Viktor seized the moment. He did not go for the desk phone. He knew Vane was right. The jammer might still be too close. Instead, he grabbed Livia’s arm. “The service lift,” Livia yelled. “It has an emergency intercom. It’s on a separate circuit.” They scrambled out of the office, sliding and splashing through the flooded hallway. Vane was behind them, cursing, trying to wipe the foul-smelling water from his eyes. They reached the service lift, a rusted metal cage used for moving laundry. Livia slammed the gate shut just as the bodyguard reached them. His fingers caught in the mesh, and he let out a roar of pain as Livia hit the up button. The lift groaned, lurching upward.
“The intercom,” Viktor shouted over the siren. Livia ripped the plastic cover off the emergency panel. Inside was a simple, rugged handset. “It’s a direct line to the security booth at the G20 summit sidelines. They have to answer. It’s a legal requirement for the building’s fire code.” Viktor grabbed the handset. He was shivering from the cold water, his charcoal suit ruined, his hair plastered to his forehead. A voice crackled over the line. “Security central. State your emergency.” “This is Viktor Molnar,” he gasped, his voice regaining its steel. “ID code blue-seven-alpha-niner. I am under physical assault at the Kensington Royale. Connect me to the board of Molnar Industries immediately. Emergency override. Now.”
There was a pause. The lift crawled past the first floor. “Identity confirmed, Mr. Molnar. Connecting now.” A series of clicks followed. Then a room full of voices erupted over the speaker. “Viktor, is that you? We were just about to vote.” It was Marcus Reed, the treasurer. “Marcus,” Viktor yelled, “cancel the vote. I am invoking the wolf’s clause. The Apex offer is fraudulent. I have a witness and physical evidence of sabotage. If Pendleton is in that room, have security remove him.” On the other end of the line, Livia heard a muffled shout, the sound of Pendleton realizing the game was up. “Viktor,” Marcus said, “the clock is at zero. You made it. By twelve seconds.”
Viktor leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the lift. The handset fell from his hand, dangling by its cord. He closed his eyes, the adrenaline leaving him in a sudden crashing wave. The lift stopped at the penthouse level. The doors opened to a quiet, plush hallway, a stark contrast to the chaos below. Viktor stepped out, then turned. He looked at Livia. She was a mess. Her uniform was soaked in black sprinkler water, her hair was wild, and she was shaking with cold and lingering fear. “Twelve seconds,” Viktor whispered. “That’s a long time in linguistics,” Livia said, her voice cracking. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob.