Ahead in the distance a handful of servants and maids could be seen running about, though the house was almost silent. Thorn took the lead, going forward with Nio behind him. Moving slowly, he peeked into every room he passed, clearing it before heading on. Even without the guns in his hands and the adrenaline in his system the task was simple, all of the rooms void of life, most not containing a stick of furniture.
It was apparent within minutes that the place was more a headquarters than a residence.
Five tense minutes passed as Thorn led them from the front door toward a circular main foyer in the middle of the house. Behind them the front door was left open, the occasional burst of light or sound drifting through. Ignoring them, Thorn honed his focus in on their immediate surroundings, waiting for a surprise attack, checking each doorway for a trip wire that never appeared.
By the time they reached the foyer Thorn could feel moisture dripping along the nape of his neck, the heavy Kevlar vest saturating his shirt. Ignoring the burn of sweat reaching his eyes, he pushed out into the open space, an epicenter for the entire mansion around them. Stretched more than fifty feet across, it was adorned with only a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a series of hallways shooting in various directions around it.
“Smoke,” Thorn said, the first word either had uttered since entering.
Pausing, Nio sniffed at the air, his gaze darting about. “Where?”
Without answering Thorn pinched his eyes tight, swinging his gaze around. It took him almost thirty seconds to find it, just the slightest tendril of white easing its way from a ridge in the wall, working up toward the vaulted ceiling above.
Following it down he was able to decipher the hidden stairwell positioned between two hallways, the walls and décor blended to hide any trace of its presence.
“Stairs,” Thorn said, pushing forward. In his left hand he carried the Glock, his finger inside the trigger guard, weapon extended before him. In his right he gripped the barrel of the shotgun, carrying it like a baseball bat by his side.
At the bottom of the stairwell Thorn stopped, seeing the smoke grow thicker as it continued drifting upward, a hanging tapestry stifling most of the flow. In another life approaching such a scenario would have been a job for multiple people, an advance team with men behind to cover his rear. Given neither, he took the stairs two at a time, stopping just below the top and using the butt of the shotgun to peel back the curtain separating him from whatever lay inside.
A thick billow of smoke poured out as he kept himself pressed low to the ground, the caustic scent burning his nose. Little by little the initial plume thinned down as Thorn left the shotgun lying in place and crept inside, the Glock still stretched out before him.
The room was small, much smaller than any of the others he had cleared since being inside. A large desk dominated the space, a vast bank of monitors and electronics covering the back wall. The smoke seemed to emanate from somewhere in the sea of gadgetry, though Thorn couldn’t determine where.
Two leather armchairs sat across from the spread, the walls devoid of any signs of life. The only other item of any note was a silver door along the side, an array of buttons along the side of it demarcating it as a private elevator.
“Shit,” Thorn mumbled, rising to full height and pushing the tapestry aside. A burst of fresh air passed over his skin as most of the smoke filtered out, Nio standing just a few steps below.
“Iggy?”
“No,” Thorn said, shaking his head. “We just missed whoever was here. Looks like they initiated a self-destruct.”
“Shit,” Nio echoed, stepping into the room and looking around.
“Stay here,” Thorn said, “see what you can do with all this. I’ll go find her.”
At the sound of the words Nio’s hand shot out, his brown fingers offset against Thorn’s black shirt. They squeezed tight and pulled Thorn back an inch, Nio leaning in tight.
“No way in hell. I’m here for her, that’s it.”
Glancing down at the hand on his arm long enough to make a point, Thorn stared back at Nio. “We have two objectives here and limited time. I can’t do them both and I’m better at one than the other.
“You stay here. I’ll go find her.”
The words weren’t issued as a threat, though Thorn made sure his intent was clear. Given the choice between a bank of smoking circuitry and a hostage situation, he was much better suited for going on the hunt. That was true even in normal circumstances, the adrenaline surging through him only exacerbating it.
The hand remained on his arm another moment before being released, Nio giving him a light shove forward. “Do not come back here without my sister.”
The words still hung in the air as Thorn took up the shotgun and bounded down the stairs, the tapestry swinging back into place behind him. His feet touched down only twice before he was back on the main floor, jogging out into the center of the room and staring in every direction.
Despite having spent hours staring down at the layout of the grounds, he had no indication of where anything inside the home was located. The hallways were too many, the options too vast, for him to ever decipher it on his own. Instead he stood in place and turned in a slow circle, making two full revolutions before finding what he was looking for.
“Hey! Wait!”
At the opposite end of one of the hallways were two people, a man and woman, both dressed in black. The woman stared in abject fear as he bounded down the hall at them, the man beside her tugging in earnest on her arm.
“Wait!” Thorn repeated, the word sounding more harsh than intended, reverberating down the hall as he sprinted forward.
In front of him the couple pushed on for the door on the opposite end, the man urging his wife forward. Thorn continued to run as hard as he could, watching as they reached the door and began to peel it back before raising the Glock and putting a pair of rounds into it. Splinters of wood sprayed back into the man’s face as they both stopped, the woman pushing out a shrill scream. Both of her hands shot up to either side as she went rigid, her voice a yelp as she managed, “Please, don’t shoot!”
The man by her side turned, his cheeks flushed, disgust on his face. “For Christ’s sakes man, we’re unarmed. We only work here!”
Matching the expression, Thorn slowed to a walk, closing the last few feet between them. “I’m not going to shoot you.”
The man’s visage made it apparent he didn’t believe a word Thorn said, though he remained silent. Tears pooled beneath the woman’s eyes as she continued to stare at the guns in Thorn’s hands and said, “Please, we haven’t done anything.”
Ignoring the comment, Thorn drew in a deep lungful of air, slowing the breathing in his chest. “If somebody were being kept prisoner here, where would they be?”
The question seemed to catch both unawares, each staring at him as if he were crazy.
“Please,” Thorn said, focusing on the man. “I don’t have time to explain. The Asian guy, with the fedora, where would he hide someone?”
“You mean Ling?” the woman asked, raising a hand to her chest, a trace of fear crossing her features.
“Yes, Ling,” Thorn said, saying the name out loud to cement it in his mind. “If he had a prisoner, where would he take her?”
It was clear from the posture both took that they were familiar with Ling and the work he did. It was also quite apparent that they had seen it firsthand, their entire stance shifting at the mention of his name.
“He’s not here, he’ll never know,” Thorn said, not sure if either statement was true but needing to put them at ease. If there was any hope at him extracting the information it had to come now, while there was still some bit of time remaining.
“Couple days ago,” the woman said, glancing to the man by her side before lowering her voice to a whisper, “one of the other maids said she saw Ling carrying a young girl in a bikini. I didn’t think it was true though.”
Thorn waited a moment for her to continue, and when no words es
caped, prompted, “Where?”
Once more the two exchanged a doleful look, the woman leaning forward at the waist and burying her face in the man’s chest. On reflex, the man reached up and wrapped an arm around her head, his fingers laced through her hair.
“There’s an underground tunnel system two halls over,” he said. “I’ve never been there, none of us have, but we’ve all heard rumors.
“If she’s here, she’s down there.”
Chapter Fifty-Two