Shadow Pawn, page 4
He’d gone into situations worse prepared than this while in the teams. At least this time no one was actively shooting at him. At least, not yet.
Of course, it hadn’t been an enemy bullet that had ended his career. His own command had handled that just fine on their own.
He drew in a breath to force that tight feeling from his chest and stepped onto the elevator when the doors slid open.
Inside he slipped his card into the slot provided and selected not his own floor, but the one above.
He’d claim ignorance if anyone questioned him snooping around on the wrong floor. Plausible. It would be easy enough for a travel-weary, jet-lagged American to become confused on his first visit here.
In reality, Adam had never been more awake or alert.
The adrenaline surged through his veins, providing the familiar high he hadn’t realized he’d missed until feeling it again now.
It was addictive and until this very moment, he hadn’t noticed how tough his withdrawal had been.
He’d given his feeling of unrest since getting out many names, depending on the day and situation. Depression. Anger. Boredom. Alcoholism. But maybe they’d all been wrong.
Maybe he just missed the action. Needed it, more like. Craved it.
He’d have to see about doing something about that.
Hell, maybe he could teach sky diving or something. Make some good cash and get the rush for free. Lord knew he’d been trained well enough to be able to teach others. What would it take? A certification?
It was an idea. When he got back, he’d look into it.
When he got back…
He reminded himself of all the obstacles between him and home. Such as finding and extricating the woman being held without getting either of them killed or causing an international incident.
But first, he had to identify her room. He eyeballed the doors he casually passed as he continued down the hall.
One door stood out from the rest. An extra lock. The only one like that on the floor. He’d bet his stack of yuan that was where she was.
He glanced up and saw a camera mounted on the ceiling.
As he continued walking, he noticed another one at the other end of the hallway. He’d bet there were enough cameras for the security team to monitor all movement on the floor.
That would make his job harder, but not impossible.
He continued around the corner and toward the stairs, taking them one flight down to his own floor.
A leisurely stroll on that floor allowed him to count and take note of the exact locations and views of each of the cameras, which he figured would be duplicated exactly on the floor above.
There weren’t a lot of blind spots, but there were a few. Enough where he could hang out and observe. Who came and went. What time.
He went to his own room and jotted down all the information he’d gathered.
With every floor possibly being monitored, he’d have to resort to some deception to move her from her room, to the stairs and eventually out of the hotel.
Not a problem. He already had a few ideas. And some additional intel gathering would provide more.
With the energy surging through him and the need to move, Adam headed back out. He had a service floor to investigate. And possibly a uniform and a laundry cart to steal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Angela stared into the toilet and felt the need to vomit. At least she was in the right place for it. But she didn’t.
She swallowed away the feeling in her throat and felt her heart pound.
It hadn’t worked. She’d flushed her tampon bomb down the toilet ten minutes ago and nothing. Not in her room anyway. The toilet didn’t back up, even when she flushed it for the third time.
Had it backed up the pipes in the room below hers?
Did all the toilets even share a common pipe?
She kneeled on the floor and then pressed her ear against the cold tile, trying to listen for any sounds of an overflowing toilet or a distressed hotel guest below.
Nothing.
The hotel bragged about its sound-proof rooms. For once, the product lived up to the advertising. Didn’t it just figure?
With a huff she sat back on her knees and regrouped.
What next? Another tampon bomb—bigger this time?
As frustrating as it was, she couldn’t seem to come up with anything else for a plan.
She wasn’t good at accepting failure. Of course, she hadn’t made it to where she was in business without a few setbacks. But she’d learned from them, improved, honed her skills, pivoted and made it work.
Why couldn’t she do that here?
Because plumbing wasn’t exactly in her skillset. Neither was sabotage.
Dammit, maybe it should be.
Were there courses in basic hands-on life skills? Changing tires. Unclogging toilets. Clogging toilets in hopes of rescue…
If—no, when—she got out of here she was going to investigate. No doubt her executives would be better served by a corporate retreat where they all learned how to do small home or auto repairs, than by the usual golf and spa getaway.
They’d think she was nuts for making the change, of course.
Ask her if she cared. She’d been called worse. All powerful women in business had.
But for now, with no internet and no useful knowledge under her belt, she needed a new plan.
She glanced around her at what was at her disposal there in the bathroom.
An idea struck. At college, her off-campus apartment rental was in an old Victorian-style house. The big clawfoot tub in the bathroom was one of her favorite places to hide and relax and think. But the plug to stop up the tub was long gone when she moved in. She used to wad up a washcloth and shove it in the drain instead when she took a bath.
What if she did the same here? Then she could fill the tub, let it overflow and wait for the water to seep to the room below. They would call the front desk, who would send someone up to check it out. That person should figure out the water was coming from the room above.
Then it would get tricky. The maintenance person would normally come right up in that situation, but would her captors let him?
No. Not with her there in the room. First, they’d send someone who already knew she was captive to check it out.
She’d have to shove the washcloth down deep into the drain so housekeeping—or whoever—wouldn’t readily see it. Then they’d be forced to send a plumber or maintenance person.
It would be doubtful he too would be paid off to keep quiet. So for someone new to come to repair the plumbing, they’d have to remove her from the room and stash her somewhere else. But if she put a note in plastic inside the wash rag, the plumber would find it.
The plan was by no means foolproof. He could just as easily unknowingly turn her note over to her captors.
But maybe, just maybe, he’d take it to the police.
Or—even better—call her company. Tell them she was being held here against her will.
She could include the phone number and the email address of the COO. Lou, her second in command, would know what to do.
Reeling with anticipation, she wrote another note, folded it and sealed it inside the plastic from the trash bag, and wrapped it inside the washcloth, shoving the whole thing deep into the tub drain.
She flipped the handles, turning the water on full force, and watched as the tub began to fill.
Turning, she closed the bathroom door, ran to the bedroom and laid down on the bed, pulling the spare blanket over her.
She’d pretend to be napping, so when they came in to check on the flood, she could claim she’d turned on the tub to fill, laid down and then accidentally fell to sleep.
Perfect. Maybe she had more practical skills than she’d first thought.
Smiling for the first time in weeks, she squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the upcoming commotion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It made Adam nervous when things went too smoothly.
The feeling of the other shoe about to drop was strong as he walked, unobserved, through the underground service level of the hotel.
Security might be tight in some areas, but not in the employee locker room. The door was unlocked, and once he was inside, he had his pick of lockers filled with uniforms to choose from.
He found one that would fit him well enough and shoved it into his backpack.
An employee was coming into the locker room just as he was leaving.
Acting like he belonged there, Adam bobbed his head in greeting and then accidentally—on purpose—bumped into the man. Hard.
He’d studied on the plane. Basic phrases in Chinese. Luckily, sorry was one of them.
While apologizing profusely and helping to right the smaller man who’d almost been knocked off his feet, Adam managed to unhook his key card.
With any luck, it was a master key that would get him into the hostage’s room. Of course, it was also likely no employees’ cards would allow access, save for the one or two who knew about the American woman being held in the luxury hotel against her will.
Either way, it was time to get out of there.
With one more bow and apology, Adam left and made a beeline for the linen room he’d scoped out earlier.
He slipped inside, hiding amid the rows and rows of shelving and stacks of laundry bags.
Adam hid there, putting on the stolen uniform while listening and waiting to see if the man would notice his missing key card and raise the alarm.
The employee might instead assume he’d dropped it somewhere and go searching. Then report it missing. In which case, the card would be disabled, rendering it useless when he was issued a new one.
The best case scenario would be if the man was at the end of his shift, didn’t notice the missing card at all and just went home.
With all those variables at play, time was of the essence. He had to move.
Dressed in the uniform over his own clothes, Adam stashed his backpack under a towel inside a partially filled laundry cart and wheeled it out of the room.
Acting like he had every right to be there, he set a brisk but not hurried pace down the hall and toward the service elevator. Inside, he inserted the stolen card into the slot and pushed the button for the top floor.
He wished the uniform had included a hat. It hadn’t, so he made do with keeping his head down low as he pushed the cart beneath the security cameras.
Moving past her room, he stopped at a door farther down the hall. It would look too suspicious if he went directly to her room.
As far as he could tell, the hotel was operating normally, except for the hostage being held in the one room.
If he acted like it was business as usual, maybe whoever was monitoring the cameras wouldn’t notice.
He’d searched how to say the words for dirty laundry as well. Hoping that had prepared him enough, he pressed the bell located next to the doorway. Apparently, fancy modern hotels in China had doorbells on their rooms. Go figure.
When no one answered, he knocked instead. Again, no answer, so he pulled out the stolen key card and held his breath as he slid it into the slot. The light turned green and he heard the lock slide.
Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he ran quickly inside, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wadded it up and tossed it in the cart in the hall.
Nothing to see here. Just picking up dirty towels.
The door latched shut behind him as he made his way down the hall to the next doorway. This one had a Do Not Disturb sign—written in multiple languages—hanging on the handle and that morning’s newspaper still by the door.
He bypassed the door—like a good employee would—which brought him to the door. Her door. The door that could possibly rain down hell upon him.
Only one way to find out.
He’d done some shopping before checking in to the hotel. Weapon shopping.
There was a knife in each of his work boots, both purchased for cash after a quick inquiry at the marketplace he’d visited after arriving. And while he’d been there, the helpful salesperson had showed him a taser, which he’d also picked up with some of his yuan.
Then there was the acquisition he was most proud of—the handgun at the small of his back.
He’d ordered it, plus bullets, online before he’d left home and had it shipped to the box he’d rented for the month online. Apparently mailbox rentals were readily available to accommodate businesses who wanted a Shanghai address without having an actual office.
It was as simple as swinging by to pick up the package being held for him. As the internet article he’d found, Buying Guns Online in China is Easy, had explained, it really was easy.
Now that he was armed, he might have a chance of getting himself and this woman out alive.
Angela Lewis—Charley had finally supplied a name right before he’d boarded the flight. That was who he’d be rescuing…unless his ringing the bell at this door alerted someone who could call in the dogs.
Braced for anything, he raised his hand and pressed the buzzer. He heard the faintest movement inside. Then the barest sound, like muffled words. As if she was talking but the sound couldn’t get through the door and walls.
He knocked instead. Someone inside knocked back.
Soundproof room.
Was that a modification to her room or hotel-wide? It didn’t matter. But what else might have been modified did matter.
He swept his gaze over the locks. There was that extra one. A deadbolt on the outside of the door that required a key.
Of course there was. Because if she weren’t locked in, she could just let herself out and go screaming down the hall.
Definitely a fire code violation, but barring a floor-by-floor, door-by-door inspection by the fire marshal, it was doubtful anyone would notice except for him. But it did present an added difficulty. One he would have rather avoided while under the watchful eye of the cameras.
Some things couldn’t be helped. He reached into the laundry basket and slid his lock pick set out of the outside pocket of his backpack.
Blocking the view of the cameras with his body, he picked the lock in about as little time as it would have taken him to open the door with the key. Then he tried the key card. It didn’t turn green. The light remained firmly red.
Fuck.
CHAPTER NINE
Adam rang the hotel room’s doorbell again.
If the deadbolt was the only thing holding her in, if she tried opening the door from the inside, it should open.
Would she figure out to try? He didn’t want to yell it to her through the door. That would attract too much attention. As it was he’d been at this door for far too long.
He doubted she knew morse code, so tapping out a message on the door wouldn’t work—
His thoughts were interrupted at the sound of the doorknob, then the door opened.
Her eyes were wide, huge in the face he’d stared at in the photo for so long while preparing for this mission.
She looked as surprised by the open door as he was. After being held here for weeks, he didn’t blame her.
He couldn’t walk her down the hall, nor could he hide her inside the laundry bin while in view of the security cameras.
“May I come in?” he asked.
She hesitated and then backed up and let him come inside with the cart.
His gaze slid over her. He told himself he was checking if she was dressed appropriately for going outdoors and not checking out her lush curves.
It was a legitimate concern. A woman in pajamas would attract attention outside.
Luckily, she was wearing tight flared-leg yoga pants, with sneakers and a snug little tank-top. Not his fault if he noticed her curves as he planned their escape into the streets of Shanghai. He had a hoodie in his backpack she could put on over her tiny top. Good enough.
He glanced around the room, counting how many devices mounted on the ceiling and walls might contain cameras. Too many.
“Come into the bathroom. Um, because that’s where the, uh, clogged tub is,” she said.
Her tone seemed calm on the surface, but he saw her nerves raging just beneath.
Her words were odd though. What clogged tub?
Was it just an excuse to get him into the bathroom because she was telling him that was the one camera-free zone?
That guess was good enough for him. He nodded and pushed the cart ahead of him, toward the way she’d indicated.
He moved awkwardly through the bedroom door and stopped just short of the closed door he assumed was the bathroom.
She ran ahead to open the door and stopped in the doorway.
“It didn’t overflow.” Her eyes were wide with what looked like fear when she glanced back at him after those whispered words.
He glanced past her to see what she was talking about. The tub was filled to the overflow as water continued to pour full force from the faucet.
There was no time for chit chat about the tub, but for some reason she suddenly looked unsure. Frightened. Of him.
Walking around the cart, he motioned for her to move farther into the bathroom so he could pull the cart in after them. When he turned back to glance at her, he saw her expression of sheer terror.
The last thing he wanted was for her to start screaming. He pressed a finger to his lips to indicate she should be quiet before mouthing, “I’m getting you out of here.”
Her mouth dropped open before she closed it and then nodded.
He leaned down to turn off the flow as the water sloshed out the overflow. “I’ll get these wet towels out of your way,” he said loudly.
Motioning to her to come closer with one finger, he pointed toward the laundry cart.
Understanding his meaning, she nodded and planted both hands on the edge of the cart, frowning at the height of the sides.
Closing his hands around her waist from behind, he ignored how long it had been since he’d had a woman’s body beneath his palms and lifted as she swung her legs into the basket.
