Minotaur by David Wellington Read Free Book Online Page A

slowed. He pushed harder, using the pain, using the way every muscle in his body just wanted to tense up, the way he wanted to just curl into a ball on the floor.
    He bit back the tears that rushed into his eyes. Bit back a shout of rage and agony.
    He couldn’t let Favorov find him like this. His value as a hostage would only go up if he was wounded. Chapel pulled open drawer after drawer in the counter until he found what he was looking for—­a roll of tape. It wasn’t duct tape, which he would have preferred, but just plain transparent packing tape. It didn’t matter. He forced his hands to steady, forced his vision to clear by sheer willpower, then he wrapped the tape around and around himself, holding the towel in place.
    When that was done he gave himself a long moment to just lean against the counter and breathe. It took all the effort he had just to bring oxygen into his lungs and pump carbon dioxide back out. It helped if he closed his eyes . . .
    “No,” he told himself out loud. “No!” He slammed the countertop with his right hand, slammed it again and again until he felt like he was regaining some control. Then he slowly turned around to face the swinging doors that led back into the house. If a small army of armed servants was about to arrive and take him captive, he could at least watch them do it.
    That was when he noticed something he’d desperately wanted for a while now, ever since he’d been taken prisoner. Something that could make all the difference.
    There was a telephone mounted on the kitchen wall.

 
    15.
    C hapel stumbled over to the phone and reached for the handset with one bloodstained hand. Before picking it up he studied the buttons, noticing there were no numbers on the keypad. The keys connected the phone with other rooms in the house, but there seemed no way to get an outside line. Maybe Favorov didn’t want his cook making expensive calls while she was working. The phone was basically just an intercom system, and it shouldn’t allow him to communicate with the outside world.
    Still. In his time working for Director Hollingshead, Chapel had come to expect miracles when it came to telecommunications. And a miracle was what he needed. He picked up the handset, at first saying nothing. There was no dial tone, no hiss of an unconnected line. Someone was listening.
    “Angel?” he said.
    He heard a series of clicks and then the sexiest, most welcome voice in the world answered him, though the connection was fuzzy and the volume was low. “Chapel! I’ve been trying to reach you for so long now. Please tell me you’re free and you’re all right.”
    Chapel looked down at the seeping wound in his abdomen. “I’m free,” he said. “For the moment. I was able to get away from the guards. How are you able to access this line?” he asked. “It’s in-­house only.”
    “True—­you can’t call out on this line, not if you’re a person. But it’s patched electronically into the house’s security system, and it needs to be able to contact the police or the fire department if there’s a problem. I’m piggybacking on a dedicated 911 connection, duplexing the signal through the voltage line so the call monitors don’t pick us up. Real old-­school phone phreaking. It would be fun if I wasn’t so worried about you, baby.”
    Chapel didn’t really care about the details. He had a far more important question. “Can anyone else in the house hear us? Say, if they pick up another handset?”
    “I’m afraid so. This is the best I can manage for now—­I could encrypt the signal so well the NSA couldn’t listen in, but that won’t stop anyone on the same line.”
    Chapel nodded to himself. “I heard clicks on the line just before you picked up. I think we have to assume everything we say is being overheard. Well, there’s nothing for it. I need to deliver a sitrep and I very, very badly need some advice. I’m sure you know by now that Favorov tried to take me hostage,