Anna Petrescu was the sixth name on that list.
By the time Tina had placed the list on Fenston’s desk, Anna had finally made it to Pier 11, by cab, bus, foot and then cab again, only to find a long queue waiting patiently to board a ferry to New Jersey. She took her place at the back of the line, put on a pair of sunglasses and pulled down the peak of her baseball cap so it nearly covered her eyes. She stood with her arms tightly folded, the collar of her jacket turned up and her head bowed, so that only the most insensitive individual would have considered embarking on a conversation with her.
The police were checking the IDs of everyone leaving Manhattan. She looked on as a dark-haired, swarthy young man was taken to one side. The poor man looked bemused when three police-men surrounded him. One fired questions, while another searched him.
It was almost an hour before Anna finally reached the front of the queue. She took off her baseball cap to reveal her long fair hair and cream skin.
‘Why are you going to New Jersey?’ enquired the policeman as he checked her ID.
‘A friend of mine was working in the North Tower, and she’s still missing.’ Anna paused. ‘And I thought I’d spend the day with her parents.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ said the policeman. ‘I hope they find her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Anna, and quickly carried her bags up the gangway and onto the ferry. She felt so guilty about lying that she couldn’t look back at the policeman. She leaned on the railing and stared across at the grey cloud that still enveloped the site of the World Trade Center and several blocks either side. She wondered how many days, weeks or even months it would be before that dense blanket of smoke dispersed. What would they finally do with the desolate site, and how would they honour the dead? She raised her eyes and stared up at the clear blue sky above her. Something was missing. Although they were only a few miles from JFK and La Guardia, there wasn’t a plane in the sky, as if they had all, without warning, migrated to another part of the world.
The old engine juddered into action and the ferry began to drift slowly away from the pier on its short journey across the Hudson to New Jersey.
One o’clock struck on the pier tower. Half a day had gone.
‘The first flights out of JFK won’t be taking off for another couple of days,’ said Tina.
‘Does that include private aircraft?’ asked Fenston.
‘There are no exceptions,’ Tina assured him.
‘The Saudi royal family are being allowed to fly out tomorrow,’ interjected Leapman, who was standing by the chairman’s side, ‘but they seem to be the only exception.’
‘Meanwhile, I’m trying to get you on what the press are describing as the priority list,’ said Tina, who decided not to mention that the port authorities didn’t consider his desire to pick up a Van Gogh from Heathrow quite fell into the category of emergency.
‘Do we have any friends at JFK?’ asked Fenston.
‘Several,’ said Leapman, ‘but they’ve all suddenly acquired a whole lot of rich relations.’
‘Any other ideas?’ asked Fenston, looking up at both of them.
‘You might consider driving across the border into Mexico or Canada,’ suggested Tina, ‘and taking a commercial flight from there,’ knowing only too well that he wouldn’t consider it.
Fenston shook his head and, turning to Leapman, said, ‘Try and turn one of our friends into a relation - someone will want something,’ he added. ‘They always do.’
17
‘I’LL TAKE ANY CAR you’ve got,’ said Anna.
‘I have nothing available at the moment,’ said the weary-looking young man behind the Happy Hire Company desk, whose plastic badge displayed the name Hank. ‘And I don’t anticipate anything being returned until tomorrow morning,’ he added, failing to fulfil the company’s motto displayed on the counter top, No one leaves Happy Hire without a smile on their face. Anna couldn’t mask her disappointment.
‘I don’t suppose you’d consider a van?’ Hank ventured. ‘It’s not exactly the latest model, but if you’re desperate.’
‘I’ll take it,’ said Anna, well aware of the long queue of customers waiting in line behind her, all no doubt willing her to say no. Hank placed a form in triplicate on the counter top and began filling in the little boxes. Anna pushed across her driver’s licence, which she had packed along with her passport, enabling him to complete even more boxes. ‘How long do you require the vehicle?’ Hank asked.
‘A day, possibly two - I’ll be dropping it off at Toronto airport.’
Once Hank had completed all the little boxes, he swivelled the form round for her signature.
‘That’ll be sixty dollars, and I’ll need a two-hundred-dollar deposit.’
Anna frowned, and handed over two hundred and sixty dollars.
‘And I’ll also need your credit card.’
Anna slipped another hundred-dollar bill across the counter. The first time she’d ever attempted to bribe someone.
Hank pocketed the money. ‘It’s the white van in bay thirty-eight,’ he told her, handing over a key.
When Anna located bay thirty-eight, she could see why the little two-seater white van was the last vehicle on offer. She unlocked the back door and placed her case and laptop inside. She then went to the front and squeezed herself into the plastic-covered driver’s seat. She checked the dashboard. The milometer read 98,617, and the speedometer suggested a maximum of 90, which she doubted. It was clearly coming to the end of its rental life, and another 400 miles might well finish it off. She wondered if the vehicle was even worth three hundred and sixty dollars.
Anna started the engine and tentatively reversed out of the parking lot. She saw a man in her wing mirror, who quickly stepped out of the way. It was less than a mile before she discovered the vehicle was built for neither speed nor comfort. She glanced down at the route map she’d placed on the passenger seat beside her, then began to look for signs to the Jersey Turnpike and Del Water Gap. Although she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, Anna decided she needed to put a few miles on the clock before she started thinking about food.
‘You were right, boss,’ said Joe, ‘she’s not going to Danville.’
‘So where is she headed?’
‘Toronto airport.’
‘Car or train?’ he asked.
‘Van,’ replied Joe.
Jack tried to calculate how long the journey would take, and concluded that Petrescu ought to reach Toronto by late the next afternoon.
‘I’ve already fixed a GPS on her rear bumper,’ Joe added, ‘so we’ll be able to track her night and day.’
‘And be sure you have an agent waiting for her at the airport.’
‘He’s already been detailed,’ said Joe, ‘with instructions to let me know where she intends to fly.’
‘She’ll be flying to London,’ said Jack.
By three that afternoon, Tina had been able to remove four more names from the missing list. Three of them had been voting in the primary elections for mayor, while the fourth had missed her train.
Fenston studied the list, as Leapman placed a finger on the only name he was interested in. Fenston nodded when his eyes settled on the Ps. He smiled.
‘Saved having to do it ourselves,’ was Leapman’s only comment.
‘What’s the latest from JFK?’ Fenston asked.
‘They’re allowing a few flights out tomorrow,’ said Leapman, ‘visiting diplomats, hospital emergencies and some senior politicians vetted by the State Department. But I’ve managed to secure us an early slot for Friday morning.’ He paused. ‘Someone wanted a new car.’
‘Which model?’ asked Fenston.
‘A Ford Mustang,’ replied Leapman.
‘I would have agreed to a Cadillac’.
Anna had reached the outskirts of Scranton by three thirty that afternoon, but decided to press on for a couple more hours. The weather was clear and crisp, and the three-lane highway crowded with cars heading north, almost all of them overtaking her
. Anna relaxed a little once tall trees replaced skyscrapers on both sides. Most of the highways had a fifty-five-mile speed limit, which suited her particular mode of transport. But she still had to hold on to the steering wheel firmly to make sure the van didn’t drift into another lane. Anna glanced down at the tiny clock on the dashboard. She would try and make Buffalo by seven, and then perhaps take a break.
She checked her rear-view mirror, suddenly aware what it must feel like to be a criminal on the run. You couldn’t use a credit card or a cellphone, and the sound of a distant siren doubled your heart beat. A life spent wary of strangers, as you looked over your shoulder every few minutes. Anna longed to be back in New York, among her friends, doing the job she loved. Her father once said - ‘Oh God,’ said Anna out loud. Did her mother think she was dead? What about Uncle George and the rest of the family in Danville? Could she risk a phone call? Hell, she wasn’t very good at thinking like a criminal.
Leapman walked into Tina’s office unannounced. She quickly flicked off the screen on the side of her desk.
‘Wasn’t Anna Petrescu a friend of yours?’ Leapman asked without explanation.
‘Yes, she is,’ said Tina looking up from her desk.
‘Is?’ said Leapman.
‘Was,’ said Tina, quickly correcting herself.
‘So you haven’t heard from her?’
‘If I had, I wouldn’t have left her name on the missing list, would I?’
‘Wouldn’t you?’ said Leapman.
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Tina, looking directly at him. ‘So perhaps you’ll let me know if she gets in touch with you,’ she added.
Leapman frowned and left the room.
Anna pulled off the road and swung into the forecourt of an uninviting-looking diner. She was pleased to see there were only two other vehicles in the parking lot, and when she entered the building just three customers were seated at the counter. Anna took a seat in a booth with her back to the counter, pulled down her baseball cap and studied the one-sided greasy plastic menu. She ordered a tomato soup and the chef’s special, grilled chicken.
Ten dollars and thirty minutes later, she was back on the road. Although she’d drunk nothing but coffee since breakfast, it wasn’t long before she began to feel sleepy. She’d covered three hundred and ten miles in just over eight hours before stopping to eat, and now she was having to make an effort to keep her eyes open.
Feel Tired? Take A Break advised a bold sign on the side of the highway, which only caused her to yawn again. Ahead of her, she spotted a twelve-wheeler truck turning off the road into a rest stop. Anna glanced at the clock on the dashboard - just after eleven. She’d been on the road for nearly nine hours. She decided to catch a couple of hours’ rest before tackling the rest of the journey. After all, she could always sleep on the plane.
Anna followed the articulated truck into the rest stop, and then drove across to the farthest corner. She parked behind a large stationary vehicle. She jumped out of the van and made sure all the doors were locked before climbing into the back, relieved that there was no other vehicle nearby. Anna tried to make herself comfortable, using her laptop bag as a pillow. She couldn’t have been more uncomfortable, but fell asleep within minutes.
‘Petrescu still worries me,’ said Leapman.
‘Why should a dead woman worry you?’ asked Fenston.
‘Because I’m not convinced she’s dead.’
‘How could she have survived that?’ asked Fenston, looking out of the window at the black shroud that refused to lift its veil from the face of the World Trade Center.
‘We did.’
‘But we left the building early,’ said Fenston.
‘Perhaps she did. After all, you ordered her off the premises within ten minutes.’
‘Barry thinks otherwise.’
‘Barry’s alive,’ Leapman reminded him.
‘Even if Petrescu did escape, she still can’t do anything,’ said Fenston.
‘She could get to London before I do,’ said Leapman.
‘But the painting is safely under lock and key at Heathrow.’
‘But all the documentation to prove you own it was in your safe in the North Tower, and if Petrescu was able to convince—’
‘Convince who? Victoria Wentworth is dead, and try not to forget that Petrescu is also missing, presumed dead.’
‘But that might prove to be just as convenient for her as it is for us.’
‘Then we’ll have to make it less convenient.’
9/13
18
A LOUD, REPEATED banging jolted Anna out of a deep sleep. She rubbed her eyes and looked through the windscreen. A man with a pot belly hanging out of his jeans was thumping on the bonnet of the van with a clenched fist. In his other hand he was carrying a can of beer that was frothing at the mouth. Anna was about to scream at him when she realized that someone else was at the same time trying to wrench open the back door. An ice-cold shower couldn’t have woken her any quicker.
Anna scrambled into the driver’s seat and quickly turned the key in the ignition. She looked in her wing mirror and was horrified to see that another forty-ton truck was now stationed directly behind her, leaving her with almost no room for manoeuvre. She pressed the palm of her hand on the horn, which only encouraged the man holding the beer can to clamber up onto the bonnet and advance towards her. Anna saw his face clearly for the first time, as he leered at her through the windscreen. She felt cold and sick. He leant forward, opened his toothless mouth and began licking the glass, while his friend continued trying to force open the back door. The engine finally spluttered into life.
Anna yanked the steering wheel round to give her the tightest possible lock, but the space between the two trucks only allowed her to advance a few feet before she had to reverse. Power steering was not one of the van’s extras. When she shot back, Anna heard a yell from behind as the second man threw himself to one side. Anna crashed into first gear and pressed her foot back down on the accelerator. As the van leapt forward, the pot-bellied man slid off the bonnet, and onto the ground with a thud. Anna thrust the gearstick back into reverse, praying this time there would be enough room to escape. But before she had pulled the steering wheel fully round, she glanced to the side to see that the second man was now staring at her through the passenger window. He clamped both of his massive hands on the roof and began rocking the van slowly backwards and forwards. She slammed her foot on the pedal and the van dragged him slowly forward, but she still failed to make it through the gap, if only by inches. Anna rammed the gear into reverse for a third time and was horrified to see the first man’s hands reappear on the front of the bonnet, as he pulled himself back up onto his feet. He lurched forward, stuck his nose flat against the windscreen, and gave her a thumbs-down sign. He then shouted to his buddy, ‘I get to go first this week.’ His buddy stopped rocking the car and burst out laughing.
Anna broke out into a cold sweat when her eyes settled on the pot-bellied man, walking unsteadily towards his truck. A quick glance in her wing mirror and she could see his mate climbing up into his cab.
It didn’t take Anna more than a split second to work out exactly what they had in mind. She was about to become the meat in their next sandwich. Anna hit the accelerator so hard that she careered into the truck behind her just as he turned on his full headlights. She crashed the gears back into first as the engine of the front truck roared into life, belching a cloud of black smoke all over the windscreen. Anna yanked the steering wheel over with a jerk and once again thrust her foot hard down on the accelerator. The van jumped forward, just as the truck in front of her began to reverse. She collided with the corner of the front truck’s massive mudguard, which tore off her bumper followed by her offside mudguard. She then felt herself being shunted from behind as the rear truck ploughed into her, ripping off her rear bumper. The little van came hurtling out of the gap with inches to spare and spun around a full three hundred and sixty degrees before it came to a halt.
Anna looked across to see the two trucks, unable to react in time, crash into each other.
She accelerated across the parking lot, raced past several stationary trucks and out onto the highway. She continued to look in her rear-view mirror as the two trucks disentangled themselves. A loud screeching of brakes and a cacophony of horns followed as she narrowly missed colliding with a stream of vehicles coming down the highway, several of which had to career across two lanes to avoid her. The first driver left his hand on the horn for some time, leaving Anna in no doubt of his feelings. Anna waved an apologetic hand to the overtaking vehicle as it shot past her, while she continued to glance into her wing mirror, dreading seeing either of the trucks pursuing her. She jammed her foot down on the accelerator until it touched the floor, determined to find out the maximum speed the van could manage: 68mph was the answer.
Anna checked her wing mirror once again. A vast eighteen-wheeler was coming up behind her on the inside lane. She gripped the steering wheel firmly and jammed her foot back down on the accelerator, but the van had no more to offer. The truck was now eating up the ground, yard by yard, and in moments she knew it would convert itself into a bulldozer. Anna thrust the palm of her left hand down on the horn, and it let out a bleat that wouldn’t have disturbed a flock of starlings from their nests. A large green sign appeared on the side of the road, indicating the turn-off for the I-90, one mile.
Anna moved into the middle lane and the massive truck followed her like a magnet hoping to sweep up any loose filings. The truck driver was now so close that Anna could see him in her wing mirror. He gave her another toothless grin and then honked his horn. It let forth a sound that would have drowned out the last bars of a Wagner opera.
Half a mile to the exit, the new sign promised. She moved across to the fast lane, causing a line of advancing cars to throw on their brakes and slow down. Several pressed their horns this time. She ignored them and slowed down to fifty, when they became an orchestra.
False Impression (2006) Page 9
