CHAPTER 22 #2
Annoyed, I spin around and take in the room. There’s a surveillance desk with three monitors showing disabled security feeds, a huge leather couch, a TV with a gaming console, a ping-pong table, a first aid kit, a bar, and a mini-fridge in the corner.
I am going to murder him.
I am going to find a way out of this super cool man cave, and I am going to skin him alive.
I pace back and forth like a caged animal, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The sheer frustration is suffocating. They are out there right now, packing into the SUVs, driving toward their possible deaths, and I’m locked in a box like a helpless child.
BZZT! BZZT!
I take out my phone to see who is calling, and I see Zara’s name on the screen.
I glance at the top corner of the screen. Five full bars of cellular service.
Oh, thank God. I have a signal here.
I swipe the screen and press the phone to my ear. “Zara!”
“Ollie!” Her voice crackles through the speaker, panicked and breathless. “Oh, thank God you picked up. I just heard about your father on the news. Ollie, I am so, so sorry. What the hell is happening? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Zara, but everything is going to hell,” I say, my eyes scanning the room as I talk. “Rafael killed him. He’s taking over the entire operation at the Hamptons estate, and the Harknetts are on their way there right now to a freaking shoot-out.”
“What?! Where are you?”
“I’m at the Harknetts’ HQ.”
“Why do you sound like you’re inside a tin can?”
“Because Damián is an overprotective lunatic who threw me inside a secret security bunker!”
As I pace, my eyes track up the wall, stopping near the ceiling layout. High up in the top right corner, right at the left of the surveillance desk, is a small rectangular ventilation grate.
I burst out laughing.
“Don’t tell me you’re losing your marbles?”
“My marbles are fine.” I climb onto the desk and check the vent; it has flat-headed screws with a dented line in the middle. “And I think I just found a way out.”
“How?”
“There is an air vent.” I climb down and start looking everywhere to get something I can use to remove those screws.
“An air vent? You are kidding, right?” Zara laughs sarcastically. “Ollie, your boyfriend is a professional spy. You really think the escape route from their bunker is an air vent?”
“Yes.”
“That’s dumb.”
“It’s perfect because it is dumb.” I look around the TV for anything that could fit into the screw, but there is nothing.
“It’s still dumb, Ollie.”
“Zara, they built this to stop people from coming in, not to keep people in.” I check around the desk… nothing. “Besides, seven of the eight Harknetts are the size of a fridge, and Tae hates climbing, so I would assume they think no one could fit there.”
“And you can?”
“Baby, I have the bone structure of Timothée Chalamet; I can fit fucking anywhere… If I manage to open it.” I go to the bar, and I see a bottle opener, but it’s too thick and curved to fit in the screw’s dent.
Damn it, if only I could— I gasp as I see a bottle of red wine with a screw cap.
“What?!” Zara asks at my sudden gasp.
“I’m drunk MacGyvering the crap out of this damn vent,” I laugh, as I run to the wine rack, take the bottle, and screw it open.
“You are Mac-what?”
“I am turning the wine’s cap into a screwdriver,” I explain as I step on the cap, folding it in half with my weight.
I lift it to check that the aluminum folded almost perfectly, so I start stomping on it until I create a line that’s thin enough to fit, while strong enough to turn.
I check it, and it is perfect.
Let this work… let this work…
I chug a bit of the wine, climb onto the desk, use my super invention to open the screws, and… Yay! It works!
Feeling victorious, I undo the rest. The moment the final screw turns, the grate falls forward, but I catch it with my left hand and toss it onto the couch below.
I then stretch my arms to the vent, and sure, I do reach, but I realize there is no way I will be able to pull myself up and climb there.
I decide to go for the leather cushions; they flatten down a lot.
Mmmm… I need something with a sturdier structure.
I look around, and I see the mini-fridge.
Okay, let’s do this.
“What’s happening now?” Zara asks.
I put the phone on speaker, leave it on the desk, and unplug the mini-fridge.
“I managed to open the vent, but it’s too high for me to climb into.”
I push the mini-fridge, and it scrapes on the floor, making it sound like a hyena with a cough is chasing me.
“Arrggghhhh!”
“What is that horrible noise, Oliver? Are you dying?” Zara yells into the phone.
“I’m working!” I pant, lifting the mini-fridge onto the desk.
“And is it working?”
“Let me check…” I say, scooping the phone back up, shoving it into my pocket, and getting ready to climb my masterpiece. But then I stop… “Ah, Zara?”
“Yes?”
“If you hear a loud bang and then nothing else… please send an ambulance.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll even ask them to take pictures of you on the floor.”
“Wow, thanks,” I laugh, grabbing the edge of the refrigerator, planting my foot on the door handle, and hoisting myself up.
I grab the edges of the aluminum ductwork, pull myself upward, kicking my legs in midair, and wiggle my torso into the tight opening. The metal groans and flexes beneath my body, scraping against my hips, but I force myself forward until my legs clear the room.
Oh, my God!
“I’m in!”
“Do you want me to call the cops or someone to go get you out of a stuck vent?”
“Absolutely not,” I tell her as I crawl down the vent, taking a right into a new connecting duct. “I want all free personnel to be able to go help them.”
“Okay, what’s the plan now?”
“Find the vent exit to a room that’s not locked up.”
“Didn’t you have to unscrew it?”
“I don’t know, I’ll kick it.”
I shift my weight to the left, preparing to slide down into the next shaft, but—
CRACK!
The support bracket beneath the ductwork snaps.
“Whoa—!” I yell.
The entire section of the aluminum floor gives way beneath me. I drop straight down through the ceiling tiles in an explosion of white plaster and dust.
The impact knocks the wind right out of my lungs, sending a cloud of flour and sugar into the air and making me cough.
“Ouch…”
“Ollie! Ollie, what happened?!” Zara screams through the phone.
I lie flat on my back for a second, staring up at the gaping hole in the ceiling, waving my hand to clear the thick white powder drifting through the air. I sit up, rubbing my aching shoulder, and grope around the dark room until my fingers wrap back around my phone.
“I’m okay,” I wheeze, coughing up a bunch of dust. “I fell through the ceiling, and now I am covered in white dust.”
“Are you in a cocaine room?”
“I’m at the Harknetts’ HQ, not at my family’s estate,” I grunt with pain as I shift on the floor. “They don’t have a cocaine room.”
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt, turn on the flashlight on my phone, and look around the room. It’s a narrow, windowless pantry lined with long wooden shelves. The shelves are completely stacked with jars of coffee beans, boxes of tea, and dozens of organized containers.
Oh, shit…
Please be a cocaine room, please be a cocaine room…
I bend down, checking the label on a cardboard box right next to my knee.
Ginger cookies.
I’m screwed.
“Zara, I just destroyed their most sacred room… the fika storage room,” I say, and Zara bursts out laughing.
“What did you do?”
“Me? It was a structural failure,” I protest, pushing myself up to my feet and brushing the white dust off my pants. “Great… Now I’m leaving a trail.”
“Well, clean up because Kaleo just texted me. He is getting the boat ready to take us to the Hamptons.”
“Thank you, Zara.”
“If you want my thanks, you’d better bring those ginger cookie boxes with you.”
Of course Zara would want a box. She’s been obsessed with them since Damián gifted her one as a thanks for getting us back together.
“I’m not stealing one of Leif’s Pepparkakor boxes. He will hunt me down and offer me to Odin as a sacrifice.”
“Well… you can always find a taxi willing to drive you to a cartel war zone.”
“Fine, you extortionist.” I look down at the mess, take a red box full of cookies, and leave the storage room.
I step out onto a floor full of hallways and doors, and walk until I find the elevators.
“I am at the elevators now.”
“Good. I am already parked outside the building.”
DING!
I get into the elevator, turn, and—“What the fuck?!”
“What now?” Zara asks. “Is there a gang of crocodiles you need to fight against?”
“Almost… The elevator doesn’t have normal buttons.”
“What do you mean?”
“This thing has like twenty silver buttons, glowing runes, numeric keypads, and weird custom switches.”
“Oh man!” she laughs. “Why am I not there with you?”
“To see me suffer?”
“Yes, but also see the elevator panel.”
“I can fix that.” I take a picture of the elevator’s panel and send it to Zara. “Check your phone.”
“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” she hums, probably studying every inch of that picture, trying to see what I couldn’t. “Press the one in the middle.”
“Seriously? That’s so dumb.”
“What? You said it yourself, they built the building to stop people from coming in, not to keep people in.”
True…
Without anything to lose, I press the silver button at the center of the console, and the elevator moves.
“It’s moving!”
“Now let’s see where it takes you.”
“Hopefully to the damn lobby,” I say into the phone.
“Careful,” Zara warns. “Don’t anger the shitty-luck angels.”
DING.
The doors slide open, revealing the ground floor.
Thank God!
I sprint out into the lobby, but freeze when I see a silver-haired woman blocking my path. She stands there armed with a pack of baby wipes and a 9mm gun.
I blink, super confused, unsure whether to run or drop the cookies.
“Hi, Oliver. I’m Mrs. Evelyn, the receptionist,” she says, offering me the baby wipes. “Take these. You look like you just fought a horde of Sugar Plum Fairies.”
I take the wipes and stare at her completely bewildered. “How did you—”
“I see everything.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Evelyn.”