Chapter 2 - The Person With the Key
Norah turned off the surgical light.
The room disappeared into darkness.
Only one red monitor indicator remained.
Declan pulled her lower.
“Do not fire unless you have a target.”
“You are giving me firearm advice now?”
“You nearly shot through my oxygen line.”
Norah looked toward the tanks.
He was right.
“Fair.”
The handle stopped moving.
Whoever stood outside knew the room was dark.
No forced entry followed.
Silence became worse than bullets.
Declan whispered:
“Left cabinet.”
“What?”
“Bottom drawer.”
Norah crawled.
The floor was wet with blood.
Her fingers found the cabinet.
Bottom drawer.
Locked.
“Code.”
“Six four one nine.”
She entered it.
Inside was no medicine.
A metal lever.
Norah pulled.
Part of the surgical cabinet shifted away from the wall.
A narrow passage opened behind it.
Of course the crime boss had a hidden exit from his hidden hospital.
“You first,” Declan said.
“You cannot walk.”
“I can.”
He tried.
He nearly collapsed.
Norah caught him.
“You can barely insult me upright.”
“Still enough strength to fire you.”
“Great. Survive until morning and ruin my employment.”
She pulled his arm across her shoulders.
He was heavier than he looked.
Blood spread against her blue uniform.
They entered the passage.
Norah pushed the cabinet closed behind them.
Darkness.
Declan produced a small light from the wall.
The tunnel was narrow enough that his shoulder brushed concrete.
“Where does this go?”
“Old service stairwell.”
“Who knows about it?”
“Six people.”
“Apparently seven.”
He looked at her.
“You were not supposed to.”
They moved twenty feet before footsteps entered the medical room behind them.
The hidden door muffled voices.
Norah stopped.
A male voice.
“Room is empty.”
Another:
“He could not have walked.”
Declan’s face hardened.
Norah whispered:
“You recognize them?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Keep moving.”
“Useful.”
The passage descended.
Declan’s weight increased.
Norah pressed the gauze harder against his wound.
He grunted.
“You are losing blood.”
“I noticed.”
“What happened before I came in?”
“Ambush.”
“Inside your own house?”
“No.”
“Then how did you end up bleeding inside your own secret operating room?”
His jaw tightened.
“My car was hit outside the east gate.”
“You drove yourself back?”
“Yes.”
“With a bullet inside you?”
“Yes.”
“Why not call your security team?”
He looked at her.
“That question is currently shooting through my door.”
Good point.
They reached the hidden stairwell.
Declan leaned against the wall.
Norah knelt and examined the wound by the dim emergency light.
“Bullet may still be inside.”
“It is.”
“How do you know?”
“No exit.”
“Could be lodged in your back.”
“It is near the rib.”
“You have been shot before.”
“Seven times.”
Norah stared.
“That is not an achievement.”
“It is statistically interesting.”
Despite everything, she almost laughed.
Then she saw his breathing.
Shallow.
Too shallow.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Sit or fall.”
He sat.
Norah tore open an emergency supply compartment.
IV fluids.
Bandages.
Needles.
Portable monitor.
Whoever designed this escape route expected wounded men.
She connected the monitor.
Declan watched her hands.
“You said your father was an emergency physician.”
“Yes.”
“Elias Vale.”
Norah froze.
“You knew his first name.”
Declan did not answer.
She tightened the blood pressure cuff too hard.
He noticed.
“You are angry.”
“My father died twelve years ago. You have his name inside a secret medical case under your bed.”
“He was not only an emergency physician.”
“He worked at St. Matthew’s.”
“He worked there publicly.”
Norah stared.
“What did he do privately?”
Declan leaned his head against the wall.
“Kept people like me alive.”
“You knew him.”
“My father did.”
“Did you?”
“I was twenty six when Elias died.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Yes.”
The tunnel seemed colder.
Norah remembered her father leaving at night.
Emergency calls.
Private patients.
Cash envelopes her mother never discussed.
She thought physicians did that.
Maybe some did.
“What happened to him?”
Declan’s eyes closed.
“Officially?”
“Car accident.”
“And unofficially?”
“Not now.”
Norah stood.
He caught her wrist.
“If I tell you everything while there are armed men above us, neither of us reaches the next hour.”
“You have been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because three months ago someone used your identity to access a sealed medical archive that had been untouched since the night your father died.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What archive?”
“The one that led me to that silver case.”
“I never accessed anything.”
“I know that now.”
“Now?”
“You became less suspicious after you saved me.”
“Comforting.”
They continued.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Declan opened a hidden door into an unused wine cellar.
No staff.
No alarm.
His private phone had no signal either.
The jammer covered much of the estate.
Norah reached the cellar landline.
Dead.
“Someone cut communications.”
Declan nodded.
“Inside job.”
A sound came from the upper corridor.
Footsteps.
Searching.
Norah moved him behind stacked wine crates.
“Who are the six people who know about the medical room?”
Declan stayed silent.
“Declan.”
He looked at her.
“My uncle Vincent.”
“Who else?”
“Marcus Shaw. Head of security.”
“Good.”
“Dr. Adrian Cole.”
“Your doctor.”
“Yes.”
“Vivian Hart.”
“The house manager?”
“Yes.”
“Gabriel Knox. My attorney.”
“And?”
“My brother Connor.”
Six.
Norah considered.
“Any of them know about the passage?”
“Four.”
“Which four?”
“Marcus. Vivian. Adrian. Vincent.”
Footsteps stopped above them.
Then a radio crackled.
Male voice:
“Search the cellar.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed.
Norah whispered:
“That eliminates your brother and lawyer from knowing this passage.”
“Unless someone told them.”
“Very optimistic household.”
He almost smiled.
Then his hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder.
His body went rigid.
Pain.
His monitor heart rate climbed.
Norah lowered him.
“You need surgery.”
“I need fifteen minutes.”
“You need a hospital.”
“No hospitals.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever shot me knows which hospitals I own.”
“That sentence is deeply unhealthy.”
Norah opened his shirt farther.
The wound angle bothered her.
Close range.
Downward trajectory.
“Whoever shot you was taller than you or standing above you.”
Declan looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Entry angle.”
“You really did learn medicine.”
“My father trained me until I was sixteen.”
“Why did you stop?”
“He died.”
She checked his back.
No exit.
Then noticed powder marks.
“Close shot.”
“Yes.”
“How close?”
“Three feet.”
“That was not a roadside sniper.”
“No.”
“Then your car ambush story is missing something.”
Declan stared.
Finally:
“The car was forced off the road. I got out. The shooter was waiting.”
“You saw them?”
“Mask.”
“Build?”
“Male.”
“Gun?”
“My own security issue.”
Norah stopped.
Hayes security carried custom engraved pistols and proprietary ammunition.
Declan continued.
“The bullet inside me came from a weapon registered to this estate.”
May you like
Then footsteps entered the wine cellar.
Continue to the next part: The bullet inside Declan came from Hayes security equipment, and the person searching the cellar knows exactly where his hidden escape route ends.
