Maybeck closed his eyes, released a cleansing breath, and said, “Okay. A train light at the end of a tunnel. Now what?” Maybeck did not enjoy having to ask anyone for help with anything.
“Let the train come toward you. It takes over all the darkness, it blots out all sound, even the sound of my voice.”
Maybeck stepped through the glass. Finn closed his eyes and followed. They were inside.
* * *
Charlene entered through the front door, left open by Finn, exactly three minutes after Finn and Maybeck had been seen stepping through the pavilion’s side window.
Had Finn set a trap for her? Was he the one Wayne had warned them about?
She hurried up the main stairs, keeping low and holding on to the banister, knowing that Finn and Maybeck would, at this same moment, be ascending the stairs.
She didn’t look back, but heard Philby enter shortly behind her, wondering if he’d have time to be effective but putting nothing past him.
In the back of her mind lingered Wayne’s warning: “Beware your friends and know your enemies.” If ever there were an opportunity for betrayal, this hastily put together plan was it. All it would take is one of them failing to fulfill his or her responsibility and any number of them might be captured. It was an obvious place to set a trap. She pushed away all her negative thoughts and kept her mind on what had to be done. She was supposed to do the distracting, not be the distracted. She was the decoy, the diversion. It was time for action.
To be effective, her decoy could not be spotted as such: it had to look as if she intended to rescue Wayne. If she just went in yelling and screaming, the Overtakers might sense that her intrusion was merely a ruse and she would put Maybeck and Finn at risk.
So she came into the lounge area quietly, raised up on tiptoe. She kept to the wall and then quietly slipped between it and the circus tent, moving slowly enough not to ripple the tent canvas.
The door to the boardroom was partially open. To her right was another doorway that led into the room where Finn and Maybeck would be hiding. If she was chased, her plan was to lead her pursuers right beneath Maybeck and Finn, who, by agreement, would be up the ladder and hidden in the circus tower in the center of the room.
With the door open, she could just make out the Norwegian in profile. He had a mane of red hair, a strong jaw, and a weight lifter’s biceps.
She moved closer, inch by inch, the clock ticking in her head. The young boy lay fast asleep with his head in the man’s lap.
Was that all? she wondered. Just the two of them?
She didn’t trust it. Wayne’s warning about a traitor in their midst made her question everything, everyone. She hated this change in herself. She stood stone still and took in her surroundings, alert for someone hiding in waiting. Seeing no one, she darted across the carpet and planted herself behind the open boardroom door, and placed her eye to the crack.
Wayne! He was sitting in the chair, his wrists bound, his eyes wide with expectation. Could he possibly know she was there?
It all seemed so possible now—everything they’d worked toward. She didn’t want to blow it. Wayne, a few feet away. One man between her and Wayne’s freedom.
It didn’t make any sense. It had to be a trap. Finn was always the first to point out that where the Overtakers were concerned, when it looked too good to be true, it probably was. There were more Overtakers nearby. Had to be. Maybe already watching her. Just as she feared that Wayne’s rescue now looked suspiciously too easy, the Overtakers, she thought, must be holding back, wondering why it looked so easy to grab her. Nothing was as it seemed.
The clock kept moving in her head. Philby would cut the lights with five minutes left—exactly thirty seconds away.
She used her gymnastic skills and her exceptional sense of balance to stretch her legs between the lower door hinge on her left, and a piece of molding to her right. Her foot found the middle hinge, and she went up the wall like Spider-Man. Now with her left foot on the top hinge, she paused, hooked her fingers over the door and swung it open slightly.
“Hvem er der?” the man said. “Who dere?” he tried in heavily accented English.
Charlene struggled to hold herself high above the far side of the door. Finally she heard the man move the boy off his lap and the whisper of his clothing as he came out of the boardroom. She dove over the door, reached back, and caught her hand, flipping herself over and landing squarely on her feet.
As the Norwegian left the boardroom, Charlene entered it. She pulled the door shut behind her and locked it.
Wayne, in the corner to her left, was tied to a chair. His mouth was gagged, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He didn’t look over at her and she wondered if they had him drugged. This time it was obvious that the wall behind him had been scrubbed clean—she could imagine the cryptogram having been written there. It was now erased.