Chapter 15: Lockdown
Andrew looked straight at me.
"The codes were not used from an office," he said. "They were used from inside this hotel, on nights when your father was not even in the country. The person who used them was"
The lights flickered.
Thomas turned toward the ceiling. "Clara?"
The lights flickered again and steadied at half strength.
A calm voice spoke from a speaker I could not see. "Security breach detected. Executive floor lockdown initiated. Please remain in place and await instructions."
The hidden door clicked. Then it clicked again, heavier, like a bolt sliding home.
Greer moved first. "That should not happen. This room is not on the public lockdown grid."
"Clearly it is now," Andrew said.
Greer crossed to the door and tried the handle. It did not move.
"Then open it," Andrew said.
Greer ignored him and pressed the panel beside the frame. He entered a code with quick, practiced taps. Nothing happened. He entered a second code, slower. A small red light blinked and went dark.
"Try the service passage," I said.
Greer was already moving. He pulled at the paneled section toward the suite. It did not give. He pressed the release, held it, pressed it again.
"Sealed," he said.
"Sealed how?" Thomas asked.
"Electromagnetically, most likely. Same as the door."
I took out my phone. No signal. Not one bar.
"Yours?" I asked Thomas.
He checked. "Nothing."
Andrew held his up. "Nothing."
Greer lifted his radio. "Control, this is Greer. Executive floor, respond." Static hissed back. He changed channels. "Security desk, do you copy?" More static. He clipped the radio back. "Dead."
"Your master key card?" I said.
He pulled it from his pocket and swiped it through the reader by the door. The reader stayed dark. He swiped it again, slower. Nothing.
"Try your override," Thomas said.
"I did," Greer said. "It is not answering me. None of it is answering me."
I watched him. His hands were steady. His breathing was even. He went from panel to door to panel again with the brisk irritation of a man whose meeting had run long, not a man trapped with no way out.
"You do not look frightened," I said.
He glanced at me. "Panic does not open doors, Ms. Whitfield."
"It is not panic I am looking for. It is surprise. You run this hotel."
"I am surprised."
"You sound annoyed."
"Because I am annoyed," he said. "Fourteen years I have run this property and I have never had a lockdown override my own controls."
Thomas stepped closer to the door. "Who can do that? Who can override your controls and lock us in from outside?"
"No one should be able to," Greer said.
"That is not what I asked," Thomas said. "Who can?"
Greer hesitated, then answered like a man reading a manual. "A lockdown at this level requires executive authorization. My credentials. Yours, as chairman emeritus, if they are still active. A board level security credential. Or someone in the control room, using an executive code."
"So executive level access," Andrew said.
"Yes."
"Someone inside the company," I said.
"Or someone who was given the codes," Greer said.
"By whom?" Thomas demanded.
"I do not know."
"You know this hotel better than anyone in this room," I said. "If someone is driving this, they know it too. They knew this room existed. They knew exactly which floor to seal."
No one answered that.
I thought of Jack, two rooms away through walls I could not pass, in the suite with Jonah. Jonah had protected him during the blackout. Jonah would protect him now. I told myself that twice, and it still did not loosen the tightness in my chest.
"Jack is safe," Thomas said quietly, reading my face.
"You do not know that," I said, and kept my voice level because if I let it shake, this room would shake with it. "I cannot call him. I cannot call Jonah. I cannot get to him."
"Jonah will not leave him," Thomas said.
"I know. That is not the same as being there."
Andrew looked at the sealed passage. "Whoever did this wanted us separated from the boy. Or wanted us exactly here, listening."
"Listening to what?" Greer asked.
Then we heard it.
Three slow knocks on the hidden door. One. A pause. Two. A pause. Three. Deliberate. Unhurried. Not a rescue knock. Not a frantic knock.
Thomas went still.
A voice came through the wood, muffled but clear, a voice from family dinners and holidays and long summers when I was small. "Clara."
Thomas whispered, "That is your mother's older brother."
I put my hand on the locked door and did not try to open it. "What are you doing on the other side of a locked door, Uncle Walter?"