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Chapter 38 - The Vienna Summons

"The dumbwaiter hasn't been operated since 1975," Arthur warned, shaking his head frantically. "The cables are rusted through! If it snaps, anyone inside falls thirty feet straight into the wine cellar!"

"I'm not putting Sarah in the shaft," Mark said grimly, stripping off his heavy woolen jacket. "I’m going up myself. The counterweights are iron. I rebuilt the pulley mechanism three weeks ago when I was restoring the kitchen pantry."

"Mark, it's too dangerous," I said, catching his arm, my eyes filling with tears. "If they catch you upstairs—"

"If we do nothing, they kill Clara at 3:30 AM," Mark said fiercely, cupping my face in his calloused hands. He kissed me with an intensity that burned through the freezing dread in the room. "I will protect our daughter, Sarah. Even if I have to tear down this entire damn mountain with my bare hands."

Mark turned to Eleanor. "Give me your hairpin. The heavy steel one holding that dirty bun together."

Eleanor quickly pulled the five-inch decorative steel hairpin from her hair, handing it to Mark with trembling hands. "The cherub's left eye... press the left eye first, then pry the mortar at the base. That’s what Henry told me on his deathbed."

Mark took the pin, slipped his pocketknife into his belt, and walked toward the ornate oak paneling behind the sideboard. Using the tip of his knife, he popped the hidden spring latch. The wood panel swung open, revealing the narrow, dust-choked darkness of the dumbwaiter shaft.

"Mark," I whispered, clutching his hand one last time. "Be careful."

"Keep Julian talking," Mark whispered back. "Give me ten minutes."

He squeezed his broad frame into the cramped wooden box, grasped the coarse hemp rope, and began hauling himself up into the vertical blackness of the walls. The faint, rhythmic creak of the old iron gears was swallowed by the howling wind outside.

I closed the panel, wiped the dust from my hands, and took a deep breath.

Outside the library doors, the heavy iron lock suddenly turned.

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Julian Vance Montgomery stepped into the room, flanked by two guards with drawn handguns. He glanced at his platinum watch, then at me.

"Time is up, Sarah," Julian said, his voice flat and merciless. "Where is the ledger?"

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