As it turned out, they’d landed in Helsinki, Finland. The sedan took them through the center of town, then onto a bridge that ran to an island.
“Where are we going?” Ethan asked.
“Lauttasaari,” Eleanor answered. “We have a safe house there.”
“What’s the plan when we get there?” Ethan eyed the frigid waters on his side of the bridge. Scenes from movies of gangsters putting men in concrete shoes and tossing them out of boats played across his mind.
“No plan yet, but I’m sure one will materialize fairly soon.”
Ethan wondered at the cryptic answer but didn’t ask for elaboration. There was so much going on beyond his ken that he needed to make sure he kept his head down. He knew enough that he didn’t want them playing whack-a-mole on him when the going got rough.
After arriving at the island, it was only a few moments before they pulled up to an estate. When the gate opened, they drove inside. Ethan turned to watch as the gate closed behind him. Made of iron, it was easily ten feet high and spiked, as was the connecting wall around the estate. The partially snow-covered lawn on either side of the narrow paved track gave way to a large parking area as they crested a small hill to view the sprawling home.
The three-story square building was made of granite blocks and windows. Ethan couldn’t tell the style, but it seemed at least a hundred years old. A detached four-car garage sported a redwood door that matched the front door of the building. It could have been anyone’s home had it not been for the man with the machine gun standing by the front door.
Eleanor got out, and Ethan followed. As they entered the building, Eleanor didn’t even acknowledge the man standing beside the door. Ethan did notice that her limp was a little more prominent, as if all the action might have exacerbated the pain she normally felt. He wondered what happened to cause the limp in the first place.
Ethan was shown to a room and given a clean set of clothes, which, after a shower, fit moderately well. He supposed that any safe house would have a range of clothes from which to choose. He noticed for the first time that the paunch he’d been cultivating had all but disappeared in the two weeks since this had all started. So there was something to be said for being on the run, not that anyone would incorporate it into a CrossFit program.
While in the shower, Ethan was careful to hide the mechanical bee. He didn’t want Eleanor or any of the guards in the building to find it. If they did, his life expectancy would be near zero.
They had a dinner of fish and potatoes along with a strong red wine. Ethan noticed several more guards around the house, all wearing body armor and carrying pistols and communications gear as well as machine guns.
After dinner, Eleanor excused herself. Ethan stayed to finish his glass of wine, then headed to his room. He made sure to lock the door, then pulled the mechanical bee out of his shirt pocket and laid it on the end table. He hadn’t had enough time to really inspect it and wanted to take a closer look. He wished he had a magnifying glass.
Now that he actually examined it, it looked more like a cross between a mosquito and a bee. It could fit on a quarter with room to spare. He’d never seen anything so small. Ethan prodded it with his fingers, touching it here and there. He wondered if there was an off button. He turned it over, but the abdomen was smooth metal.
He righted it and set it back down, then brought his face close to it. The word Ethan came from it as clear as day.
He was so surprised that he fell back onto his butt.
Had the mechanical bee just spoken to him? Or was it all in his mind?
Although he was alone, he looked around. Then he leaned forward again and said, “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
He heard a snort as a reply, then, “Like, what, a tiny person driving this DARPA drone like something out of Fantastic Voyage?”
Although tinny and thin, Ethan recognized the voice right away. “Suz!” He realized he’d shouted and lowered his voice. “I was wondering if this belonged to you. It was either that or the Six-Fingered Mafia.”
“About that, this isn’t a social call. A rescue team is on the way. We’ve informed them of your location. Is Eleanor Bernstein with you?”
“She is. She brought me here after the fiasco at the complex.”
“We need you to do something.”
“Anything. What is it?”
“We need you to find Eleanor and detain her.”
“Detain her?”
“They’re coming, and they don’t want her to get away.”
Ethan didn’t have to ask who they were. It seemed pretty evident. A worrisome thought jumped front and center into his head. “Are they mad at me?”
“You mean for kidnapping and trading two of their operatives?” she said in her patented smart-ass way.
“Yeah, that.”
“No. It had been their plan all along. This drone is theirs. The old woman was carrying it in her hair. They needed a way to get it near one of COD’s complexes. You and the old folks made that happen.”
Ethan felt a wash of relief.
“This is going to lose power soon, so I’m going to turn it off to preserve whatever we have left.” She paused. “Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“Shanny is alive.”
His intake of breath was sharp and profound.
“All you have to do is make sure Eleanor doesn’t get away, and they’ll let her go. They really want this woman, and they want her alive.”
Alive! Shanny is really alive!
“Do you understand, Ethan?”
He nodded, then caught himself and answered. “Yes. How long until they get here?”
“Within the hour,” she said. “And, Ethan?”
“Yes?” he responded giddily.
“Don’t trust the Six-Fingered Mafia.”
Ethan got to his feet. He went to the bedside table and hefted a lamp, testing it for weight and solidness. Then he remembered all the guards with weapons. He couldn’t just walk down the hall with a lamp in his hand. They’d shoot him in a second. In fact, he didn’t even know where in the safe house Eleanor had gone.
Ethan ran over the layout of the building in his mind based on what he’d seen. The first floor was all communal living spaces and the kitchen. He was on the second floor, which seemed to be all bedrooms. It made sense that Eleanor would be on the third floor. Higher-ranking persons would have more room. Eleanor probably had something like a suite. Ethan grinned at his supposition based on what a safe house would look like if he’d designed it. For all he knew, there was a pool on the third floor and a basketball court in the basement.
Suz had said that he had less than an hour, which meant that they could attack in five minutes or fifty minutes.
Ethan realized that he had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He’d only been in one fight back in elementary school, and he’d lost. He’d never hit a man, much less a woman, so even if he managed to channel Bruce Lee, Steven Seagal, or Jackie Chan, his body wouldn’t know what to do. His only choice was to use what he was best at—thinking.
A moment later he had his plan.
Pocketing the mechanical bee, he opened the door and strode into the hall. Without hesitation he headed for the central stairs. He started to make his way to the third floor, and a guard stepped out of the shadows behind him.
“Et voi mennä sinne,” he said in a rough voice.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder and smiled, but continued up.
“Et voi mennä sinne!” The guard started up the stairs after him.
Ethan paused at the landing. He didn’t want to get shot in the back, but he also didn’t want to be discouraged.
“I don’t understand you,” he said, speaking loud and slow. “I need to talk to Eleanor Bernstein.”
The guard had leveled his machine gun at Ethan’s stomach. His stone face betrayed no emotion, but he said again, “Et voi mennä sinne.”
Ethan sighed and barely registered the weapon pointed at him, which was a testament to all he’d been through. “You can et voi mennä sinne all day long. I don’t even know what language that is, much less what it means.”
“It’s Finnish,” came a voice from farther up the stairs.
Ethan half turned and saw another guard, this one standing on the top step.
“It means you can’t go up there.”
“Why not?”
“The third floor is off-limits to you,” the guard said flatly.
“But I need to speak to Eleanor.”
“She’s not to be disturbed.”
Ethan sighed and looked abashed. “She’s going to be upset then. Damn, I hate it when she gets mad.” Ethan turned and began to trudge down the steps. “No telling what she’ll do when she finds out.”
The guard below him said something in Finnish to the guard above him. Ethan was almost down to the second floor when the upper guard spoke.
“What is it you want to tell her?”
Ethan turned around. “Sorry, it’s classified. Need-to-know.”
The guard just stared at him.
Ethan felt pretty pathetic at his sophomoric attempt but kept his face straight, keeping his self-doubt masked by his frown.
He tried one last time. “Listen, I know what she said, and I’d normally honor it. I just know that if I don’t tell her this right now she’s going to be seriously angry.”
The guard stared at him for a five beat, then stepped aside. “You’d better not be lying.”
Ethan tried not to grin but didn’t quite manage it. “Oh, trust me, I’m not.”
He went up the stairs. Just as he passed the guard, the man said, “Stop.”
Ethan’s elation smacked the floor. He didn’t turn as he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I need to frisk you. Stand still.”
The guard shouldered his machine gun, then patted Ethan down with skill and dedication that would make a TSA agent envious. Ethan was afraid he might discover and remove the mini drone from his pocket, but it must have been either too small for him to notice or too small for him to care.
When he finished, Ethan asked, “Which room?”
The guard pointed down the hall. “The one at the end.”
Ethan nodded and headed toward it, noting that the doors were spaced farther apart, indicating larger rooms. When he arrived at the correct door, he turned and paused. The guard was watching him closely. Ethan took a deep breath, then knocked.
After a few seconds, he heard a rustling from the other side, then, “What is it?” came the harried question.
“It’s Ethan. Ethan McCloud,” he said, as if there might be more than one Ethan in the building. He mentally kicked himself.
“Not now, Ethan. I’m in the middle of something.”
“I have something important, Eleanor. It can’t wait.” He paused, then added, “Really, it can’t,” which was pretty pitiful actually.
“Fine,” came the clipped answer. “Stand by.”
Ethan stood in front of the door and waited. And waited. He could hear movement in the room but couldn’t figure out what was going on. He turned to see the guard staring at him. Ethan gave him a grin and a thumbs-up, but the guard remained implacable, machine gun ready. The theme music to Jeopardy began to play in his head. Just before it got to the end, Eleanor called, “Come in.”
Ethan tried the handle. It was unlocked. He let himself in and closed the door behind him.
The room was indeed much larger than the one assigned to Ethan. An open door to the left revealed a large bathroom. A four-poster queen-size bed dominated the room. To the left of this was a nightstand, then a dresser with a vanity mirror against the adjoining wall. To the right of the bed rested a couch upon which Eleanor sat dressed in a bathrobe with a white T-shirt underneath. Her right hand was in the pocket of the bathrobe; her left hand rested on her bare knee.
She looked old and haggard. What was she, sixtysomething? Ethan figured he could take her.
“Ethan, what it is?”
Then again, she’d been a giant hunter for decades. There was no telling what sort of martial arts or deadly moves she knew.
“Ethan, I asked you, what is it?” she said impatiently.
Ethan couldn’t answer, instead he stared at Eleanor’s right leg. The color was off. It didn’t match her right one, and oddly enough, it didn’t have any hairs, either. Then he realized that it was a prosthetic. All of this took two seconds, but it felt like ten.
“Ethan!”
He cleared his throat. “Oh, sorry.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows.
“Right.” Every time Ethan looked at Eleanor, his eyes went to the prosthetic. He couldn’t help but stare. So instead, he looked about the room. “This room’s a lot bigger than mine.”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Ethan? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Right.” Ethan shook his head. “Sorry.” He pulled the mechanical bee from his pocket and held it out. “What do you know about this?”
Eleanor leaned forward a little, but Ethan didn’t move.
“What is it?” Eleanor asked.
“It looks like a bee.”
“Rare this time of year but not unheard of.” She sat back again. “Is that it?”
“No, it’s the bee, it doesn’t seem to be real.”
“Do you mean like a toy?” Eleanor asked clearly.
“No, it looks…” Ethan took a step forward. “It looks mechanical.”
Worry lines erupted on Eleanor’s forehead. “Let me see that. Now.”
Ethan stepped toward Eleanor and let his hand tilt as he did. Three steps later the mechanical bee fell out of his hand and onto the thick carpeting. “Oh, damn.”
Ethan made to get on his knees, but Eleanor was already moving, so he let the older woman get down on the ground.
“What a klutz move,” Ethan said. “Sorry.”
“Where exactly did you find this?” Eleanor asked.
“In the top drawer of the dresser in my room,” he said. “It was just sitting in a corner of the drawer.” He watched as Eleanor used her fingers to pull back the carpet fibers as she searched. She was close enough that Ethan could kick her in the head if he tried. “How long do you think it’s been there?”
“I have no… idea. Aha, got it,” Eleanor plucked the tiny drone from the carpet. She scooted backward and got to her feet, then returned to her place on the couch.
“There’s a magnifying glass in the bathroom. Why don’t you get that for me?” she asked without looking up.
Ethan hurried into the bathroom and saw the glass sitting beside other toiletries.
“Bring me the tray as well, Ethan,” Eleanor called.
Beneath a pair of water glasses was a chrome-plated metal tray. He moved the glasses aside and lifted the tray. It had some heft to it.
He brought both items to Eleanor.
“Here, hand me that,” Eleanor said, engrossed by the tiny object. “I’ll need it to help me examine it.”
Ethan brought the tray against the left side of Eleanor’s head with all the might his left arm could manage. The clang-thump it made seemed extraordinarily loud. Eleanor fell to the side of the couch, lights out.
Ethan reached into the right pocket of her bathrobe and removed a squat, heavy pistol. Then he grabbed the mechanical bee and tucked it back in his pocket. He crossed the room and locked the door, then returned to the couch, where he sat and waited, pistol in hand.
Ten minutes later he heard the first sound of gunfire. He listened as it came closer and closer. When it reached the top of the stairs, Eleanor began to stir. She lifted up her head just in time to get hit again by the tray. This time she fell hard to the floor.
When the door finally opened, it was a figure Ethan recognized, complete with a trench coat and six-fingered gloves.
“I see you have our prisoner.” The accent was slightly British.
Ethan nodded. “She’s taking a little nap and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
The Six-Fingered Man grinned. “It’s unfortunate then, because I’m afraid I shall have to wake her.”
Two other men dressed in full body armor entered the room and plucked Eleanor from the floor.
“Get her dressed, then bring her downstairs,” ordered the Six-Fingered Man. “You come with me.” He pointed at Ethan.
Ethan stood and walked toward him. For a split second he thought about shooting the man, then instead held out the gun, which was taken from him. They descended to the first floor, past the bodies of the guards, and then were out the front door.
“Someone is eager to see you,” he said.
The door to a van with blacked-out windows opened, revealing Shanny sitting there. Her worried expression slipped into an all-out grin.
Ethan broke into a run and met her halfway.