeless around the clock. The turn of the century saw the start of a gentrification movement that spit and sputtered for several years before finally beginning to take hold.

The marquee of the Imperial stuck out over the sidewalk like a giant spike. It had been refurbished not long ago but carried no message. The front entrance of the theater was hidden from the street by a wooden wall painted black. Elsewhere such a wall would be covered with posters and graffiti, but this one was not. Orlando knew this had everything to do with who owned the place. No one — not even a wannabe gang member with a spray can — wanted to mess with Thomas Rachett.

“How does one get in?” Ananke asked as they drove by.

“There’s got to be a door off the alley,” Orlando said. With the front walled off and buildings to either side, it was the only option.

“Do we just walk up and knock?”

“No, we don’t just walk up and knock,” Orlando replied, trying to contain her temper. She knew Ananke was only being funny, but Orlando’s sense of humor had a blind spot when it came to the assassin.

She had Daeng pull to the curb a few blocks away, then searched the Internet for info on the building. She turned up old plans from before Rachett had purchased the place. As she studied them, she realized what their choices were.

When she explained what they would have to do, Ananke raised an eyebrow. “So we are going to knock on the door.”

Orlando wanted to punch her in the face.

Two men stood outside the Imperial backstage door — bouncer types, one bald, the other ponytailed, both with more muscles than they would ever need.

They were chatting with each other when Orlando entered the alley, but stopped as they realized she was heading all the way down to them.

When she neared, the ponytailed guy said, “Afternoon, ma’am. Are you lost?”

She stopped and put a hand to her belly. “Whoa. I didn’t expect it to be so hot today.”

“Is there something we can help you with?” Baldy asked.

She took a few steps closer and suddenly leaned forward, panting.

The men moved toward her.

“Are you all right?” Baldy asked, concerned.

“Give me…a second,” she said between breaths.

She stepped past them a few feet and then turned slowly around. The men naturally swiveled to face her, turning their backs to the street entrance, allowing Daeng and Ananke to slip unnoticed into the alley.

“That…was a strong…one,” she said.

“You’re not about to have a baby, are you?” Baldy asked.

“Not supposed to…but…maybe.”

“Maybe I should call nine-one-one,” Ponytail said.

Orlando held up a hand, like she was having another contraction and needed a moment. Finally, she said, “No need to call. It’s not labor.”

Daeng and Ananke each threw an arm around their respective target’s neck and squeezed. Caught off guard, it took the men a moment to react. They twisted side to side, lifting Daeng and Ananke into the air as they attempted to pull the arms from their necks. They would have been more successful if they’d tried to help each other instead, but their instinct for self-preservation was too strong and soon both dropped to the ground, unconscious.

“Wow!” Ananke exclaimed. “That was a ride, wasn’t it? How about it, Daeng? We should wait around until they wake up and do it again.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he said.

Orlando would have liked to extend the bodyguards’ sleep with a little knockout juice, but after dumping the sedative out of two syringes so they could be used on Winston, only one was left and she’d rather keep that one intact, just in case. They settled for dragging the men to the far end of the alley and zip-tying their wrists and ankles.

“That pregnancy act is really working for you,” Ananke told Orlando as they finished up.

“It’s not an act,” Orlando said.

“That’s what so cool about it. Imagine if you get yourself a false belly in the future. It’s the ultimate distraction.”

Orlando ignored her.

The bald guy had a set of keys on him that unlocked the theater door. A series of short hallways brought them to a T-bone intersection. On the wall was a sign that read HOUSE with an arrow pointing to the right, and STAGE with an arrow to the left. Below this was another, subtler sign that read:

Orlando motioned toward the stage, hoping there was a back way to Rachett’s office. They quietly made their way into the wings. A single bulb glowed from a stand on the stage, but it was bright enough for them to get a sense that the whole stage area had been refurbished — vibrant gold curtains, freshly stained floor, and a brand new movie screen waiting to be used.

Orlando peeked around the curtain and furrowed her brow. In place of rows of seats that should have filled the space was an intricate jigsaw puzzle of custom couches and lounges and mattresses, all very high end. At the very back of the room were two sets of emerald green double doors.

Thinking they could cut across, she motioned for Daeng and Ananke to follow her.

“What in God’s name is this?” Ananke whispered as she came around the curtain.

“Quiet,” Orlando said.

Daeng helped Orlando off the stage and into the audience area. She led them around the furniture toward the back doors.

“Does anyone else feel…dirty?” Ananke asked.

Orlando shot a look back at her.

“Sorry,” the assassin said. “I’ll shut up.”

Upon reaching the doors, they heard voices on the other side, at least three people, moving to the left. When the voices faded, Orlando cracked open one of the double doors.

A grand lobby with gold carpet that matched the stage curtains, and at the far left, at the edge of her view, the beginnings of a wide stairway. She closed the door and opened the other half so she could look in the opposite direction. A guard stood ten feet away, his back to her. She eased the door closed, motioned for Daeng and Ananke to stay where they were, and then sneaked over to the other set of double doors. She went through the same routine as with the first set. This time she was able to see that the stairs went up to a second level, where a sign on the wall read:

There were no more guards, however.

Daeng took care of the one guard who was present, manhandling him back into the theater where Orlando injected him with a quarter of the remaining sedative. They then entered the lobby and moved over to the stairs. The second floor curved around the theater so they couldn’t see anything beyond the upper landing. But they could hear voices again.

“So?” Ananke whispered.

Orlando glanced around until she spotted an elevator. “You guys take the stairs. I’ll meet you at the top.”

When Ananke saw what Orlando was looking at, she said, “Unfair. I want to be lazy, too.”

Really, just one punch. Is that too much to ask? Orlando thought as she hurried over to the elevator and climbed into the waiting car.

There was a soft ding before the door opened on the second level. She waited by the elevator until the others joined her, and then they headed around the corner like they were there on business.

The corridor opened up into a larger room that reflected the Hollywood grandeur of the theater’s past. Reds and golds and browns danced through metal and wood and fabric, turning the space into a showpiece that had surely impressed more than a few potential clients.

The reception desk in front was a combination of wood and glass that must have cost tens of thousands of dollars. No receptionist, though. In fact, no one was at any of the desks scattered throughout the room.

“Something’s up,” Orlando whispered. She pulled out her gun.

Seeing Orlando’s weapon, Ananke said, “Finally,” and retrieved her own.

Daeng followed suit.

Several offices were on either side of the open bullpen area. The voices seemed to be coming from an open door along the right and toward the back. Orlando and her team snuck along the wall and stopped a few feet from the open door.

“…back from her?” The voice was male, maybe fifties or sixties.

“I’m sure it won’t be long. A few hours.” Another man, younger.

“Good. I suppose you want me to take care of the disposal arrangements?”

“If it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It won’t be as long as it gets done today. I can’t have this going any longer. I have a big event tomorrow night so I can’t keep my staff off site for another day.”

Orlando cocked her head. My staff? Was the speaker Rachett?

“We understand. The Wolf wanted me to express her appreciation for your help, and told me to let you know she will never forget your hospitality.”

The Wolf. It seemed they were in the right place.

Orlando motioned for Daeng to watch their backs, then raised her gun and led Ananke inside.

The office was huge, with not one but two sitting areas, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and a cruise ship of a desk in the middle. Behind the desk was the unmistakable figure of Thomas Rachett. A second man stood beside him while three others were in front of the desk.

The guy next to Rachett saw them first and started to pull out a gun.

Thup.

The sound had come from Ananke’s weapon, the bullet dropping the man where he stood.

One of the men in front grabbed for his weapon, but it hadn’t even cleared his jacket before Ananke dropped him with a second shot.

She smiled. “Anyone else?” When no one took her up on her offer, she said, “Well, that’s disappointing.”

Orlando looked at the duo in front of the desk. “I’m familiar with Mr. Rachett, but who might you two be?”

“People you would do better to leave alone,” one of them said.

“Oooh. Scary,” Ananke said.

The guy’s buddy, the smaller of the two, piped up. “If you have business with Mr. Rachett, there is no reason for us to stay.”

“I believe our business is with all of you,” Orlando said. “If I’m not mistaken, you represent The Wolf, correct?”

“Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you who we aren’t. We aren’t the ones who kidnapped the director of a United States intelligence organization and have been holding her against her will.”

“Are you with the Agency?” Rachett asked. “Look, we can work this out. I know people who can—”

“You want to work this out? Tell us where Helen Cho is.”

The smaller man narrowed his eyes. “You’re not Agency, are you? I bet you’re just a couple of hired…freelancers out for a quick buck. If it’s cash you want, we can accommodate.”

“Can I kill him?” Ananke asked.

“Not yet,” Orlando said.

“Can I at least hurt him?”

“Be my guest.”

The smaller man smirked. “You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed—” He screamed as a bullet from Ananke’s gun tore through his knee.

“Jesus!” Rachett said.

Orlando locked eyes with him. “Where is she?”

“She’s downstairs!”

“She’s here?” Orlando asked, surprised.

“Yeah. In the playroom.”

“Playroom?”

“It’s-it’s in the basement.”

“Show us.”

While Daeng tied a tourniquet around the shorter man’s leg, Orlando used a portion of the sedative on the man they hadn’t shot. There was no need to waste any on the injured man, as he’d already passed out.

Rachett led Orlando, Daeng, and Ananke to a service elevator behind the stage.

As they traveled down, Orlando said, “How many more men?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

She tapped her gun against his back. “Try again.”

“I’m not sure. At least two, and maybe as many as four.”

When the elevator stopped, the doors opened onto a fairly large room that contained a few pallets of building materials but was otherwise empty.

“Which way?” Orlando asked.

“To the left. There’s a hall. She’s in the last room.”

“The playroom.”

He hesitated and then nodded.

“Are the men with her?”

“How should I know?”

Putting him in front, Orlando held on to his belt loop, her gun still pressed against his back.

As they neared the end of the hallway, a man stepped out of the second-to-last room. “Hey, I was—”

The moment he realized they weren’t his colleagues, he dived back inside.

“Mine,” Ananke said, passing Orlando.

She went low into the room, firing, and returned less than fifteen seconds later.

“Three,” she said. “They won’t bother us.”

The last door had a pictogram on it, depicting a pair of feminine eyes and a seductive smile.

“This is it?” Orlando asked.

“Yes,” Rachett replied.

“Open it.”

The man did as ordered.

Using him as a shield, Orlando scanned the space as they moved in. The playroom was a sexual dungeon, with all manner of contraptions scattered throughout the room, and designed to have multiple guests at the same time. She suddenly realized what kind of movies was shown in the theater upstairs and almost shivered at the thought. Rachett’s private sex club, where he no doubt played the welcoming host while using his guests’ sexual predilections to further his business interests.

Helen was tied to a chair with a bag over her head. No one else was present.

Orlando’s client was only semiconscious when Orlando pulled the bag off her head.

“Hey, wake up.” Orlando gently tapped Helen’s cheeks.

A blink.

“Helen, it’s Orlando.”

Helen slowly turned to her. “Orlando? What…what are you doing…here?”

“Getting you out.” Orlando cut the bindings loose. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Um, I think so.”

Orlando helped her to her feet and held on to her as Helen took a few tentative steps, gaining more confidence with each one.

“Where are we?” Helen asked.

“Los Angeles.”

“How long?”

“You were taken two nights ago.”

As they passed Rachett and Ananke, the man glared at Orlando. “I won’t forget any of this, especially you. I’d watch your back from now on.”

“Daeng,” Orlando called.

Her friend stuck his head into the room.

“Can you take Helen for a moment?” she asked.

Once Daeng had collected the director and escorted her out of the playroom, Orlando stepped over to Rachett.

“I’m afraid you misunderstand your situation. Your life is over. That woman is not some low-level bureaucrat you can crush. She has resources available to her that you can only dream about. You might be thinking that you have friends in some pretty high places that can keep her down, but you’d be wrong. She will pay you back for your part in this. And when she does, you’re going to wish my friend here had killed you already, because at least then you might have had a nice funeral.”

With Ananke’s help, Orlando used the last of the sedative on Rachett, tied him to the chair Helen had been in, pulled the bag over his head, and left.

Having nearly been thwarted in Chicago and then finding the homing beacon on the girl had put Orbits on edge. Before leaving the building in Chicago, his intention had been to hire a plane to take them to Topeka, Kansas — the closest airport to the girl’s GPS coordinates. But as he was reminded after his flight from Spokane, planes could easily be tracked. Now that they’d lost their tail, staying on the road felt like the better option. Besides, Topeka was only eight hours away by car, which meant they could get there not long after midnight.

After tossing the girl’s shoes out the window, he’d stayed in the front passenger seat, staring at the road. It took a while, but around an hour southwest of Chicago, he finally started to relax, his mood helped by the auction heating up. For a while, Donnie called him with updates every five minutes or so, but as the bids began coming in faster and faster, Orbits decided to keep him on the line.

At one point there had been seven participants, but when the price continued to soar, two had fallen by the wayside. Those who remained were playing a feverish game of who would be last on top.

“New bid,” Donnie said, his voice coming through Orbits’s headset. “Fifteen million seven hundred and fifty thousand. That’s a three-million-dollar jump.”

“Who made it?”

“C.”

To participate in the auction, bidders had had to deposit five million in special accounts Donnie had set up. Once this occurred, they were assigned a letter to “maintain anonymity.” In reality, Donnie had collected the information on where each deposit had been transferred from, and already had automated bots working to uncover identities.

Bidder C had entered the auction when the price was sitting at five million. C had made a few incremental bids since then, but this was by far his or her largest jump.

If all stayed to pattern, bidder E would up the ante next, and then the remaining three — A, F, and G — would fight it out over who followed.

The delay seemed unusually long, and Orbits began to think that 15.75 million was going to be the final price. Not that he would complain.

“New bid,” Donnie said. “Sixteen even. Bidder A.”

A? Had they just lost another bidder?

“New bid. Sixteen one. G.” Donnie barely had time to take a breath before saying, “New bid. Seventeen. E.”

Apparently E was still in.

“Damn, Donnie,” Orbits said. “We’re going to hit twenty yet!”

Quinn and Nate could hear only half of the conversation, but it was enough to confirm that those in the ambulance were indeed the ones conducting the auction. Not only that, it sounded like the person in charge was in the vehicle.

Quinn looked at his watch. They’d been on the road for an hour and a half. Not for the first time he wondered where the ambulance was going. They weren’t randomly heading southwest, he was sure of that. If they’d just been trying to get lost, they would have stuck to the city.

No, they had a destination in mind. He wished one of them would say where it was.

“Address confirmed. Texting it to you now.”

“Thank you,” The Wolf said, and hung up.