I wondered if I could just keep walking, across the lobby and right out the front door, waving to the doorman as I went. That was part of the living history: a uniformed doorman in a big coat with shining brass buttons. He’d spoken to us about the building’s history when we arrived. Stanton might have told him not to let me go, but what was he going to do? He might yell at me, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t grab me or tackle me or anything. People around here didn’t seem to go for that sort of thing.
I had decided to go ahead and try it, just to see what happened, when I noticed that the doorman wasn’t there. I hesitated by the wall near the elevators, because instead of the doorman, George was standing near the front door next to a broad-shouldered man in a long coat, someone I’d never seen before. His arms were crossed, squeezed tight, and he glowered. The doorman was nowhere in sight.
Maybe Stanton had set guards to make sure I didn’t escape. Maybe George was one of the guards, but if that were the case, George would have looked happier. And I couldn’t imagine him agreeing to miss the evening’s field trip. It was all very confusing. The man had a comm piece in his ear and watched out the glass by the front door. Then he nodded.
Another man in a long coat came in through the door, took hold of George’s shoulder, and the two men sandwiched him between them as they rushed out the front door. The second long-coated man held something low against George’s back. Shock gun? Ballistic pistol?
Otherwise, they just looked like three people walking out into the night. Nobody would look at them twice. Maybe they were his bodyguards.
No, they weren’t.
I ran to the front desk and started tapping at the concierge screen. Help, where was the help button? Or the security button? I couldn’t find anything relevant; all the buttons were about choosing a room and getting food delivered.
I went back to the front desk help screen, opened an audio search box, and said, “I’d like to report some suspicious activity. A kidnapping, I think.”
Words appeared on the screen: “Describe the suspicious activity.”
“I told you, a kidnapping, two men dragged out one of the students. They didn’t look like they belonged.”
More words: “Situation described does not match known parameters.”
Of course this sort of thing wasn’t normal and didn’t happen every day, but shouldn’t there be some kind of category for “not normal”? I growled at the screen, and it showed me an error message with a request to please repeat my statement. This was stupid.
I pulled out my handheld and pinged Charles. His handheld probably wasn’t even on. He didn’t answer, but I sent a message: “Something’s happened to George.”
As proof of how worried I really was, I tried Stanton next. I had to look up her code, because I hadn’t thought I’d ever want to call her for anything. Again, no answer. They were at the theater, they wouldn’t be getting calls. I could leave a million messages and it wouldn’t do any good, because this was happening right now.
Nobody was around; the lobby was empty.
I tried the front desk screen again. “How do I activate the fire alarm?”
The screen replied: “Is there a fire at your location?”
“Yes!”
A klaxon rang out, loud and throbbing, rattling my bones and filling the whole building. Well, that ought to get someone’s attention. Nozzles popped out of the ceiling, spraying fire-retardant foam. A white mist filled the air and covered the floor, the front desk, the furniture.
I crouched by the desk, but that didn’t keep me from getting soaked. Small price, right?
The lobby filled with people pretty quick after that. Guests from other tour groups looking startled and half asleep at the same time, people in hotel-staff uniforms, and a bunch of people in security uniforms came in through the front door. Half of them ducked back into hallways and offices when the foam sprayed them. A couple of people screamed, maybe on general principle. A bunch of people asked where the fire was, and nobody knew, which started a round of annoyed grumbling. Well, at least I’d gotten someone’s attention. But this was going to get interesting.
“Who started the alarm?” a guy in a security uniform called from the front door. He scanned the room, saw me, frowned even harder than he was already.
I raised my hand and pulled myself up, leaning on the desk to keep from sliding on the foam now covering the floor. “Me,” I said redundantly.
The sprayers turned off, so at least foam stopped raining down. I wiped a layer of it from my face and looked up at the guy. He put his hands on his hips.
“Our infrared alert system didn’t spot any fire,” he said. “Where’s the fire?”
“There isn’t a fire,” I said, and before he could start yelling added, “But there wasn’t an option to report a kidnapping.”
His brows lifted. “A kidnapping?”
“Yeah. I came into the lobby and saw these two big guys, bodyguard types, drag George Lou Montes outside, but I don’t think they were supposed to be here, and George was supposed to be with the field trip—”
“Who are you?” the security guy asked.
Deep breath, stay calm. “My name is Polly Newton, I’m with the group of students visiting from Galileo Academy. One of the other students was taken away against his will. Kidnapped. I saw it. I’m trying to report it. I swear, you guys are all up about security until something bad actually happens!”