Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“Y’know, I left mine in my other jacket,” Gallo says. “But you can use our friend Steven’s.”

“Actually, I can’t,” the woman replies.

“Sure you can. You already let him have the one for-”

“I can’t, sir. And since this is a restricted area, if you don’t have ID, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“We’re just looking for the other tapes,” he says, still trying to keep it friendly.

“Did you hear what I said, sir? I’d like you to leave.”

Gallo tightens his jaw. His voice is sandpaper. “And I’d like you to be a good employee and get us what we need.”

“Okay, that’s it,” the receptionist says, reaching for her phone. “You can have the rest of this discussion with Security. I’m sure they’d love t-”

Gallo pulls out his Secret Service badge and holds it up. “Here’s my ID. Now please put down the phone and get us the tapes.”

Her eyes go from the badge, to Gallo, then back again. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to speak to a supervisor…”

“I don’t think you understand,” Gallo says. He pulls his gun from his jacket and points it square at the receptionist’s face. “Put the phone down and get us the tapes.”

The receptionist drops the receiver as tears stream down her face. “I-I have a four-year-old…”

“ The tapes ,” Gallo growls.

Her hands tremble as she raises them in the air. “They’re in the back,” she stutters.

“Show us,” Gallo demands. Motioning to DeSanctis, he adds, “Go with her.”

Nudging Charlie and Gillian aside, DeSanctis steps between them, holding his gun. As soon as the receptionist sees it, the tears flow even faster.

“Mickey Mouse smile – gimme a nice Mickey smile,” DeSanctis warns, forcing her to pull it together as he pushes her toward the glass doors in the back.

“C’mere…” Gallo says, grabbing me by the front of my shirt and shoving me toward Gillian and Charlie. I stumble toward my brother. Our eyes lock.

The tapes aren’t there, are they? Charlie asks with a glance.

I brush my hand across my pants pocket. Gillian sees it and grins along with us.

“Stand still,” Gallo insists as I regain my balance and stand next to Charlie. He points his gun at me, then Charlie, but never at Gillian, who’s back to staring silently at the floor.

“You okay?” I whisper to her.

“What’d you say?” Gallo asks.

“I asked if she was okay,” I growl.

Gallo suddenly starts to laugh.

“What?”

He can’t stop himself. The grin is ear to ear. “You still don’t know, do you?” he asks.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t-”

“… which brings us to DACS Central – the brain of the entire body,” a cheerful voice announces as the door to DACS swings open. Behind us, a man with sandy blond hair and a “Backstage Magic” collared shirt leads a group of twenty tourists into the already cramped reception area.

Gallo ducks his arm behind his back to hide the gun. The group presses forward, shifting their necks to get a look inside. As they pour in, a heavy woman in a pink shorts outfit and a matching pink sun-visor cuts in front of me, Gillian, and Charlie, and – without even knowing it – leads the whole crowd directly between us and Gallo.

“I’m sorry – were we interrupting?” the sandy blond asks in perfect tour-guide tone.

“Yes. You are,” Gallo rifles back. He glares at us through the still moving crowd. He’s ready to pull his gun, but he has to know what’ll happen if he does.

“Hey, now,” the guide teases as we step back. “Guests around…”

“Get the fuck outta my face,” Gallo says, pushing him aside. He tries to rush toward us, but the crowd’s too thick.

Charlie eyes the door. Any second now, DeSanctis is going to realize there’s nothing in those cases…

Go, I nod to him. Charlie takes off.

“ Don’t move !” Gallo shouts, lifting his gun.

That’s all it takes.

“ Gun !” a woman screams. The crowd ruptures – everyone’s shoving and shouting. The stampede’s on. We fly for the door as the entire frenzied crowd follows.

A shot explodes as we hit the threshold. The glass door shatters, scattering shards of glass across the floor. Plowing forward, Charlie zigs and fights his way through the chaos of screaming tourists. Behind me, Gillian’s tucked down and holding on to the back of my shirt. No one’s hit. The room empties into the hallway – and the yelling echoes through the concrete tunnel.

“ Keep going !” I shout, shoving Charlie in the back. We bottle-rocket out of the crowd and race up the neck of the tunnel. My feet pound against the concrete. Charlie looks back to make sure I’m okay. That’s when he sees Gillian, who’s still holding on to the back of my shirt.

His face says it all. Lose her .

What?

Lose her! he insists.

She lets go of my shirt and starts running on her own. Not stumbling… not slowing us down. She’s running. Her clear blue eyes search for a way out. Her lips hang open in fear. He thinks it’s so clear-cut. It’s not.

“Let’s just get out of here,” I tell him.

Charlie clamps his jaw and kicks in the speed. As we launch ourselves up the tunnel, he’s only a few feet ahead of me. He’s faster than that. “Charlie, go !” I insist.

“Stay… with me,” he says, cutting between Pocahontas and a Dracula from the Haunted Mansion.

“Up the stairs!” Gillian calls out as the doors whiz by on both sides of the hallway.

But Charlie just keeps running. It’s not until the tunnel starts to curve to the left that I understand what he’s doing. Behind us, the screams of the crowd muffle and fade – quickly replaced by the echoed footsteps of whoever’s chasing us. I turn back to see what’s going on, but thanks to the arc of the hallway, we can’t see them. Which means they can’t see us.

“Now…!” Charlie says, making a sharp right into a short corridor. At the end, he rips open the metal utility door and holds it open for us. Inside, yellow-painted stairs head straight up. I dart in first, followed by Gillian. Charlie’s in the rear. I bound up the stairs two at a time, spiraling toward the top. Gillian’s doing her best, but she’s not as fast.

“Move!” Charlie barks. Squeezing past her, he scrambles upward, putting himself between me and Gillian. He touches my shoulder and nudges me forward.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I tell him.

At the top of the landing, both of us stop at a closed metal door. Our breathing’s heavy. Charlie’s is heavier than mine. It’s been almost three days since he’s had his medication.

“Are you sure you’re-”

“I’m fine,” he insists. But as I put a hand on the metal bar that’ll open the stairwell door, he says two words that, as long as I’ve known him, have never left his lips.

“Be careful.”

I nod – and with a soft push – inch the door open. Thanks to all the twists and turns of the tunnel, we have no idea where we are. Sticking my head inside, I can barely see anything. The room’s dark, but it appears to be empty. We’re in a back room… or maybe an oversized closet, if I had to guess. Sliding inside, I step lightly and search for context clues. Over my shoulder, Charlie and Gillian close the door to the stairwell and the rest of our light vanishes. At first, I’m completely blind, but as my eyes adjust to the dark, I spot a thin sliver of white light straight ahead. It’s coming from the other side – another door.

Frankenstein-walking with my arms straight out, I reach the wood paneling and feel my way down to the doorknob. A twist leads us to the next room, which is just as dark. This time, though, there’s someone in the-