Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) by Nathan Hystad (ereader iphone .TXT) 📕

quickly eight years ago. He fought it, and everything seemed to be in the clear—until a few months ago,” Veronica said.

The elevators chimed, and the doors slowly opened. These old hotel elevators were usually cramped, and while I appreciated the quaintness and original aspects they offered, I always felt claustrophobic riding in them with other people.

“Where did you hear that?” Marcus asked.

“Like I was telling Rex tonight, I’ve been a long-time follower of all things Hunter.”

“But my research didn’t result with any hits about cancer,” Marcus said.

“You need to do it the old-fashioned way. Like talk to his in-house physician.” She grinned as the doors opened on the ninth floor.

“No way. You spoke to his doctor?” Marcus held his arm out, letting us pass by him and enter the hallway.

She whispered the response. “His former doctor. And his old groundskeeper, and his chef.”

“How did you find them?” I asked her.

“I learned who his accountant was and… made an appointment with him. You’d really be surprised by how trusting those spreadsheet types are. He went to get me a cup of coffee, and I snapped a few photos of an old personal payment schedule of Hunter’s.” She left us to ourselves, and Marcus stood frozen, his jaw dropped.

“We have to keep an eye on her,” I told him.

He nudged me with an elbow. “I can see you’ve been doing a good job of that.”

I ignored him, and we stopped at Hunter’s suite. It took up an entire quarter of the floor, the door the only one in this corner of the hotel, and Veronica glanced at me before knocking.

Tripp answered a few seconds later, waving us inside.

“What is it? Have they tracked us?” I asked, observing Hunter’s pale face at the kitchen island.

“No, but we have a problem,” Tripp said. “Hunter, you want to fill them in?”

“The next Token… we won’t be off to Hawaii as planned,” Hunter said.

“Why not?” I asked, navigating past the room service dolly, which was stacked with empty gold-plated trays. Marcus found some untouched pastries and grabbed one, shoving it in his mouth.

“My tech team has a program running, constantly scouring the web for any shapes and items that meet our criteria for the Tokens. Now that we have the measurements from the first couple samples, they’ve made a hit.” Hunter’s voice was labored, and he took a drink of water.

Marcus plopped into the chair beside Hunter. “You’ve located a Token?”

“We have. In the wild.”

Tripp brought over a tablet, resting it on its stand as he scrolled through a few images. “This man discovered it while hiking through Ni’ihau.” It showed a fit man of about thirty-five standing on a boat, shirtless. Tripp scanned to the next picture and used his fingers to zoom on the tablet. “There’s the Token.”

I stared, unbelieving. “Are you certain?”

Tripp went to the next image, and it began playing as a video. The rest of the boat vanished, leaving the Token, which rotated, yellow lines encompassing the piece. Hunter jabbed a finger at it. “A software program has determined the size is precisely that of your first two samples. This is a Token, and he was at the exact location of its hiding spot earlier this year. Someone beat us to it.”

“Who is he? Does he know what he has?” Veronica asked.

“Not as far as we can tell. He’s probably using it as a paperweight. We must travel to Los Angeles as soon as we’ve recovered the Token hidden in Paris,” Hunter exclaimed.

“He’s a film executive. Works for one of the big guys and lives in Silver Lake.” Tripp switched to a map of the area, the satellite image zooming onto a house with a long driveway and a kidney-shaped pool in the backyard.

“What’s the plan?” Marcus asked. “Go in all covert style, masked up with guns?”

Tripp’s arms were crossed, and he smiled as if that would make his day.

“Nothing of the sort. We’ve established that Cal Harken is holding a Christmas soiree at his house in three days time. What he doesn’t know is that Frank Winkle and his lovely wife, Chantelle, have been added to the guest list as executives of the up-and-coming production company, Park Place Movies.” Hunter’s eyes twinkled.

“Who the hell is Frank Winkle?” Marcus asked.

“I am,” I told him. “And I suppose my wife will be played by the flawless Veronica Jones?”

She rolled her eyes at my comment. “Hunter, couldn’t you have made me the executive instead? And Rex my bumbling assistant?”

Hunter lost his smile. “I don’t care how you get that Token; just do it. It wasn’t easy to fabricate my fledgling fake movie business in order to garner an invitation. So you’ll go to that party, drink a cocktail, and steal the damned Token from this Harken fellow before we depart to our final destination.”

“And where is that?” Veronica asked bravely.

Hunter glanced at me, but I shook my head. “You’ll learn soon enough,” I said firmly. “In the meantime, we have a plan. But first, we’ll scout the location in the morning.”

Tripp tapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Okay, kid, give it up.”

“Marcus, show them.” I’d kept the details close to our chests, but we were mere hours from traveling onto the streets to search for the Parisian Token.

Marcus used the tablet, pausing before he finished adding the coordinates into the mapping system. “This is encrypted, right? No one can access anything?”

“Tight as can be,” Tripp answered.

Marcus finished, and the map zoomed to a spot in the center of the second arrondissement. The Louvre was only a few blocks from there, but the location didn’t seem right. It took us to a simple street with nothing notable around it. We’d obsessed over this before we’d left home, but Marcus seemed sure we’d find a secret marking to identify where Luis had hidden the Token when we searched the region.

“This is it?” Veronica asked.

“That’s what we have. We’ll know more when we see it tomorrow.” I yawned and checked the time. “Or today.”

“Everyone to bed. We’ll