They’d never have time to climb.
Gray passed the tablecloths to Masterson and Elizabeth. He showed them how to bundle them between their hands. “It’s only a short step,” he assured them and pointed to the cables. “Hang tight and brake with your shoes. Try not to make too much noise when you get to the cage below. Wait for us there.”
He got a worried nod from Elizabeth and a roll of the eyes from Masterson. But the gunfire discouraged any dissent. Elizabeth pressed forward first. She reached out with her wrapped hands and leaped to the cables. With a small cry, she slid down the shaft.
Once she disappeared into the gloom, Masterson followed, securing his cane under his pant belt, like a sword in a scabbard. He was tall and long-limbed enough to reach the cables by stretching his arms out.
Down he went.
“Go!” Rosauro called to him. She did not turn but fired two quick shots. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“The elevator latch—”
“Go, Pierce!”
Gray knew better than to argue with a woman…especially one with a gun. He bundled his hands, leaped, and mounted the cable. He slid down with a shout back to Rosauro.
Before he even finished his yell, she appeared at the lip overhead, limned against the brightness. She swung to the service ladder, yanked the inside latch, and closed the elevator doors. Darkness swallowed Gray as he slid down the cable. He felt the line shake as Rosauro joined him.
Gray’s eyes quickly grew accustomed to the gloom. Weak light filtered through each level’s doors. As he slid past the floors, counting them down, he made out the shadowy elevator car below. Two figures huddled together at one corner.
A tiny flicker of flame ignited below.
Elizabeth’s cigarette lighter.
Gray braked his descent and landed lightly atop the elevator.
A moment later, Rosauro dropped next to him.
Gray found the service hatch. He removed his own weapon and opened the hatch enough to peek through. The cage was empty below, the doors closed. He motioned the others to remain on top.
Gripping the edge of the hatchway with one hand, Gray swung down and dropped into a crouch, his weapon up. He reached for the button that opened the doors. He heard shouts and panic coming from the lobby. The gunfire had stirred the sleepy hotel into a beehive.
Just as well.
The chaos could serve them.
Gray hit the button, and the doors parted. He darted out as soon as there was enough space and ducked to the left, where a waist-high planter supported a dwarf palm tree.
The lobby churned and milled with people. Management yelled in both Hindi and English.
Steps away, Gray immediately picked out two people who looked too calm, wearing jackets despite the heat. Hands in pockets. He noted earpieces in place.
They spotted him, too.
But his sudden and unexpected appearance caught them off guard. Despite the crowd, Gray had no choice but to react quickly. A prolonged firefight would only threaten more lives.
With his weapon already raised through the palm leaves, he squeezed the trigger and dropped the first man with a headshot. Pivoting on his toe, he squeezed twice more in rapid succession, knowing his aim was not as fixed. The first shot struck the man’s shoulder, spinning him back. The second went wide and buried itself into the plaster wall.
The gunman fired through the pocket of his jacket, but Gray dropped to the floor as plaster blasted behind him. Lying on his shoulder, arms extended, he fired again, a few inches from the floor. The assailant’s ankle exploded, and he toppled face forward and hit the marble floor hard with his chin, shattering bone. He didn’t move again.
Gray turned to the elevator in time to see the cage doors slip closed.
The bystanders in the lobby, stunned for a breath, emptied in all directions with screams and shouts.
Gray stabbed the button.
Nothing.
He glanced up to the lighted display. The elevator had been called.
It was headed up.
Up toward the gunmen in the rooftop restaurant.
Crouching atop the elevator, Elizabeth heard the lift pulleys engage. With a lurch, the car began to rise. The elevator had been called.
“Mierda…,” Rosauro swore next to her.
Elizabeth stared up to the dark shaft. “What are we going to do?” she asked. She still held her lighter, flickering with a tiny flame. She felt helpless, and she hated how her hands shook.
“You’re going to stay here,” Rosauro said and leaned forward and blew out the flame. “In the dark. Not a word. Not a sound.”
The woman sat on the lip of the hatch, then dropped down into the elevator.
“Close the door,” she called quietly up to them. “But keep it unlocked. Just in case.”
In case of what?
Still, Elizabeth obeyed. She swung the hatch almost closed, holding it ajar with her pinky. Her last sight of Rosauro was as the woman readied her weapon.
Biting back a curse as the elevator lifted away, Gray ran for the stairs. He knocked a few people aside and leaped over a couple huddled low on the stairs, covering their heads. He mounted the stairs three at a time, racing around and around, pausing only long enough to make sure the car hadn’t stopped. If he could get above it and hit the call button, then he could stop the elevator before it reached the roof.
He missed it on the second level and sprinted.
Shouts called from above, deep-throated and brusque. It sounded like the assault team was headed back down. Gray burst onto the third floor to check the elevator and ran smack into a wall—or rather, the human equivalent of it.
Kowalski stood at the elevator bay, finger on the button.
“Gray!” he said, rubbing his stomach. “Ow, what the hell, man?”
The elevator chimed open.
Rosauro leaped out, her pistol pressed into Kowalski’s face.
“Hey!” He bumped back a step.
“You called the elevator?” Gray asked.
“Yeah, I was going up to the restaurant, find out what all the commotion was.”
Gray didn’t know which was Kowalski’s greatest asset: his thickheadedness or his laziness.
“Everybody out!” Gray yelled.
Rosauro was already in motion, helping Elizabeth and Masterson down through the hatch. Gray led them back to the stairs. Kowalski brought up their rear.
Rosauro moved alongside him as they fled down the stairs. “I heard them speaking English. No British accents. American.”
Gray nodded.
Mercenaries from the look of the pair in the lobby.
Still, he pictured the man he’d spotted outside the Museum of American History. With the name badge from the Defense Intelligence Agency. Mapplethorpe. Someone knew they’d be here.