Chapter 4 - A Door With No Handle.
Vanessa called her father immediately.
The call went straight to voicemail.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Hale took the phone from her and photographed the messages with his secure device.
"When did you last speak to him?"
"An hour before the gala."
"What did he say?"
Vanessa looked at Claire and then away.
"He told me tonight was my chance to make people question her story."
Claire felt anger rise, but she kept it behind her teeth.
"So tearing off my shawl was planned."
"The words were mine."
"The idea wasn't."
Vanessa said nothing.
Hale opened the corridor door and signaled two security officers.
The guests were told there had been a technical problem and were asked to remain in the ballroom.
No one liked the explanation, which made it useful.
People complained instead of thinking.
Claire noticed how quickly polished people returned to ordinary irritation once they were given a harmless explanation.
That helped security, but it also reminded her how easily a convincing story could control a room.
Claire, Hale, and Vanessa moved toward the administrative wing on the east side of the building.
The gala venue had once been a naval officers' club, and its older corridors were narrower than the grand public rooms suggested.
At the end of one hallway stood an archive office with a keypad beside the frame.
The green access light was on.
The door itself was slightly open.
Hale stopped them with one raised hand.
"Stay behind me."
Claire almost reminded him she had commanded rescue teams in worse places, but this was his building and his security response.
Inside, the archive office smelled faintly of overheated electronics.
A computer monitor glowed blue on the desk.
The server cabinet had been opened.
One storage drive was missing.
Vanessa stared at the empty slot.
"What was on that?"
Hale checked the inventory label.
"Backups from sealed inquiries."
Claire understood immediately.
"Including Northstar."
"Including Northstar."
A security officer called from the adjoining records room.
"Admiral, you need to see this."
They followed him to a narrow storage chamber.
Its interior door had no handle on the inside, only a magnetic release controlled from the hallway.
On the floor sat a catering employee named Luis Ramirez, pale but conscious.
He had apparently been locked there for nearly forty minutes.
Claire crouched beside him.
"Did you see who did this?"
Luis nodded.
"A man in a staff jacket."
"Could you recognize him?"
"Maybe."
He swallowed.
"But he wasn't staff."
Hale leaned closer.
"How do you know?"
"He had a military ring."
Claire felt Hale go still behind her.
Luis pointed weakly toward the desk outside.
"And he dropped something."
A security officer retrieved a small brass key from beneath the chair.
A number had been stamped into it.
417.
Vanessa stared at the number.
"That's impossible."
Claire looked up.
"What?"
Vanessa's voice had gone thin.
"My father keeps a private box at the Harbor Crown Hotel."
"What number?"
Vanessa looked at the key again.
"Four seventeen."
Hale's secure phone rang.
He listened for less than ten seconds.
Then he looked at Claire.
"Grant Cole's car was found abandoned three blocks from here."
Vanessa grabbed the edge of the desk.
"Where is he?"
May you like
Hale's answer was quiet.
"No one knows."
