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

convene at eight in the morning,” Hunter said.

I stopped by the exit and faced Hunter and Tripp. “I think you should stay here tomorrow, Hunter. Your face is too recognizable. If anyone sees you waltzing around with me in Paris, we’ll be ambushed in minutes.”

He pursed his lips and stroked his white beard before responding, “What do you think, Tripp?”

“He’s right. We’ll do it.” Tripp seemed hesitant. “You’ll linger inside this room, and don’t answer the door for anyone.”

“I am not a—a child,” Hunter stammered. “I can handle my own affairs.”

“You’ve seen what the Believers can do. You hired me for protection, and I’m suggesting you listen to my advice. I’ve dealt with far worse than a fanatical cult.”

I watched the exchange with interest and appreciated the manner in which Tripp handled his employer.

“Fine. Get to bed.”

As I walked to the elevator, it felt like eight AM would come far too quickly.

8

Marcus walked across the street, rain pouring off his umbrella. “This sucks.”

It was a miserable morning, doubled in its effects by our moods. We’d scoured the street for an hour already, finding no discernable markings or hints of the Token’s location.

“The coordinates are only an approximation. Plus, these buildings are renovated. It could have been moved during a remodel,” Tripp said, kicking at a bike fence. We were half a block from a café, and the smells of espresso and breakfast pastries wafted over despite the downpour. “Maybe we should go inside, regroup,” he suggested.

“Fine by me,” Marcus said. He walked quickly, his soggy shoes squelching with each step.

I started after them and checked to see if Veronica was following. “You coming?”

The rain fell harder, battering my clear umbrella, and a gust of wind nearly tore it from my grip. “Veronica!” I shouted, but she didn’t acknowledge me. I stopped at her side, trying to see what she was staring at.

Water drifted across the one-way street, and I reached for her as a car drove by, not slowing as it splashed us, soaking me from head to toe. “What a jerk!”

Rain rolled down Veronica’s face, and she smiled despite being bathed in water. “I think I know where it is.”

“The Token? Where?” I asked.

Her finger pointed to the sewer drain along the sidewalk.

“In the sewers?”

“Why not? The coordinates show the position, not the depth.” She beamed at the revelation, and I pulled her into a hug.

Someone honked at us, and I grabbed her hand, directing her to the sidewalk. “You did it. Now we just need to figure out how we access them.”

The café was a warm respite from the morning storm, and we joined Marcus and Tripp in a booth closest to the kitchen. Their jackets dripped on the floor, hung from another table’s chairs, and we added ours to the pile.

“I say we ask to speak to the building manager. They might have…” Tripp stopped as he looked up at us. “What has you so happy?”

“Veronica thinks the Token is in the sewers,” I said.

“And that makes you pleased?” Marcus asked. “Way I see it, we can’t go into the sewers in the middle of a rainstorm, not to mention in the heart of a city like Paris. There has to be some…”

“Bring up the map. See what can be done,” I told Marcus, and he took out his computer.

I headed to the till, ordering four hot drinks and an assortment of pastries. By the time I returned, Marcus’ expression was grave. “The sewer is there, but…”

“But what?” I asked, sliding the tray to the center of the table.

“Have you ever heard of the Catacombs?”

“Sure, the Catacombes de Paris. Pretty famous tourist spot,” I said. My mother hadn’t allowed us to visit them on our trip, despite my incessant begging. “They’re intricate, with tunnels and caverns spreading out under the city. Many are unmarked and blocked off from public use, but they’re down there.” I plopped into the seat beside Marcus and saw the map of known tunnels, with the city map overlapping.

“And you’re suggesting there’s a section of the catacombs underneath our coordinates?” Tripp sat across from us with his hands wrapped around the warmth of a coffee cup.

“It appears so, but it’s not part of the publicized network,” Marcus said.

“How do we access it?” Veronica asked.

“No clue. I doubt that kind of information is easily available online.”

Marcus began to search, but there was a glint of curiosity in Veronica’s eyes. I could see the wheels spinning. “What is it?”

She blew on her drink, sipping it before responding. “One of my clients mentioned coming to Paris. He hired some locals to escort him into the catacombs. He filmed the whole thing. I guess there’s like a whole world under Paris. They once found a cavern with a bar and movie theater in an abandoned region. It’s also super dangerous.”

“Collapses?” It was something we were used to in the archaeology field. Everything was always underground, and years of weather and water tended to make things unsteady.

“Those are a possibility, but also people. My client was fine, though, and he had a great time.”

“Can you speak to him? See where he obtained the tour guide?” I asked.

“Hunter said no outside contact,” Tripp barked.

“He also wants the Token, doesn’t he? I’ll send him a message.” Veronica’s phone was in her hand a split second later, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. “Done.”

I didn’t like the idea of waiting around. “Now what?”

Her phone beeped. “These kids love texting.” She tapped it and read the message while we all waited impatiently.

“What does it say?” Tripp asked.

“I guess they call them cataphiles. People who enter illegally and hold parties, or just graffiti inside the caverns. He met one at a nightclub. A place called Charme.”

“Nightclub? We don’t have that kind of time,” I said, not thrilled with delaying this mission any longer.

“Unless you have a better plan, we head to Charme and ask for Juliette tonight.”

“And if she’s not there?” Tripp asked.

“Then we find another way.”

____________

The music