Charlotte beamed. “I’ll tell the caterers.”
“I’ll do it,” Liz said, wanting both the excuse and the opportunity to avoid circulating as much as possible. “If anybody’s getting an advance taste of that cake, it’s me.”
Charlotte grinned, and Liz left before her mouth got her in real trouble. She’d never been a good liar, even through the months of the affair with David. Had Lou not been so consumed at the time, he would have caught on sooner.
The caterers from Wild Ginger had usurped both the galley kitchen and a small conference room across from it, down a hall near the stairs that Liz had climbed only minutes before. Asian odors of pickled ginger and plum and cinnamon thickened with her approach. It took her a minute to locate the woman in charge, a woman with whom she’d had dealings. Their meeting in person was cordial and businesslike. Liz asked that the cake be brought out earlier than originally planned, and the caterer saw no problem with that, asking for five to ten minutes to clear the hors d’oeuvres and to orchestrate the change. Liz said Charlotte would dim the lights when signaled, knowing full well there was no dimming the overhead fluorescents. The entire floor would be briefly dark, the guests’ attention fixed on the candles and the cake. This would be the moment Liz needed.
Halfway back down the hall, she stepped into an empty office and pulled out her cell phone. Lou answered right away.
“I’m in. Watch for the lights. Five minutes, maybe ten.”
“They’re searching the theater. Riz is going to have this figured out soon if he doesn’t already. They’ll think you were pressured into this, but they’ll still expect one of those two passwords from you.” Miles6. Sarah4. She didn’t intend to use either; there would be no alerting Pahwan Riz to the actual transfer. “I’ve got Bobbie inside as a waitress,” Lou continued. “When you’re done in there, you need to call me.”
He’d stressed this need to call him about a dozen times and it annoyed her that he’d repeat it yet again. “I got that, Lou.” She regretted the tone, not knowing herself, hoping that whatever woman she’d become over the past few weeks would not stick.
“Okay.” Boldt ended the call.
Liz slipped the mobile phone back into Daphne’s purse and spun in the chair, preparing to leave.
“I thought that was you.” A deep male voice she recognized before looking up. Danny Foreman blocked the doorway.
“Wouldn’t miss my own party,” she said.
“Who were you talking to just now?” he asked. “Lou?”
How much did he hear? She couldn’t remember what she’d said on her end of the conversation. The manila envelope that contained a disk remained inside the purse. How much does he know? “I don’t remember your name being on the invitation list,” she said.
“Half of Special Ops is looking for you in a movie theater at this very moment.”
“Not you.”
“Not me. I wanted to make sure we still had our understanding. Protect the state’s investment in this investigation.”
If the money went anywhere but the Svengrad account, her children weren’t safe. She thought that by now Danny Foreman probably understood this as well. She said, “I wonder what Pahwan Riz would think of your being up here. Lou, for that matter. Couldn’t just your presence here blow this?”
“I’m here to make sure you get out safely.”
That gave her chills. Lou had warned her no one would want her remembering the account numbers. Her thoughts poured out of her before she could stop her mouth. “It’s not a government account, is it, Danny? Never was. This is about Darlene for you. Injustice. This is something between you and David and this guy Svengrad.”
“You’re at serious risk once this transfer is made.”
“From whom? What’s your plan, Danny? How safe am I?”
“You’re mistaken, Liz. Horribly mistaken. It is a government account. I told you before: We need that money as evidence if we’re going to get a conviction. It’s as simple as that.”
“Simple?” she asked. “Can you actually say that?” She didn’t know how to read him. Half in shadow, Danny Foreman wore an intractable expression. “Should I call Lou or Special Ops and thank them for sending you? Should I ask security to call someone to let them know you’re here at the reception? How do you want to play this?” She felt the seconds passing by, and her chance to sneak inside the AS/ 400 room escaping along with it.
“I’m going in with you,” he said. “I’ll input the account number myself. We wouldn’t want your nerves causing you to mistype a number.”
This was completely unplanned for. “Wiring the funds requires an account number, an ABA routing number, and a name for the account. It’s foolproof, Danny. I won’t mistype it.”
“I’m going in with you. Look at it this way: In the event of a trial it will protect us all if I witness your actions.”
“I’ll be lucky to get in there myself, alone. Two of us? No offense, Danny, you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.” Of the guests assembled in the room not twenty feet away, half wore tuxedos. Foreman looked as if he’d slept in his clothes for the past week.
“I’m going in there with you.”
She looked for some way to circumvent him. It dawned on her then-a possible way to lose Foreman, but she would need a head start. She would also need an alternate plan, the answer to which lay with Lou-Lou, and Bobbie Gaynes, a wild card whose presence here remained unknown to Foreman because it remained unknown to Special Ops as well. “Okay,” she said, “you win.”
Foreman first looked surprised, then satisfied with himself, until she spoke again.
“Do you know how to tie a bow tie, Danny?”
He frowned, then caught on to the suggestion.
“We’ve got to get you looking right,” she said. “Let me see what I can work out with the caterer. I’m the one who hired her in the first place.” She had him cornered and they both knew it.
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
She wanted to object but didn’t feel confident lying to him, fearing he’d see through the lie. She nodded acceptance, her mind working to see a way out of this, Danny Foreman an albatross she could ill afford.
Thinking more clearly than she, he said, “I’ll take your cell phone.”
She reached into her purse and took hold of the phone, offering it but not yet passing it to him. “Will you? And what will you say to Svengrad when he calls? You need his wire information or you don’t have a case against him. Isn’t that right?”
“You must have that information by now.”
“I do not,” she told him, wondering as his face tightened further if she’d given him too much information. This was Lou’s world, Danny Foreman’s world, not hers. She started her phone back toward her purse but Foreman took it from her.
“All the more reason you need me,” he said, pocketing it.
She needed the phone. Special Ops would be watching all calls from and to the bank’s phones; she didn’t want to be “caught” dialing Lou’s cell phone number. She also still expected the call from Svengrad. Not to mention Lou.
“There are security cameras inside this room with the servers,” Foreman said. “Riz has cameras aimed at both keyboards in case the key-tracking software fails.”
Liz realized he was just talking this through. He was right; she’d been briefed on the locations of these cameras as well.
“Lou worked it out, didn’t he?” She waited to see what he was getting at.
“LaRossa gave Hayes a way to monitor your security cameras,” he said, theorizing. “Svengrad hasn’t called you because he knows you’re not in the restricted room yet. He’s waiting for your move.” He paused. “You did or did not use your own ID when you entered tonight?”
Liz had thought her use of Tony LaRossa’s ID had been to hide her from Special Ops, not from Svengrad. Only now did she sense that Lou had this second motive in mind as well. She clutched her purse, as Foreman reached for it. She felt an urgent ne
ed to protect Lou’s plan, whatever it was. “There is a security camera in this hall. I do know that. You’ll be on camera if you come with me. This may take me a minute.” She tore herself free from Foreman’s grip.
She turned and stepped out, and Foreman followed. Together they walked down the hall to its dead-end fire-stairs door. Liz’s mind raced to find a way around this. Foreman remained a half step behind her and to her left. She couldn’t turn and outrun him. She needed a break, a way to put even a few seconds between them, seconds in which he would not miss her.
At the galley she introduced Foreman to the caterer as “a law enforcement officer.” Liz explained he needed a cover, and that she’d thought of his taking the place of one of the waiters for just a few minutes.
“He’d need a white shirt and tie,” the woman replied.
“I’m aware of that,” Liz said. “That’s why we’re speaking to you.”
The woman sized up Foreman like a fashion designer. She said, “Let me talk to Michael. He’s about your size.”
A few agonizing minutes later Foreman faced a young man carrying a white shirt and bow tie. “We’ll use the office,” Foreman said, indicating the door down the hall. “Wait here,” he said to Liz.
Foreman and the waiter moved down the hall and entered the office to exchange shirts and let Foreman tie the tie. He left the office door ajar to prevent her from slipping past.
Liz winced a smile. The mouse had walked willingly into the trap, all of his own accord.
Liz drew the caterer close and whispered, “When he asks, you tell him you had your back turned and didn’t see which way I went.”
Before surprise had a chance to fade from the caterer’s expression, Liz gently pushed against the stairway door’s panic bar, then threw her hip into pushing it open and slipped out. Cool air slapped her face. Her limbs and chest went feverish with adrenaline. At the bottom of these stairs was freedom, and for a moment that temptation weighed on her like gravity.
Before she reached the first landing, she heard a flurry of footsteps from below. Someone-security, probably-was coming up. Coincidence? she wondered. A random security check? Or had LaRossa’s ID triggered a full-scale search? If a search, they wouldn’t be busting through the front doors of a formal party but using the stairs, as she now heard so clearly. She debated returning to the relative safety of the twenty-fifth floor behind her. The footfalls continued to climb toward her, and at a pace that indicated someone in shape, reinforcing her belief it was a security guard. At last, with nowhere to turn, she stiffened her posture, took hold of the railing, and descended-walked-one hand on the rail. She was one of the five most powerful people at WestCorp, and this building belonged to WestCorp-at least for a few more minutes.
Bobbie Gaynes rounded the landing in the black-and-white uniform of the caterers. “Mrs. B.,” she said, clearly surprised. “What’s wrong?”
“Danny Foreman’s up there.” She explained her predicament and what she needed from Gaynes, speaking quickly and in a hushed voice.
“Okay then,” Gaynes said, when Liz had finished.
“You can’t get onto twenty-five without an ID card-from this side, the stairs. It’s restricted access.”
“So I’ll pound until someone opens up,” Gaynes said.
“If that doesn’t work…” Liz fished into Daphne’s purse and passed Gaynes the LaRossa ID, telling her to use it, “But only if no one opens the door for you. And if Danny asks if you saw me… ”
“Foreman doesn’t know me. I’ll just be a waitress who sneaked out for a smoke and got locked out.” She added, “Hopefully the caterer goes along with that.”
The women reached out and grabbed each other’s forearm at the same time. It seemed an awkward gesture to Liz, somewhere between a handshake and a hug, but she was grateful for the contact. “Five minutes, tops,” Liz reminded.
“Got it.” Gaynes bounded up the stairs effortlessly.
Liz turned and hurried down to twenty-four, believing she still had a chance to accomplish the transfer on time. Floor twenty-four lacked the security of the data department immediately above. Liz passed into a darkened corridor, switching on the lights and running through the maze of hallways. Inside, the pounding of her heart counted the passing seconds; the lighting of the cake and the darkening of the room were only minutes away.
When Boldt saw the first set of lights appear in the windows on the twenty-fourth floor, his first thought was housecleaning. But then another string, and a third string illuminated, and the short time between them suggested someone in a hurry, and his blood rushed to his face. It looked as if security were chasing someone. He thought of Gaynes and Liz.
At that same moment, the police-band radio sang with exchanges between the command van and Special Ops officers who had failed to locate Liz inside the theater, frustrated and limited in their effort by the darkness and the audience’s penchant for jumping to its feet in spontaneous song. Judging by the growing agitation in Riz’s voice, he sensed he’d lost his mark and feared his surveillance had failed, which in turn reflected directly on him and his ability to lead. Riz was a smart, capable cop. Soon he’d be checking with his people already in the bank, those assigned to watch the security monitors. How much longer until Liz was spotted, and what would the repercussions be?
The string of lights now stretched entirely across the twenty-fourth floor. Boldt craned his neck and put his face to the windshield to see.
Unable to tolerate another minute of this, and understanding the need for someone to distract Riz’s people from seeing Liz on a security camera, Boldt left his Crown Vic and marched through a light drizzle toward WestCorp Center, well aware that as he did so, he became a target of his own surveillance.
Liz reached the elevator bank on twenty-four and called an elevator, the wait excruciating. She knew that by now Foreman would be frantically searching for her, probably dressed as a waiter and moving through the guests, tray in hand.
Use of the elevator meant risking identification by the security guard operating the car. Her hope, that the car might arrive filled with smokers or late arrivals, that she might meld into the mix, proved too optimistic. The doors opened and she boarded an otherwise empty car-she and the guard. He stared at her, well briefed.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said, once the doors had closed. The one floor ride would be over quickly.
“I thought so,” he said.
“They probably didn’t tell you about this part,” she said.
He said nothing.
“Don’t blow it by saying something,” she said, just as the doors came open. She walked out, glancing directly at him once more to show him the strength of her conviction.
As the doors shut behind her, she had no idea if her ruse had worked, but she didn’t have the luxury of worrying about it. By the time the guard reported her and the announcement went up the chain, she needed to be sitting in front of the AS/400 making the transfer.
Liz moved through the main door, Charlotte at the table to her right, looking for a tall, African American waiter, so she could steer clear of him.
“Elizabeth Boldt?” a heavily accented voice asked from her left.
She turned to see a big man with a beard and dark, piercing eyes. She lowered her sight to the name tag stuck to his lapel, his name written in a casual cursive, not the calligraphy that her staff had arranged and paid for.
“Yasmani Svengrad,” the man introduced himself, extending his hand.
She found herself rooted, frozen in place. She did not offer to shake his hand, and a moment later he lowered his own.
“S &G Imports. We’re a private banking customer,” he said, naming WestCorp’s elite customer program that required seven-figure net worth. Phillip’s staff, not hers, had handled the invitations to the private banking customers. “Eight ounces,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“We donated some caviar to tonight’s event. Very last-minute. Eight ounces of Beluga. Another eight
of Osetra.”
This explained his receiving an invitation.
This man who had watched her children, who had threatened to expose the videotape, said, “We have interests in common, you and I.” He had yet to take his eyes off her, holding her with that steady stare.
She felt weak, almost faint. Whatever Lou, Foreman, and Riz had thought, none had prepared for this moment. Rather than show her weakness, she fought against the urge to step back, stepping forward instead, nearly touching him. “I share nothing in common with you,” she said while looking him squarely in the eye.
A grin parted the graying beard and mustache. Svengrad was amused by her, nothing more. “A few minutes of your time is all, Elizabeth.” He lowered his head to where she felt his voice as it warmed her neck. “I love how you look in satin,” he said. Standing erect again, he regained that confident smile. He raised his voice. “Yes, I’d love a tour. Please, lead the way.”
Liz caught a signal from Charlotte, who was no longer at the reception desk but standing in the doorway that led back to the hallway where she’d just been with Foreman and the caterer. Charlotte moved her fingers to signal she was about to kill the lights, and Liz nodded, holding up a single finger-one minute-knowing her moment had come.
She walked away and Svengrad followed. They passed through a few knots of conversation until Liz heard her name shouted out. She processed it as Phillip’s voice-a summons from the boss. She turned, waved, and quickly pointed toward Charlotte, then tapped her wrist indicating “time.” To her relief, this proved enough to stop the man. In her peripheral vision, she picked up Danny Foreman, an empty tray held high and carried in front of him. Without making eye contact, she hurried on, Svengrad following. She imagined that behind her Foreman was now plowing through the cocktail party to catch up.
With thirty seconds to go, she navigated past a group of workstations, reaching the glass barrier that contained the first of the AS/400s.
The Body of David Hayes Page 26
