Chapter 8 Griffin
Griffin
As Lana pulled on her shoes, Griffin peered through the blinds. The pathway between the rows of trailers was empty, the shadows still. Even so, adrenaline clawed up his spine, cold and spiky. “There are four of them, moving through base camp.”
“They woke you?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I was coming back from the beach. Caught myself scanning for photographers, actually, and saw these guys. They’re all in black, and armed—holsters at their waists.”
“Some kind of beefed-up set security, because they think we broke in? Which we … did.”
“In balaclavas? No. No way these guys are here in any official capacity. They’re picking locks, breaking into trailers, keeping to the shadows.
They’re moving quick, not messing around, not rummaging through stuff.
We gotta get away from the trailers. There are better hiding places, like actual catacombs. ”
“Have you called the cops?”
“Wi-fi’s dead. So’s the power. I’m guessing they took it out.”
“Could we head for the gates, alert the guards?”
“Too exposed. You good to go? Leave the backpack—best we travel light.”
She shoved some things in her pockets. They slipped out of the trailer, careful not to clang down the steps.
Nearby, a walkie-talkie crackled, followed by a quiet male voice.
Lana met Griffin’s eye and he jerked his head toward the back of the trailer, where they sheltered behind a wheel.
He felt like his soldier character in The Thunder Protocol.
“Let’s head for the tunnels,” he whispered. “One of them leads to a cave on the beach. From there we can take the coastal path.”
The citadel loomed above them, silhouetted in the moonlight.
What had he gotten himself into? He barely had a conversation with a stranger unless they’d passed a background check, yet here he was, breaking into a trailer with this woman, accessing files he shouldn’t be accessing, and now escaping from some shady people.
Not to mention coming dangerously close to kissing her.
The eastern citadel gate opened noiselessly—the screech in the show was added in post-production—and they slipped onto the set. They headed for the passage within the walls, but a flashlight beam swept past, catching Lana’s legs.
“I got her,” a woman shouted.
Griffin ushered Lana into the passage, as footfalls came at them from two sides.
“Head for the alcove where the costumes are,” he hissed.
Lana turned on her flashlight. As they ran, the beam bounced along the stone walls.
A stronger beam crisscrossed theirs—their pursuers, so close Griffin could hear panting.
They rounded the corner to the alcove, just as a tall figure in head-to-toe black stepped from the shadows, hand hovering over his holster like a spaghetti-western gunslinger.
Lana skidded to a halt and Griffin wheeled around, taking in both the gunslinger and the woman coming up fast behind them.
He put his back to Lana, holding out his arms to shield her.
A light flashed across his eyes, leaving everything else pitch black.
“Get that out of my face,” he snapped. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Shit, that’s Griffin Hart!” the woman said.
“It’s … what?” The guy stepped forward for a closer look. “Oh Jesus!”
Okay, so it wasn’t Griffin they were after.
“Is he in on it? Do we take him too?”
“Hey, calm down,” Griffin said, looking from one to the other, capitalizing on their indecision. “Tell me what’s going on.”
The woman deferred to the man.
“We just want a quiet chat with the girl who’s with you, that’s all,” the man said in a measured tone.
Griffin glanced back. Lana had vanished. The costumes on the rack swayed like they’d swallowed her. Hopefully she knew about the ladder down to the tunnel. Did these guys? The longer Griffin could stall them, the better chance she had to get clear. But where were their two friends?
“Why do you want her?” Griffin said.
“Can’t tell you that. Client confidentiality.”
“You don’t look much like lawyers.” More like private security—bodyguards or something. “You’re telling me you came here at this time of night, dressed like juiced-up carjackers, for a ‘chat’?”
“Believe me, sir, you don’t want to defend this woman. You would not approve of what she’s doing.”
Sir? What were they—ex-cops? Ex-military? If they were professionals, they wouldn’t want the attention—or liability—of messing with someone as high profile as Griffin. “And what is it she’s doing?”
“We can’t say, all right?”
“No, it’s not all right. What’s her name—this woman you’re after?” It couldn’t be Lana, surely—but maybe her sister?
“Again, can’t say.”
“Whatever you’re doing, you just got in way deeper than you bargained for. I suggest you leave. Security will be here any second.” Not that set security would be a match for these guys. They were efficient enough in ejecting a pap or stalker, but not commandos.
The goons glanced at each other. “No, they won’t be,” the man said.
Griffin’s veins flushed cold. “What did you do to the guards?”
“Nothing they’ll remember once they wake up. Sir, this has nothing to do with you. We’re not here to cause trouble.”
“Feels a lot like trouble to me.” And now he sounded like his character from The Thunder Protocol.
“We’re not the bad guys here, okay? She won’t be harmed. No need for you to get involved.”
“I’m already involved. If the woman you’re after is Vivien Fleming, she’s not here.”
“That’s not the information we have.”
“Your information is wrong.” So they were after Vivien—but why now?
“Either way, she’ll be released, and she’ll be fine.”
The gunslinger’s walkie-talkie buzzed. A man’s voice, crackly and cutting out. “We’ve got her.”
Shit. Griffin spun and flung the costumes aside. No Lana. The safety door that led to the ladder was ajar.
“Take her out to the cars,” the gunslinger ordered.
“You’ve got the wrong woman,” Griffin said. “That’s not Vivien.”
The guy eyeballed Griffin as he spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Go without us—we’ll catch up.”
The woman stepped closer, hand hovering over her hip.
“We both know you’re not going to shoot me,” Griffin said with more confidence than he felt. “Hard to explain that to your client.”
“Probably not.” She released the weapon from her holster. “But I am prepared to tase you if it comes to that.”
Griffin glanced at the gunslinger’s holster.
Also a Taser—which could incapacitate Griffin long enough for them to leave with Lana.
He’d used a Taser in Shadow Cop—and his character in You Only Die Twice had been tased.
He’d talked the weapons instructor into tasing him for real so he knew how to act the scene. Not an experience he wanted to repeat.
“That’s the thing,” came the crackly reply. “We’re kinda … lost.”
“You’re shitting me,” the gunslinger said. “Lost?”
“Literally a maze down here. There are freaking skulls. Come on, lady, walk!”
Skulls. That put them in the catacombs, under the acropolis. Griffin edged toward the ladder. He might be outnumbered and outgunned, but he knew the territory, and he’d back himself in a footrace.
“They won’t be real,” said the gunslinger.
“They damn well look real.”
“Well, retrace your steps!”
“We are!”
The woman caught on to where Griffin was headed, and sprang for him, grabbing his arm.
“Don’t touch me,” Griffin ordered. Her resolve wavered, along with her grip. She might well be trained in detaining people, but Griffin brought a curveball to the game. Even a second’s hesitation might be enough. He shook her off, looking to where Lana had disappeared into the wardrobe rack.
As expected, the woman moved, blocking the exit.
He took his chance, sprinting away down the passage, his path weakly marked by glow-in-the-dark tape.
He’d learned some things about tasing—like, it was tough to hit a moving target at a distance, especially in a narrow space where the probes were as likely to strike the walls.
And unlike a gun, it took time to reload. The goons shouted, following.
Griffin reached the southwest citadel tower, skidding into a plastic security barrier. He heaved it up and tossed it behind him. The woman sidestepped. They’d reached a wider space—better for tasing.
She leveled the Taser. “I will use this.”
“Do it and you’ll be jailed for assault.”
“You have no way to identify me.”
Griffin lunged at a candle shelf on the wall and slammed his fist on it, activating a hidden lever.
He leaped to the center of the room. As the Taser popped, he plummeted through the opening trapdoor into the dungeons, landing on the gym mat placed there after Estelle’s fall.
He hauled the mat away, heaved up a metal grate, and ran into the cave, snatching a prop lantern from a wall sconce and switching it on.
As he neared the catacombs, he heard voices.
He slowed, killing the lantern and giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust. The goons’ flashlights created enough of a glow to navigate by.
He rounded a corner, sticking to the shadows.
One man held Lana by the arm. Another, closer to Griffin, was trying to decipher the garbled static coming through the walkie-talkie.
Griffin backed away ten steps, then sprinted forward, building momentum.
He flew at the nearest guy, driving a knee into his solar plexus.
The walkie-talkie skidded across the floor.
As the guy flailed, sucking air, Griffin pivoted and smashed an elbow into his nose.
He lashed out, but it was wild, desperate.
Griffin ducked, swept a leg around and took him out at the ankles. One down.
The goon holding Lana cried out in pain. She was backing down the tunnel, shakily holding a Taser. Her guy was doubled over, clutching his junk. She’d kneed him? He lurched up and lumbered after her.
“Stop or I’ll … shoot … fire … unleash … whatever,” she said.