Chapter 50
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New Geneva
The SDV broke the surface inside New Geneva’s underwater docking bay. Emergency lighting cast harsh shadows across concrete walls. The facility was as Flint had expected. Three submarine berths. Massive pumps cycling water in and out of pressurized chambers.
Flint opened the cockpit. Cold air rushed in. The smell of diesel fuel and machine oil. He climbed out onto the metal dock and helped Drake from the co-pilot seat.
“Shoulder okay?”
“Good enough.” Drake moved normally. The pain medication was holding.
They secured their gear and moved toward the service elevator.
Two security cameras covered the docking area.
Red lights indicated active monitoring. But Flint’s intelligence had been accurate.
The former employee who’d worked here for eight months had described the security protocols.
Night shift reduced monitoring staff, and they prioritized the upper levels over the submarine bay.
Which meant they had ninety seconds before someone noticed the SDV.
The service elevator required a key card. Flint used the electronic bypass device and the lock disengaged with a soft click.
They rode the elevator up in silence. The doors opened onto level six. Here was Cole’s boutique hotel providing all the comforts of palatial homes to his important visitors. Plush carpeting and mahogany walls. Everything a billionaire’s guests would expect.
Flint checked the hallway. Unoccupied. Two security cameras at opposite ends, but they were positioned to watch the main elevator bank, not the service area.
“Guest suites should be this way.”
He led Drake down the corridor past the instantly recognizable art on the walls.
Monet’s water lilies. A Picasso that belonged in the Museum of Modern Art.
Van Gogh’s swirling brushstrokes that Flint had only seen in textbooks.
Cole hoarded masterpieces like trophies.
More wealth hanging on these walls than the annual budget of several countries Flint could name.
Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across hand-carved mahogany paneling. Thick Persian carpet absorbed every footfall, creating an eerie silence that made the place feel like a floating mausoleum.
The first three suites they checked were empty. Flint entered each one quickly, looking for signs of recent occupancy and found none.
The fourth suite was different. Rumpled bedding. Personal items on the nightstand. Flint wondered briefly who and where the occupant was.
“Next floor?” Drake whispered.
“Try the end of the hall first.”
The corner suite was larger than the others. Two bedrooms connected by a sitting area.
Flint heard Jason Fisher’s voice through the door. Low but unmistakable.
He tried the door handle. Locked. He pulled out the electronic bypass device. Seconds later, the mechanism disengaged with a soft click. He opened the door slowly.
Jason Fisher sat in a leather chair by the window, still dressed in the clothes he was wearing when he was abducted. He looked up as Flint entered.
Relief flooded his face. “How did you find me?”
“Long story.” Flint checked the windows. Bulletproof glass. “We’re getting you out of here.”
Lizzy Pace stood in the connecting doorway. She was pale and disheveled but unharmed.
“Let’s go.” Drake was already moving toward the door. “We need to move fast.”
“Wait.” Frankie Tantanella stepped into the room from the hallway.
Drake’s hand moved to draw his weapon. He aimed it directly at Frankie.
“Easy.” Frankie raised both hands, palms out. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Why are you here?” Flint kept his voice level.
“Cole tried to kill Lizzy. She’s my wife.” Frankie’s eyes found Lizzy’s across the room. The look that passed between them was difficult to watch. Naked emotions always were.
“Why should we trust you?” Flint gave him a level stare.
Frankie closed the door. “I know every square inch of this platform. Every guard rotation. Every blind spot. You’ll never get out of here alive without my help.”
Flint studied him for a moment. He had a point and there was no time to argue. “What’s the play?”
“Service stairs to level eight. Helicopter pad is on the north side,” Frankie said. “I can get you there, but Cole will figure out what’s happening soon enough.”
“What’s on level seven?” Flint asked, although he already knew.
“Cole’s penthouse. He occupies the entire floor. You go there, you’ll never get out,” Frankie said flatly.
A loud alarm began sounding throughout New Geneva. Red lights flashed in the hallway.
“Looks like Cole has been alerted.” Drake checked his weapon. “How many security personnel?”
“Two hundred contractors. But most are on levels one through four. The upper levels are lightly patrolled during night shift because Cole’s guests generally have no desire to sneak out in the middle of the night.
Nor do they appreciate being watched.” Frankie moved to the window and looked down at the dark Pacific.
“Cole’s in his penthouse. He’ll mobilize everything he has once he realizes what’s happening. ”
Flint gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”
They left the luxury of level six behind and entered a stairwell that belonged to New Geneva’s working areas. Concrete walls. Metal stairs. Industrial lighting humming with electrical current.
Frankie took the lead up the stairs toward the helipad while holding Lizzy’s hand. Years of working on New Geneva had given him knowledge that no blueprint could provide. He knew which stairs were monitored and which were ignored by the security systems, among other useful intel.
“Level eight access is through the maintenance area,” Frankie said over his shoulder. “Once we’re on the helipad, you’ll be exposed.”
“Pilot arrives shortly,” Flint replied.
Voices echoed from below. Security teams were mobilizing.
They climbed faster.
Drake’s breathing became labored as each step sent fresh pain through his wounded shoulder. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. But he kept pace without complaint.
Frankie stayed close to Lizzy, guiding her up the metal stairs.
The level eight door was reinforced steel. Frankie produced a key card and swiped it through the reader. Red light. No access.
“Cole’s already locked down the system.” Frankie tried the card again. Still red.
“Step aside.” Flint pulled a shaped charge from his pack and pressed it against the reinforced hinges.
The adhesive backing held it in place while he armed the detonator.
“Ten seconds. Get back around the corner. Cover your head.”
They moved into the adjacent corridor as Flint counted down and triggered the charge.
The explosion was sharp and focused, designed to shear metal without bringing down walls.
The blast hit them like a physical blow. Smoke billowed through the corridor, acrid and sharp. But the explosion did the job it was designed to do.