Chapter 6 - THE BOY IN THE SERVICE ELEVATOR
“Close every gate,” Gabriel ordered. “Nobody leaves this building.”
His voice carried down the hospital corridor.
Within seconds, guards were running toward the stairs.
Pierce began checking security feeds.
Gabriel moved so quickly that I barely managed to call after him.
“Gabriel!”
He stopped.
“Find Leo,” I said. “Don't chase the men. Find Leo first.”
For a moment, his eyes met mine.
Then he nodded.
“Stay with Dr. Keene.”
I hated that instruction.
But I hated the thought of another person needing medical care because of me even more.
Dr. Keene pushed my wheelchair back toward my room.
I resisted.
“Please. The cameras.”
“Clara, you've barely recovered from major surgery.”
“I know.”
Pain burned through my shoulder.
But Leo was somewhere in the building with men who had already tried to kill him.
“I know the way he thinks,” I whispered. “Please.”
Dr. Keene hesitated.
Then she turned the wheelchair toward the security office.
Inside, Pierce's assistant was examining video feeds from six floors.
The south service elevator had stopped between the second and third floors.
Its emergency signal was flashing.
“Why isn't it moving?” I asked.
The assistant checked the screen.
“Someone activated the manual hold. Maintenance is working on it.”
“Is anyone inside?”
“We can't see. That elevator doesn't have an interior camera.”
I stared at the empty image.
Then I noticed something.
A small figure had appeared on the hallway recording moments before the elevator closed.
Leo.
Beside him stood a man wearing green medical scrubs.
The man held something in his hand.
I leaned forward.
“Stop.”
The assistant froze the recording.
“Zoom in.”
He enlarged the image.
The man was holding a wooden train.
Not Leo's favorite engine.
A newer one.
Bright red.
Cheap.
The kind sold in hospital gift shops.
My stomach tightened.
“He told Leo there was something wrong with his train.”
The assistant looked at me.
“What?”
“Leo would follow someone if he thought his favorite engine needed fixing. Especially if they said I needed him.”
I remembered the small voice asking whether I hurt.
The man in the video bent down.
Leo appeared to hesitate.
Then the man pointed toward the elevator.
“He's frightened,” I whispered. “Look at his hands.”
Leo was pulling at his pajama sleeve.
The same thing he'd done when Gabriel asked about the car fire.
I turned to Pierce's assistant.
“Can you let Gabriel hear me?”
He handed me the radio.
My hands trembled.
“Gabriel. It's Clara.”
Static crackled.
“Talk to me.”
“Leo was taken into the south service elevator. The man has a red wooden train. I think he told Leo it was from me.”
“We're at the elevator now.”
“Don't force the doors without telling him first. He'll be terrified.”
A pause.
Then Gabriel answered.
“All right.”
I heard him speak through the radio.
“Leo? Buddy, it's Daddy.”
Nothing.
“I'm right here.”
Silence stretched.
Then, very faintly, a child's voice came through another guard's microphone.
“Daddy?”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I'm here, son.”
“Bad man.”
Gabriel's voice changed.
“Is he hurting you?”
No answer.
Then a man's voice shouted something we couldn't understand.
A metal clang followed.
Pierce's assistant reached for his radio.
“Maintenance says the emergency hold has been released.”
The elevator began moving.
Downward.
Toward the loading dock.
Gabriel cursed.
“Stop that car!”
But I was already looking at the screen.
The elevator wasn't descending normally.
It was being manually controlled from inside.
I thought about the wooden train Leo had kept beside me.
The tiny hidden compartment.
How carefully he guarded things his mother had told him to protect.
And suddenly I understood.
“Gabriel,” I said into the radio, “tell Leo to sit down.”
“What?”
“Tell him to sit on the floor and cover his head.”
Gabriel didn't question me.
“Leo, sit down, buddy. Right now.”
Through the open radio, I heard a small thump.
Then Gabriel shouted, “Now!”
A sharp metallic crash filled the corridor.
Pierce's men forced open the landing doors just as the elevator reached the ground floor.
Someone screamed.
I watched the security monitor.
Three guards rushed forward.
A man in green scrubs stumbled out, holding a small pistol.
One guard struck his wrist.
The weapon fell.
Another pinned him against the wall.
And then Gabriel appeared.
He pushed past everyone and dropped to his knees inside the elevator.
For one terrible second, I couldn't see Leo.
Then Gabriel stood.
His son was in his arms.
Alive.
Leo buried his face against his father's neck.
I covered my mouth.
Only when the assistant told me the boy was safe did I realize I was crying.
Mrs. Gable regained consciousness an hour later.
She had a concussion and bruising but no serious internal injuries.
The man who tried to take Leo was identified as a private security contractor hired through a shell company.
Its payments came from an account linked to Victor Sloane.
This time, there was no innocent explanation for the connection.
Gabriel returned to my room carrying Leo.
The child refused to release his father's shirt.
“Miss Clara,” he whispered.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
He leaned toward me.
Gabriel helped him onto the chair.
Leo touched my good hand.
“I was brave.”
“You were very brave.”
“Daddy came.”
I looked at Gabriel.
His face was drawn, but there was something different about him.
He wasn't staring at the guards or demanding punishment.
He was looking at his son.
“Yes,” I said softly. “Daddy came.”
Leo nodded.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small silver object.
A whistle shaped like a train.
Gabriel stared at it.
“Where did you get that?”
“The man had it.”
“Did he give it to you?”
Leo shook his head.
“It fell.”
Gabriel took the whistle carefully.
His expression changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Elena had one like this.”
He turned it over.
On the underside were two tiny engraved initials.
E.R.
Elena Rossi.
Gabriel sat down heavily.
“My wife wore this on a chain. Leo used to blow it when he was little.”
I looked at the whistle.
Three years after Elena's death, someone connected to Victor had been carrying a personal object that belonged to her.
“Maybe Victor kept it after the accident,” I said.
“Maybe.”
But Gabriel didn't sound convinced.
He examined the whistle more closely.
A small scratch ran along its side.
Then he pressed the mouthpiece.
It moved.
The whistle separated into two pieces.
Inside was a narrow roll of paper.
Leo leaned forward.
“Mommy's tiny paper.”
Gabriel unrolled it.
The paper contained a handwritten list of truck identification numbers, dates, and medical shipment codes.
At the bottom was a name.
Nina Alvarez.
The little girl who had nearly died when St. Anne's ran out of essential medication.
Gabriel stared at it.
Then he looked toward Pierce, who had just entered.
“Get the original freight records for warehouse W-17.”
Pierce's expression darkened.
“We've already tried.”
“What happened?”
“The facility is being cleared tomorrow morning. All remaining shipments and records are scheduled for destruction under an old disposal authorization.”
Gabriel stood.
“Cancel it.”
“I can't. The authorization was transferred to a private contractor yesterday.”
“Then find out who's behind it.”
Pierce hesitated.
“We did.”
I felt a sudden chill.
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Pierce looked at the silver whistle in his hand.
“Victor Sloane signed the disposal order.”
He placed the document on the table.
“Everything inside that warehouse will be gone by eight tomorrow morning.”
Gabriel read the order.
Then he looked at me.
“Elena kept this evidence for a reason.”
I nodded.
“And Victor knows exactly what it could prove.”
Outside my window, the first snow of the season began falling.
May you like
Somewhere along the Hudson River, a warehouse full of answers was being prepared for destruction.
And we had less than twenty-four hours to stop it.
