Chapter 3 - THE FRIEND WHO KNEW TOO MUCHI nearly fell from the ladder.
My foot slipped off the metal rung. My shoulder slammed against the shaft, sending a dull echo through the wall.
Outside, Sophie’s head snapped toward the grate.
“What was that?”
Ethan raised his weapon.
I held my breath.
Dominic’s voice came quietly through my earpiece.
“Claire?”
I could not answer without being heard.
I pressed the communication button twice—the signal we had agreed would mean danger.
Footsteps approached the shaft.
The grate moved.
I climbed down as quickly as I could, but my sleeve caught on a broken bolt. Fabric tore. I pulled free just as Ethan yanked the grate open above me.
Light poured into the shaft.
“There!”
A bullet struck the ladder beside my hand.
I dropped.
Dominic caught me at the bottom.
The force drove both of us to the floor. Pain shot through my ankle, but he was already dragging me behind the stone wall as more bullets ricocheted through the shaft.
“You were supposed to come back,” he said.
“My friend wasn’t tied up.”
His eyes sharpened.
“She had a gun. She was talking to Ethan.”
Dominic turned toward Marco. “Secondary route.”
“There is an old ventilation corridor thirty yards east.”
A metal canister dropped through the shaft.
Dominic saw it first.
“Move!”
He threw himself over me as the canister exploded.
The blast was small but deafening. Dust filled the tunnel. My ears rang, and for several seconds I could hear nothing except the rapid beat of my own heart.
Dominic rolled away.
Blood ran from a cut along his temple.
“Are you hurt?”
I touched my ankle. “I can walk.”
He stood and pulled me up.
Vivienne fired toward the opening while Marco led us deeper into the tunnel. Behind us, Ethan’s men began descending the shaft.
The ventilation corridor was barely high enough to stand in. Old pipes ran along the walls. Dominic pushed me ahead of him, one hand firm against my back.
“You saw Sophie clearly?”
“Yes.”
“Could she have been forced?”
“She was holding the gun.”
“That does not answer the question.”
Even after hearing her plan his death, he was leaving room for doubt because he knew I needed it.
“I don’t know.”
We reached an iron door.
Marco cut through the lock, and we emerged into the library’s basement conservation room. Tables held damaged books beneath plastic covers. The room smelled of glue, leather, and dust.
I knew exactly where we were.
“The book is upstairs.”
Dominic checked the hallway.
“Marco and Vivienne will locate Sophie.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“She is my responsibility.”
“She chose this.”
“We don’t know that.”
Dominic looked at me.
I could see the argument gathering in his face.
Then gunfire erupted in the tunnel behind us.
Marco returned fire.
“We’re out of time,” Vivienne said.
Dominic handed me a compact flashlight.
“Stay beside me.”
We moved through the dark basement.
Emergency lights pulsed red along the ceiling. Someone had disabled the main power. The familiar library had become a maze of shadows, every shelf and reading table transformed into something threatening.
At the stairwell, Dominic stopped.
A thin wire stretched across the first step.
He crouched and followed it to an explosive charge attached beneath the railing.
“They wired the public stairs,” he said.
“The staff elevator?”
“Likely covered.”
I pointed toward a door marked ARCHIVE PROCESSING.
“There is a spiral staircase inside. It ends behind the map collection.”
Dominic gave me a look.
“You know an alarming number of hidden routes.”
“I shelve books. Books require infrastructure.”
For half a second, his mouth almost moved.
Then a voice sounded behind us.
“Claire.”
I turned.
Sophie stood at the end of the corridor.
She held a pistol in both hands.
Dominic moved in front of me.
Sophie’s weapon followed him.
“Step away from her.”
“No,” he said.
“I’m not talking to you.”
“I know.”
Her hands trembled.
That gave me hope.
“Sophie, what are you doing?”
Her eyes met mine.
“I am trying to fix this.”
“By helping your brother kidnap you?”
“He didn’t kidnap me.”
“I noticed.”
“Ethan sent the photograph because we needed you to understand the danger.”
“You put a gun to your own head.”
“It was unloaded.”
“You terrified me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That is not enough.”
Pain crossed her face.
“I know.”
Dominic’s voice was cold. “Who do you work for?”
Sophie looked at him.
“My father.”
“Your father is dead,” I said.
“That is what my family told people.”
Something inside me went still.
Sophie’s father, Charles Grant, had supposedly died of a heart attack when we were in college. I attended the funeral. I held Sophie’s hand while she cried.
“Who is he?” Dominic asked.
“Deputy Director Charles Grant.”
Vivienne appeared in the doorway behind us.
“FBI?”
Sophie nodded.
Dominic did not lower his weapon.
“Federal records show him dead.”
“That is why Malcolm Rusk doesn’t know he has spent eleven years building a case against the Bridge.”
I stared at her.
“You knew who Dominic was before you searched his name.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since the first day he entered the library.”
“Did you send me to the gallery because of him?”
“No. I sent you because my father believed Julian Moreau would hide the Harbor List inside one of the paintings. We needed photographs of the room before Julian arrived.”
“You used me.”
“I believed the gallery would be empty.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Did you know there could be violence?”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
“I knew there was a risk.”
The betrayal landed deeper than Dominic’s lies.
He had entered my life as a dangerous stranger. Sophie had been my family for twelve years.
She had sat beside me after my mother died.
She had helped me move apartments.
She had known exactly how the disappearance of my father had shaped every part of me.
And she had still sent me into that gallery.
“You could have gone yourself,” I said.
“Julian knew my face.”
“So you chose mine.”
“I chose the only photographer I trusted.”
“You chose someone disposable.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“No, Claire.”
Dominic took one step toward her.
Sophie lifted the gun.
“If you kill me, you lose the only person who can get the photograph.”
“It was uploaded to Claire’s account.”
“It was redirected before the upload completed.”
“By you?”
“By my father.”
“Where is it?”
Sophie looked at me.
“He sent the image to a secure federal server, but the reflection was distorted. We could not read the code on the painting. Then the original upload disappeared.”
“I never saw it.”
“Because your camera connected to another network first.”
“The hotel.”
She shook her head.
“A device in the room intercepted it. Someone copied the photograph before my father could.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
Dominic’s gaze sharpened. “Julian.”
“Maybe.”
Vivienne stepped closer.
“My brother did not understand technology.”
“But he understood leverage,” Sophie replied.
A burst of gunfire echoed from the upper floor.
Sophie flinched.
“Ethan’s men found your security team.”
“Your brother is working with Rusk,” Dominic said.
“No. He is working with my father.”
Marco’s voice came through the earpiece.
“Dominic, armed unit entering from the west doors. Police uniforms, no badges.”
Sophie’s face lost color.
“My father was supposed to hold them outside.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Your father is compromised.”
“No.”
“Rusk found him.”
“He would have warned me.”
“He may be unable to.”
The building shook as an explosion tore through the main entrance.
Sprinklers activated.
Cold water poured from the ceiling.
Sophie lowered her gun.
“Ethan is upstairs.”
Dominic turned toward Vivienne. “Get Claire to the book.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
He ignored me.
“Marco and I will find Ethan.”
Sophie moved toward him. “I know where they positioned the men.”
“You are not coming.”
“They will shoot you on sight.”
“Many people do.”
She stared at him.
I caught Dominic’s arm.
“We stay together.”
“The book is the objective.”
“Sophie said the photograph was intercepted. The book may be the only clue my father left.”
“And that is why you must reach it.”
The word father changed something.
He knew exactly how it felt to chase the last remaining piece of a dead parent.
Dominic removed the knife from inside his coat and pressed it into my palm.
“You know the route?”
“Yes.”
“Take Vivienne.”
“Dominic—”
His hand closed around the back of my neck. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead.
Not my mouth.
Somehow that made it hurt more.
“I will find you.”
Before I could answer, he disappeared into the stairwell with Marco and Sophie.
Vivienne watched them go.
“You should know he never makes promises lightly.”
“He lies easily enough.”
“Those are different skills.”
We climbed the spiral staircase.
The old iron steps wound upward through darkness. At the top, I opened a narrow door behind the map cabinets. Water rained from the sprinklers, soaking the carpet and running across polished tables.
The special collections room stood at the far end.
Its security lock was electronic.
The power was down.
Vivienne examined the steel door.
“Can it be forced?”
“Not without damaging whatever is inside.”
Gunfire sounded two floors below.
I looked toward a glass display case beside the entrance.
It held nineteenth-century surveying tools, including a heavy brass plumb bob mounted on wire.
I broke the glass with a chair.
Vivienne raised an eyebrow.
“Librarians are more violent than I expected.”
“Only when people return books with water damage.”
We used the brass weight to smash the manual lock panel. Wires sparked. The bolt released.
Inside, the air was cool and dry.
Rows of compact shelving filled the room. I entered the call number into the manual directory.
F 73.9 .E44.
A green light appeared above aisle six.
The book waited on the third shelf.
A History of Boston Harbor Warehouses, 1840–1935.
I pulled it free.
The cover was worn, the pages yellow.
Nothing appeared unusual.
Vivienne stood near the door, weapon raised.
“Hurry.”
I flipped through the book.
My father had underlined several sentences in pencil. At first, they seemed random.
Warehouse 18 was rebuilt after the fire.
The eastern tunnel remained in use until 1954.
Private medical shipments were delivered through Gate Seven.
I copied the underlined numbers.
Page 187 contained a black-and-white photograph of a waterfront hospital called St. Orison’s Recovery Center.
The building had closed decades ago.
Or so I thought.
Something had been inserted beneath the photograph.
I used the tip of Dominic’s knife to lift the paper.
A small brass key fell into my hand.
A strip of film followed it.
Vivienne picked up the film and held it toward the emergency light.
Tiny images covered the strip.
Documents.
Faces.
Bank records.
The Harbor List.
“My father hid it in a library book.”
“No,” Vivienne said.
She examined the edge.
“This is a copy.”
“How can you tell?”
“Julian showed me part of the original once. It was on blue microfilm.”
“Then what is this?”
“A map to it.”
Footsteps moved outside the room.
Vivienne pushed me behind a shelf.
The door opened.
Ethan Grant entered with blood on his shirt.
His weapon hung at his side.
“Sophie sent me,” he said.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“With Wolfe.”
“Is Dominic alive?”
“For now.”
Vivienne did not lower her gun.
Ethan looked at the key in my hand.
“You found it.”
“What does it open?”
“A patient archive at St. Orison’s.”
“The hospital closed thirty years ago.”
“The public hospital did.”
He stepped closer.
“The lower facility became a private detention center for the Bridge.”
A terrible thought began forming.
“My father investigated the Bridge.”
Ethan nodded.
“His body was never found.”
My fingers closed around the key.
“Are you saying he was taken there?”
“We believe so.”
“Eighteen years ago?”
“We intercepted a medical supply invoice last month.” Ethan removed a folded paper from his coat. “It included a patient identifier my father has tracked for years.”
He handed it to me.
The document listed medication, neurological treatments, and surveillance expenses.
At the bottom was a patient code.
D. ELLISON.
Status: ACTIVE.
The room blurred.
“My father is alive.”
Ethan’s expression was grim.
“He was alive thirty days ago.”
A gunshot sounded from the doorway.
Ethan jerked forward.
Blood appeared across his chest.
Vivienne fired over his shoulder.
A man fell in the corridor.
Ethan collapsed against the shelves.
I dropped beside him.
“Who was that?”
“Rusk’s man.”
His breath came in short, wet pulls.
“Where is St. Orison’s?”
He looked at the brass key in my hand.
“The old harbor tunnels.”
“Which tunnel?”
“Gate Seven.”
Vivienne pressed a cloth against his wound.
Ethan caught my wrist.
“Do not trust my father.”
I stared at him.
“You said he was building a case.”
“He was.”
“What changed?”
Ethan coughed blood.
“Rusk found Sophie.”
Footsteps thundered toward us from the stairwell.
Vivienne raised her gun.
Dominic appeared in the doorway carrying Sophie in his arms.
Blood covered the front of his shirt.
I stood so quickly the room spun.
“Is she hurt?”
“Not hers,” he said.
Sophie opened her eyes.
“Ethan?”
She saw her brother on the floor.
A sound tore from her throat.
Dominic lowered her beside him.
Ethan touched her face.
“You need to tell Claire.”
Sophie shook her head, crying.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
Ethan’s hand fell away.
His eyes closed.
Sophie pressed both hands against his wound.
“Ethan. Look at me.”
He did not move.
Dominic checked his pulse.
The silence answered before he did.
Sophie bowed over her brother.
I wanted to comfort her.
I also wanted answers.
“What did he mean?”
She looked up.
Her face was streaked with tears and blood.
“My father did not send me to find the Harbor List so he could expose the Bridge.”
“Then why?”
“So he could control it.”
Dominic’s gaze hardened.
Sophie continued, “Charles Grant is not building a case against Malcolm Rusk.”
May you like
Her voice broke.
“He is Malcolm Rusk’s partner.”
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