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

direction to our target. I said as much to Juliette, but she only grinned at me as my flashlight cast over her. “There is no such thing as a direct route in the catacombs.”

I don’t know who noticed first. I saw the shadows lift from the wall, falling just short of my beam as Juliette slowed. Then I heard the voices. Laughter. A man speaking French, and the cigarette smell.

“What the hell have you done?” Tripp asked, and Juliette shrugged.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor behind us, and I turned around, shining my light in that direction. Two men approached, the ones she’d been with at the nightclub. Veronica was at my side, Marcus near Tripp, forming a circle.

“You’re not really Juliette, are you?” I asked, feeling a fool for ever trusting the bartender and her word for it.

“Juliette is gone, but you’d be amazed at how many people show up at Charme seeking her out,” the imposter said. Her accent miraculously vanished, and I heard a hint of Dublin in her tone.

A hulking bald man with a leather jacket appeared from the direction ahead of us, a cigarette still in his lips. A short woman with close-cropped hair and a neck tattoo stood defiantly near him, her gaze flicking between the four of us.

“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep control of my voice.

“Usually your money, but I have a feeling there’s another reason you’ve come. Maybe a treasure. Maybe a missing person. And if you’re willing to give me three thousand euros for a simple tour, you must have a friend with deep pockets,” Juliette said.

“You’re mistaken. We just need to—”

I silenced Veronica by setting a hand on her arm. “We may as well tell them the truth.” I didn’t want this to turn violent. Tripp looked relaxed, and he hadn’t spoken yet. This told me he was eager for action. He was probably harnessing his strength, ready to spring like a coiled snake. “We’ve been hired by a movie company to scout a location for a new flick. The government is dropping all kinds of red tape, and it was suggested this destination might be a safe spot to film a few scenes.”

Juliette stepped back, her head tilting slightly as she listened.

“There could be more than ten thousand in it for you if you think you could get us in for at least three days without being seen. We’ll have some gear, maybe these… fine people can help us carry it,” I said, standing taller and adding in my cultured accent, trying to convey affluence and importance.

One of the guys behind me pulled a knife and mumbled something in French. “Raconter des salades.” He didn’t believe us.

We’d given Juliette half the payment already, and the rest was inside my jacket pocket. She’d seen it, and she walked forward, her sneakers quiet on the stone floor. She smiled at me and shoved her hand into my jacket, pulling the bills out. She handed them to the other woman, and leather coat pulled a gun.

I barely saw Tripp move. He rushed away and his arm flung out, striking the bulky man in the face. He spun, elbowing the guy’s gut, making him keel over. The man with the knife lunged in, and I bolted at him, shoving him aside. Marcus was in his path, and the blade sliced my friend, who staggered back, striking the wall, knocking bones loose.

Veronica was already moving, grabbing hold of Juliette. The girl was slight, but she was fast. Her arm cracked against Veronica’s face, and everyone halted at the sound of a gun firing.

Tripp held the big man’s gun and pointed it at the ceiling, and motioned at Juliette, then the guy who’d cut Marcus. “Drop the knife.” When nothing happened, Tripp aimed the gun at the perpetrator. “Drop the weapon!” His voice boomed in the corridor, falling flat against the dense space.

The blade fell to the ground, and I went for it, picking it up. The handle was warm and damp with sweat.

“What do we do with them?” I asked. The five thieves were in a line, with the four of us facing their group.

“I know what I’d like to do with them. Think anyone would miss these pieces of crap?” Tripp asked.

“We’re not killing them,” I told him.

“Are there more of you hiding down here?” Tripp asked them.

Marcus held his arm to his chest, his eyes closed. “You okay?” I whispered.

“Yeah, just a scrape. Nothing serious,” he replied, and I nodded gratefully.

“It’s only us,” Juliette assured Tripp. She stared at the gun.

“What would have happened if we didn’t pay you? How many bodies have you dragged and stowed in these tunnels?” Tripp stepped closer, and she pressed against a pile of bones.

“None. We don’t kill anyone. We scare them.”

“Here’s what’ll happen. Your friends are going to scatter, and you’ll bring us in as promised. Then you’ll leave, and all five of you will forget you ever saw us. Understood?” Tripp kept his voice level.

Juliette didn’t move. Tripp fired the gun, a skull exploding from the impact. Juliette screamed and slammed her hands to her ears. The big guy started forward, but Tripp quickly aimed at him. “I’m not messing around. My boss tells me to leave you alive, and I’ll do it, assuming you don’t test my patience.”

I almost smirked at him referring to me as his boss, but not quite. Things were still extremely tense in the catacomb’s corridor.

“Oui.” The guy who’d brandished the knife was the first to depart. The other two men were right after, and the girl shrugged and apologized as she took off, leaving Juliette the only one of their gang left.

“Nice friends. They were quick to abandon you,” Tripp muttered. “Come on. Take us the rest of the way, and you’ll live to see another sunrise.”

It turned out we were only a twenty-minute walk from the GPS coordinates Luis had left on the inside of the Caracas airport locker. Juliette clearly understood the layout