“They knew about the phone. They wanted it.”
“Shit, it’s still in Estelle’s trailer.”
“No. I grabbed it.” She tapped her pants pocket. “Andmyphone. They were after Vivien. They had a photo of her, from her social media. They wouldn’t believe I wasn’t her.”
“She said someone was coming for her. These guys?”
“Which means she must be out there somewhere, even if she’s mixed up in something. They haven’t gotten to her yet.”
“Will you be okay to walk out, around the rocks? It’s probably our best option.”
“We can go one better.” She reached into her T-shirt and pulled something from her bra. A car key. “The guy who was holding me dropped it when he dropped his Taser.”
“You’re a real badass librarian.” He put an arm around her waist, for support. “Come on, their cars are probably in the logistics bay.”
“613.6.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“The number you just said.”
“I said that aloud?”
Behind them, something clunked. Urgent whispers echoed through the caves. Griffin led Lana to a ladder and gestured that she should climb first. He followed, removing a cartridge from his pocket. He triggered it and tossed it into the tunnel.
“Was that agrenade?” Lana said as they emerged into the tower near the Scaean Gate, shouts rising from below.
“No! Smoke bomb. The SFX team uses them, for haze.” He quietly lowered the hatch. “Nontoxic but it’ll take ages to dissipate. They’ll be stuck a while. Let’s go.”
Out at the loading bay, two large black SUVs were parked side-by-side. Lana grabbed Griffin’s arm. “I hear another car!” she said. Sure enough, a distant engine rumbled. “The guards?”
“Might be passing by, out on the road.”
She pressed the key fob. Nothing beeped. She tried the driver’s door on the nearest car. It wasn’t locked. As she climbed in, Griffin detected two figures moving among the trailers, flashlights bobbing. “Hurry,” he said. “They’re coming.”
“The key’s not working. Must be the other car.” She ran for the second SUV.
The goons weren’t heading their way—yet. Griffin had an idea to keep them focused on the wrong place. He pulled out a slingshot he’d pilfered from props, and a sling bullet—pewter, but weathered to look and feel like the Greeks’ leadglandes.
The approaching engine was getting louder, definitely coming up the drive. Not security. It was an older car—big-block V8 engine, whine as it shifted gears, exhaust that popped and crackled like gunfire.
He lined up a shot and let it fly. It clattered among the trailers, behind the goons. One made a hand signal, and they followed the noise. Griffin loaded another, and fired it a little further. It found its mark with a smash of glass. Lana opened the door to the other SUV while Griffin hurried to the passenger side. The interior light came on, and she swore, fumbling to switch it off. The old car was nearly upon them, its headlight beams bouncing.
Lana pressed the start button. Nothing happened. “Crap. The key must be for something else. Don’t suppose you know how to hot-wire?”
“Never played a car thief.” As Griffin got out, a figure emerged from base camp. The gunslinger. He looked straight at Griffin, and called for his buddies. “Shit.”
The old car roared from the drive and spun to a halt beside them, spraying gravel and honking. Dust swirled in the headlights. A tan 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS, the top down.
Griffin looked at the sky. “You’vegotto be kidding me.”
A sixty-something blonde leaned out the driver’s side. Beside her sat a middle-aged redhead. He groaned. The tall guy signaled his buddies to halt—they’d all arrived now.
“Hey baby, hop in!” the blonde called. “Momma’s here!”
“That’s your mother?” Lana said.
