by Thomas Perry
“I’ll be here.”
Dick Stahl pulled into the entrance of the driveway to his building but stopped there until he pressed the remote control button and the iron gate opened. He pressed the second button to open the garage door, and he was about to pull in when he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Diane Hines arrive on foot at the edge of the driveway.
He rolled down his window and she stepped close.
“Hi,” he said. “Where’s your car?”
“I parked right over there.”
“Get it and follow me in. I’ll wait.”
She turned and walked off, and in a moment he saw her Camry appear behind his car. He drove ahead, turned to the right, and coasted down the ramp into the cavernous parking garage beneath the building and into his space. She pulled into the space beside him because they both had the number 3 painted above them on the wall.
Stahl got out of his car and opened her door. “I’m a little late. I’m sorry.”
“I know you have a job,” she said. “I have one too. This just gave me a little longer to clean up and change. It was good timing. I didn’t dare think I’d be invited over the drawbridge and under the portcullis and down here to the dungeon.” She got out and looked around. “Actually, this is pretty nice,” she said.
“Yeah. It keeps your car clean and your radio inside it,” he said. “You have anything I can carry?”
She pulled a leather bag off the passenger seat and let him take it. This one was unambiguously an overnight bag. He took it and led her up a flight of stairs to a door marked with the number 3, then unlocked the door to the small foyer.
Stahl unlocked an inner door and held it open for her. She paused to give him a peck on the cheek and went past him into the kitchen.
“You said you designed the security, right?” she said. “I have to wonder why you need this much. Lots of tall iron and impervious concrete, with straight lines of sight and no hiding places.”
“I have a crappy personality.”
“No, you don’t. You’re a philosopher-king. I’d vote for you to be class president.”
“I appreciate your support. What happened was that a developer hired my company for a security job and liked my work. About a year later they asked me to design the security for a new building they were planning. They said they wanted to rent to people who didn’t like to be visible to the public. I have a few security issues of my own, so I said okay, but that I wanted a deal on a condo for myself. They seemed relieved that I didn’t want actual money. So here we are. I anticipated they’d sell to celebrities, but so far there seem to be more rich people who don’t want to be kidnapped for ransom.”
“Does that happen often?”
“More often than you’d think,” he said. He took her into his arms and held her there for a few seconds. “I’m really glad to see you.”
“I heard that joke in middle school,” she said.
“I didn’t mean it like the joke. What time is it?”
“It’s after nine.”
He glanced at his watch. “No wonder I’m hungry. Want to go out for dinner?”
“Of course I do, but we can’t. You remember Police Regulation 271.”
“You’re the one who said the regulation was—”
“I’m not worried about breaking it, just about getting caught.” She leaned back in his arms. “You seem to like my cooking. If you’ve got anything that’s nontoxic in your refrigerator I can make something edible out of it.”
“Thanks, but I know a few places we could go without being noticed. I’ll call one and see if they’ve got a table for two at the last minute. What do you like? Oversize freshly murdered steaks? Snobby French? Dark and wine-cellary Italian? Slippery creatures from the ocean?”
She shrugged. “If you want to impress me, you’ll have a leg up with snobby French.”
“Well, let’s see.” He used his thumb to slide through a series of phone numbers on his phone, then hit one. “Hello. This is Dick Stahl. Is it possible to speak with Roland?”
A moment later he said, “Hi, Roland. Look, I have a beautiful woman here with me, and I’d love to impress her. Would you do me a—” He grinned. “Thank you. When can we come? Wonderful. See you in a few minutes.” He pocketed his phone. He saw the odd expression on her face—a skeptical squint. “What?”
“That’s not the Roland, right?”
“Gallimard.”
“You have Roland Gallimard in your phone.”
“You wanted to be impressed.” He took her hand to get her moving, and then guided her toward the door to the garage.
“I had butterflies when you said ‘beautiful woman.’ Now I’m weak in the knees. I’m such a pushover for your bullshit I’m ashamed of myself.”
“Weak in the knees?” he said. “It’s probably just hunger.”
“No, it’s being in the power of a manipulator.”
“The compliments never stop. Roland is a friend. He’ll take care of us and make sure we’re not noticed.”
She looked in the mirror of his car. “Gallimard,” she repeated. “Do I look all right?”
Her long, dark hair was silky and shone in the light, and her very simple blue dress made her eyes look a deep sapphire. “You don’t look like a cop. Get in.”
She got into the passenger seat and he shut the door on his way to the driver’s side. He drove back up the ramp, pressed the buttons on his remote control unit, and went under the rising garage door, past the opening gate, and out to the street.
She said, “I have to tell you I heard about the elevator bombs today—which you haven’t mentioned. So I was kind of emotional already.”
“Really?” he said. “I didn’t think you’d had time for gossip, since you were downrange yourself today. Which you haven’t mentioned.”
“You know about that?”
“I’m the commander of the Bomb Squad. People think they have to report things to me.”
“It was nothing.”
“No, it wasn’t nothing. The grenade you picked up and destroyed was live. I watched the video before I went home. When the detonation charge went off, the grenade did too.”
“The problem was stupidity, not malice. The grenade was a priceless family treasure, a souvenir from Vietnam. An heirloom.”
“It held up pretty well,” said Stahl. “I got a little concerned while I was watching the video. You did it right. I watched you twice.”
“More pressure. I’ll have to try to look attractive in a bomb suit from now on.”
“You looked fine.”
They pulled up in front of Restaurant Gallimard, which looked like an old brick mansion behind an ivy-covered wall. There was no sign, only a valet parking attendant. He said, “Good evening, Mr. Stahl,” and then got in and drove the car away.
The maître d’ opened the restaurant’s door for them and then almost magically reappeared ahead of them in the foyer. He led them past a large room with a long bar and twenty tables, then along a narrow side corridor to a second smaller room with eight tables, all occupied but one. Diane’s cop eyes scanned the faces in a second on the way in and recognized four actresses, two singers, and a couple of rich-looking older couples she knew she would place when she had time to think.
The maître d’ led them to the empty table. He pulled out Diane’s chair and said, “Is this acceptable, sir?”
“It’s perfect,” said Stahl. “Thank you.”
“Good. I’ve let them know you’re here. Your waiter will be here soon.” He turned and disappeared along the corridor.
Diane stared across the table into Stahl’s eyes for about four seconds—and then broke into laughter until he laughed with her. She shook her head. “I don’t know what I expected Gallimard would be like. Of course it would be like this. The big room like a bistro is the one you see in magazines. But now I realize there would have to be a place like this too, so people who get bothered by fans and paparazzi can lie low.”
A voice ca
me from behind her. “I thought you and Dick would like it. He warned me that you were beautiful, and he doesn’t like attention.”
She turned and saw the tall, thin figure of Roland Gallimard. His face was long and thin too, with a sharp nose, thinning blond hair, and a sculptured forehead. He bowed slightly, took her hand for a moment, then released it.
Stahl stood and shook Gallimard’s hand. “Thank you, Roland. My friend’s name is Diane. I brought her here because I knew nowhere else would mean as much.”
“It’s a pleasure to have you both.” He turned to the waiter, who was about as tall and elegant as Gallimard. He said to Stahl, “You know Raymond. I chose him to serve you. Have fun.” He turned and moved off. He smiled and waved to a couple of other customers, but did not stop again.
“It’s nice to see you again, Raymond,” said Stahl. “What do you recommend?”
The meal was two and a half hours of indulgence. Gallimard had chosen common, traditional dishes for them, but each dish was the response to this challenge, an implied promise that this would be the best sole, the best duck they would ever have. The dessert would be the one they felt wistful about someday when they couldn’t have dessert.
Their table conversation was unlike those of the other diners. Diane said, “Tell me about the elevator charges.”
Stahl described the devices, particularly the backup triggers, specific in each detail, how they were disguised, wired, and positioned. He explained how he had gone about selecting his approach and executing his plan to render the bombs safe.
“When did you decide to go downrange again yourself?” she asked.
“When I was in the parking lot observing, and the robot set off the pipe bomb’s antitampering trigger. It wasn’t intended to get some civilian. It was designed to go off only if it was lifted. Nobody does that but the Bomb Squad. I wanted to learn more about the man designing these things.”
“What did you learn?”
“He’s trying something new each time. First he took down a house with small charges—imploded it, really—but planted a big charge to kill the bomb techs. Then he left a car bomb at the gas station, also a way to kill bomb technicians—you and me, to name two. If it had gone off, there would have been a huge fire and plenty of other casualties, but that was really just a way to be sure we couldn’t do something easy to neutralize it. We had to get our hands in it.”
“And the elevators?”
“I knew there would be a trap, but I didn’t realize what the trap would be until I saw McCrary heading to the elevator to press the button. If what the bomb maker wanted was just an explosion he could have broken in some night and planted charges that would have taken the whole medical building down. But he’s not after a bunch of women and their doctors. He picked a women’s clinic because bombing them is a familiar crime. There are also many false threats to them. And he picked a big clinic, hoping we would commit more bomb technicians.”
“Why did he put a pipe bomb right in the open in front of the doors?”
“I think he wanted the medical people and patients to be evacuated so he could get in alone and leave a trap specifically for us, and then get out. He knew we’d be the first ones into the building after the explosion—the only ones—and that we would have to clear the floors, first level first. Then we would have to move up. We would be wearing heavy bomb suits and carrying tools and equipment. We would want to use the elevator, not climb stairs. He knew that before we stepped into an elevator we would look inside, so there couldn’t be anything visible. The bomb had to be outside, and the roof of the elevator car was the best place—the hardest to see and structurally the weakest.”
“What do you think he’s going to do next?” she said.
“Something he hasn’t done before. He wants to keep putting us in new situations where we’ll have to guess right over and over again. He’s giving us chances to fail.”
She fell silent, and then he did too. They were both trying to clear away thoughts of the bomb maker and what he might do tomorrow.
After a few minutes she spoke. “How do you know Roland? Tell me the truth.”
“The security business puts you in contact with people who have things to protect—safety, money, or privacy, usually. Some are nice, and some are awful. I met Roland a few years ago at a party thrown by one of the nice ones. I was working, and he was catering the party as a favor to the host. We talked and liked each other. We still talk occasionally. That’s the whole story.”
When Stahl paid the bill and handed the folder to Raymond he said, “Please tell Roland I’m indebted to him for this evening.”
Stahl and Hines got up and went back out through the long corridor. Stahl’s car pulled up quickly. In a moment they were away again.
“That was amazing,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Besides, now I’ll get to go again. From now on, he’ll hope I bring you too.”
“Wow. Your bullshit machine never shuts down. You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I do get fascinated when a grown man goes to the trouble of making this stuff up and saying it out loud. I wonder, ‘What can this man want to accomplish? What’s he hoping for?’”
“I’m a simple guy.”
“You don’t have to hint. You carried my overnight bag in. You were going to get laid if dinner had been sharing a can of tuna,” she said.
“Then I’m glad dinner was a success, so I didn’t change that.”
“It took my mind off dying for a while,” she said. “That’s a gift.”
“People in danger do things to grasp a lot of life all at once. And we instinctively huddle together for strength. If you start to feel you’ve made a mistake, or that it doesn’t work anymore, please don’t think you’re stuck.”
“This bomber does have a way of bringing people together,” she said. “But I know what I’m doing. I’m not just here because you’re older and stronger and know more. Although, come to think of it, I like those things. Yeah, maybe I am doing that, and you’re taking selfish advantage of my innocence and fear.”
“Great,” he said. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”
As they pulled into the driveway and the gate slid open she said, “Why no guards?”
“Guards attract attention. You don’t want a building to look like it’s worth breaking into.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “So there are guards, aren’t there? And they’re armed and hidden somewhere.”
He smiled. “They sit in a comfortable office downstairs and watch the video monitors. If they’re needed, there are a few places where they can come up and out.”
When they got out of the car and climbed his private stairs, he closed the door and locked it. As he turned around, she began to unbutton his shirt. She pulled him into the living room, and then started on her own clothing. In a minute they were both naked, and they made love in the middle of the living room. A while later they lay together on the floor, where she had tossed their clothes, letting their hearts slow down. She said, “I thought we should get started right away if I was going to impress you.”
“You have,” he said. “Almost as though you’d planned it.”
“Premeditation keeps my mind occupied.”
“Any other plans?”
“We need another drink.”
“We do. What kind?”
“The single malt Scotch has been kind of fortifying. Do we still have any?”
He got up, walked to the counter, and lifted the unopened bottle she had brought last night.
“Thank heaven for me.”
He took down two glasses and filled them. He brought the Scotch back with him and they sat on the floor together, leaning against the big couch and sipping their drinks. She leaned on him and he put his arm around her.
He stood up. “Hold on for a second.” He went into the bathroom and came back with two white terry cloth robes. As Diane leaned forward he sli
pped one robe over her arms and up to her shoulders. Then he put on the other.
“Two bathrobes?” she said. “Why would you have two bathrobes here? If you say it’s for visits from your old granny, I’ll hit you. Are you screwing everybody in the police department?”
“Not yet,” he said. “You told me this morning you were coming over tonight. There’s a linen service here, just like in a hotel. I called and changed my order to two bathrobes. Now you know my secrets.”
“Not enough.” She stared across the room, her eyes focused on something far past the wall.
“Something wrong?”
She sipped her drink. “I’m sorry. I’ve had so much fun tonight, but then our day jobs just drifted back into my mind. I’m really afraid of this guy.”
A moment passed while they sat in silence. Then he said, “Anybody who isn’t scared would be a flat-out idiot. Being scared helps you pay attention and sharpens your focus. But he’ll get stopped, one way or another.”
“How?”
“We’ll do our jobs. Tomorrow we get our first reinforcements from the FBI and ATF. They’ll be competent and well trained, and they’ll bring us almost up to strength. But they won’t know a few important things. They’ll assume the men they’re replacing died because they weren’t any good. We have to make sure they know how good the guys we lost were, so they won’t get overconfident. I asked for people from the LA offices, but I don’t know who we’ll get. Outsiders will have to be taught how to navigate the city the way an LA cop does—how to get to a scene in a city choked with traffic, how to interpret what’s there when they arrive, and recognize signs that something is wrong.”
“I just want to get this guy before he does anything else.”
“Me too,” he said. “But we have to take our time, study everything we see, wait him out.”
“Wait him out?”
“At some point, he’ll make a mistake. In order to finish us, he has to keep trying things we don’t expect. Maybe he’ll stop using stable, practical explosives and reliable commercial detonators, try things that are less familiar and more volatile. He could make home-brewed nitroglycerin, or mix up a peroxide bomb. Either one can blow up spontaneously, even if he doesn’t make a mistake.”
