Chapter XI

"It's not that I don't think changing hotels was a good idea, Joe," said Callie, poking curiously at the combination of noodles and tofu on her plate, "But what if Frank escapes? He won't know where to find us."

"That means we need to hurry up and find him first." Joe frowned at his breakfast. "What is this stuff, anyway?"

"It's the breakfast special. Shouldn't be a surprise to a world traveler like yourself. Eat up."

Joe looked around the small coffee shop in the basement of their Chinese hotel and shook his head dubiously. Everyone seemed to be eating happily, and they weren't all Chinese, either. "And furthermore," he continued, tasting the dish cautiously. It was surprisingly good, and he perked up. "I just don't see how we're going to work a question like that into a conversation with Alissa."

"Leave that to me," answered Callie, sipping her orange juice. "I'll think of something."

Joe swallowed some more. "I don't feel good about using Alissa. Now that we know she's innocent."

Callie glared at him. "We don't know anything of the kind. Besides, I'm not planning to beat it out of her. Not at first, anyway."

"Very funny." Joe swallowed the last of his meal in one bite and stood up. "Let's go. If we stake out the place a little early, maybe we'll see Jerry arriving with someone."

They didn't see Jerry, but the doors were open, and they entered the lobby hopefully. "You wait here and keep an eye out for Alissa," Joe instructed, indicating his backpack. "I'm going to see if I can sneak this binder back into the office before this place gets really trafficked."

Joe slipped up the now-familiar staircase. The office door was actually standing open, with some folders neatly arranged on the desk. He dove inside, dropped the binder next to its fellows, and swung quickly out again. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the stone corridor. Determined to avoid awkward explanations, he flattened himself behind a nearby pillar. The footsteps entered the office and stayed. Joe gave a snort of exasperation. Well, he could probably walk by without attracting any particular attention. Or he could go around and downstairs on the other side. He decided to try that first.

He made his way around to the rear corridor. He was just passing the Prop Room door when he paused. He really shouldn't. But he just couldn't resist. He tried the knob, and the door gave way. Inside, all was dark and quiet. He glanced around, lingering at the doorway for a hasty retreat. "Hey!" he whispered. "Just wanted to see if your man got home all right!"

There was a pause, then a voice from the darkness grumbled, "I suppose you think that's funny. I could have you arrested, you know."

"Sure," agreed Joe cheerfully, "But you won't, because that would give the whole show away."

There was a silence, then, "There's just no easy way to get rid of you, is there?"

Joe leaned against the doorjamb. "Sure there is. Real easy. Find Frank. Then we'll all be gone in two shakes. Well, see you."

"You'd better hope not, young man."

Joe decided not to push his luck and hurried down the remainder of the corridor and up the side stairs. He reached Callie just as Alissa entered.

"Why, hello!" She greeted them with such pleased surprise that Joe's conscience smote him. "What are you guys doing here? And so early!"

"We wanted to be the first to see the jewels!" Callie bubbled with such eager ingenuousness that Joe stared in admiration.

Alissa laughed. "Sorry, guys. Not till tomorrow, remember?"

Joe decided he'd better do his bit and grinned meaningfully at Alissa. "Depends on what kind of jewels you're looking for."

Alissa colored prettily. "You never let up, do you?"

"Not till I get what I'm after."

Alissa grinned. "I'll bet. Well, Callie, I'm sorry to disappoint you anyway."

"Oh, it's all right. I guess I'll just have to come back. Aren't you nervous though? At the thought of carrying the jewels even a short distance?"

Alissa hesitated at the foot of the stairs, and Callie noted the suppressed excitement in her face. Finally, she turned to them. "Listen, guys, can you keep a secret?"

Callie and Joe glanced at each other, then back at Alissa. "Of course."

"Well...I can't tell anybody here, and if I don't tell somebody, I'm just going to bust!" She glanced around nervously, then lowered her voice. "I won't be carrying the jewels. Tomorrow night I'm singing in the Gala!"

"Oh, Alissa!" Callie gave her a hug. "How wonderful for you! They finally decided to give you a chance?"

"W-well...no..." Alissa leaned against the stair rail. "Not exactly. That's why it's a secret. I have a friend who's a singer - she's been helping me a lot. Maybe you've heard of her. She used to be quite an up and coming mezzo until - well - until she had some tragedy. Gabrielle Townsend's her name."

"Gabrielle Townsend." Callie wrinkled her forehead. "Oh, I think I remember. Didn't she have a drinking problem?"

Alissa nodded. "She's had a very sad life. She was married to her manager, and I guess he used to knock her around pretty bad. They say sometimes even greasepaint wouldn't cover the marks. So she started drinking. Once when she was drunk and he was violent her little boy tried to stand up for her. Her husband beat him so badly he died. After that her drinking got worse.

One night she went onstage to sing Musetta in La Boheme and collapsed in a drunken stupor. That pretty much finished her starring career.

Now she does chorus parts and small featured roles. And in this one - well, she met me for breakfast and suggested that we switch! She's had her chance, after all, and it will give me an opportunity to strut my stuff. She's coached me a lot, and she thinks I'm ready. So! I'm singing Lise!"

Callie and Joe were staring open mouthed at each other, because the same thought had occurred to both of them. Gabrielle Townsend. G. Townsend!

"Th-that's great Alissa, but aren't you afraid to let anyone else walk the jewels?"

"Oh, no." Alissa was blithe. "Why, Gabby's been with the Company much longer than I have, and there is an armed guard!"

"Don't you think the Stage Manager might object?"

Alissa laughed. "Jerry? I doubt it! In fact, that's probably the main reason for the switch, so they can hang out backstage together. They've been engaged just forever."

"No kidding." Callie mustered a weak smile. "Well, I'm so happy for you Alissa, really I am. I'm sure you'll be wonderful. But say, I guess you've got a lot to do. We should get out of your way."

Alissa nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're right. There's a big rehearsal in about half an hour - all hands on deck."

"But don't worry," Joe called as Callie practically dragged him toward the door. "I'll be back."

"Terrific! Maybe the next time I see you I'll be a real singer!" They waved as they exited the building and hurried down the steps.

"Well," gasped Callie. "I never expected it to be that easy."

"No," Joe agreed. "But what a break - we know both G. Townsend and Jerry are either here or on their way. I was studying the trolley lines last night. Let's grab one now. We may be just in time to spring Frank."

*

Frank ground his teeth in frustration and checked his watch for the thousandth time. He hoped that Gabby had no plans to come home for lunch. A dozen times he had almost had the mattress support loose, nearly dislocating his knee in the process, and a dozen times it slid back into the headboard at the last second.

"Come on, Frank," he chided himself, "it's not like you have anything else to do." He grasped the mattress support in both hands, and, bracing his foot against one of the wooden slats lying between the mattress supports once more, pushed with all his might. The support and headboard clicked together again, but the wooden slat sprang free with a clatter.

Good, thought Frank. At least I can slide my hand up and down further now for better leverage. I just hope none of the neighbors hear and call the police.

Though, why not? he thought upon reflection. That would be one way out of here. As he repositioned himself he had to admit to a reluctance to get Gabby in trouble. Just great, Frank. Sympathizing with your captors. What do they call that - the Stockholm Syndrome?

He braced himself for another try. Concentrate. Deep breaths. He thought of his sensei and pictured the bed coming apart in his mind. Then, giving a karate yell to cheer himself on, he pushed with all his might. The bed tried to slide back together, but he gave the support a shove with his upper arm and it tilted crazily, sending the box spring sliding into his shoulder. He grunted with pain, but he was smiling. Gently, he slid the cuff to the end of the metal support, lifted the box spring slightly with his left hand, and worked it over the notched end. He was free.

Slowly, he stood up for the first time in a day and a half, staggered and grabbed for the wall. A little wobbly, but not too bad. He made his way to the window and cautiously looked out. Too high to jump, and nothing to use to climb down. Also over a very public parking lot.

He turned back to the door. Locked, of course, but maybe...his eyes fell on the plastic knife. A long shot. But maybe. As he picked up the knife he remembered his jacket and reached for it. Didn't want to forget that.

Something in the pocket bumped against him and his eyes widened. If it was still there...he fumbled with the small leather case, then smiled broadly. His credit card. Well, Dad, you said it was for emergencies. If only you knew. He slid it between the door and jamb and wiggled it until he heard a click.

He turned the knob and opened the door a crack. The apartment had an empty feel, but he couldn't be too careful. After a moment's thought he went back and picked up the wooden slat. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was something, and a whole lot better than the plastic knife.

Now he looked carefully both ways and eased out of the door. Part of him longed to search the apartment, but it was getting toward noon and the risk seemed too great. No. Better get out while he could, get back to Joe and Callie, then decide what to do next.

He walked past one door, then the next, his wooden slat at the ready, making his way to the front of the apartment. At the front door he carefully turned the deadbolt and slid off the chain, knowing that if they'd left a guard that's where he was most likely to be. Nothing. Cautiously, he turned the knob and pulled the door inward. No one in sight. He closed the door behind him with a silent apology to Gabby, and glanced about the hall. An elevator right across the way. A flight of fire stairs to the right.

As he hesitated, the floor numbers above the elevator began to flash, sending his heart into his throat. He dove for the stairs, easing the door closed behind him and leaning against it for a second, catching his breath and rubbing absently at the bump throbbing quietly on his forehead. The door was labeled with a big number 6. Five flights to go, then. Maybe there was even a basement he could slip out of and avoid the front door all together.

He slid silently down the first flight, his back pressed to the wall as much for support as for secrecy. Four more. After peering around the corner, he did the same with the next flight. Three. So far, so good.

He had started down the next flight, thinking two more flights- three, if you're lucky and there's a basement - when he heard it. Footsteps, slow and stealthy. Coming up the stairs toward him. And there was absolutely nowhere to hide.

Frank backed hastily up the stairs and dove around the corner. Maybe I'm lucky, he thought, his heart hammering. Maybe somebody's just getting their exercise. Maybe they'll get off a flight below me. But the slow, stealthy progress kept on toward him.

He grasped his slat weapon in both hands, his mouth set in a hard line, acutely aware that he was not in his best fighting trim. You have surprise, Frank, he told himself sternly. And you have a weapon. Yeah, a little voice inside mocked him. But maybe they have guns.

The steps were almost here. Quiet as they were, he could tell. He took a big breath and, bracing himself, raised the slat over his head and leapt out to face his enemy.