by David Meyer
As I sat down in one of the guest chairs, I noticed a securely locked glass case pushed up against the wall. Antique guns of all shapes and sizes rested on velvet pads within it. “I guess I should explain,” I began.
“No need. By the way, what do you think of my firearm collection?”
“Pretty impressive. The Colt Army Model 1860 is in particularly fine condition.”
“I didn’t know you were an enthusiast.”
I shrugged. “Chalk it up to coincidence. We used to have that exact same model on the mantle when I was a boy. It belonged to my third great-grandfather. He fought in the Civil War.”
“I see bravery runs in your family. My favorite is the Smith & Wesson Victory Model. A remnant of a simpler time, when war was considered a noble, necessary response to a dangerous world.”
“Speaking of a dangerous world, have you been outside lately?”
“Walker gave me the traffic report after you, uh, left. I understand it’s quite a mess out there.”
“It is.”
“The union bosses have this city in a death grip. They make far more than their nonunionized counterparts and yet, provide mediocre services. They’re protected from layoffs and practically unaccountable. Frankly, I’m sick of it.”
“The timing seems fortuitous.”
He gave me a shrewd look. “Do you think I planned it to facilitate your search?”
“Did you?”
He chuckled lightly. “So, other than traffic, I trust that your trip was satisfactory?”
I was annoyed at his refusal to answer my question. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me. Something else gnawed at my brain, something unsettling. “How did Walker find me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Out of all the places in the city to look, why’d he search for me at the Explorer’s Society?”
Chase stared at me for a long minute. “We placed a homing beacon in your satchel.”
“Are you serious?”
“Please try to understand. I’ve invested a lot of time and money in this hunt. I can’t afford anything happening to you.”
“I’m touched.”
“If you want, you may remove it. It’s attached to your blade.”
I reached into the satchel and felt around. At the base of the machete, I felt a small, hard object. Peeling it off, I tossed it onto his desk. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m already wavering on this assignment. If you pull another stunt like this, I walk.”
“I understand. You have my word it won’t happen again.”
I nodded. “Now, before we proceed, I have one more question for you. What do you know about Ryan Standish?”
“Standish? That name sounds familiar.”
“It should. Beverly hired me to steal the cacique from him.”
“Ah yes, the crooked archaeologist.”
“Did you know he’s in Manhattan?”
“No, but I suppose I’m to blame. I have many friends within the Colombian government. As such, I was able to arrange for his deportation.”
“They moved fast.”
“My friends are powerful.”
I sat back. “I guess so. Well, I prepared a search plan. Are you ready to get started?”
“In a minute.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“Your partner.”
My lip curled in annoyance. “I work alone.”
“What if something goes wrong? What if you’re injured and need help?”
“That won’t happen.”
“Maybe not, but all the same, I’d like you to have someone watching your back.”
“You mean you want someone to spy on me.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes shifted. I followed his gaze to the metal door. As it opened, my muscles tightened.
“I know you two met before but let’s make it formal,” Chase said. “Cyclone Reed, meet your new partner. Beverly Ginger.”
Chapter 9
I barely controlled my anger as Beverly glided into the room. The last thing I needed was a partner, especially one who’d already Tasered me.
She sat down next to me. Crossing her legs, she stared directly at Chase. I glanced in her direction and felt my jaw unhinge.
Beverly wore a tight, white collared shirt, popped open at the top, highlighting her ample chest. Her black and white pencil skirt hugged her hips and tapered to her knees, accentuating her legs. A perfect French manicure peeked out of her open-toed high heels, one of which she swung back and forth, over and over, like a hypnotist’s swing watch.
First, she’d portrayed a victimized archaeologist. Now, she wore the attire and hungry look of a corporate executive. She was like some kind of sex-charged chameleon, changing her outfit and personality to match her needs.
And to seduce her prey.
I turned toward Chase. “You must be out of your mind.”
“I know there are some trust issues here but –”
“She lied to my face. She risked my life.” I raised my voice. “Then to top it off, she kidnapped me. Trust issues are the least of our worries.”
“I understand your feelings. But this is non-negotiable. You need a partner.”
I jerked my thumb at her. “And you think she’s the best choice? Does she have any experience conducting a manhunt? Does she know anything about the tunnel system?”
Beverly smiled. “Maybe not. Then again, I’m not an archaeologist either, but I still managed to fool a so-called expert.”
My blood boiled as I looked at her. “This isn’t some kind of game. I’m going to venture miles into a hostile, closed environment. There are no food sources and few places to access potable water. I can’t afford to expend time and energy babysitting you.”
“I’ve experienced every type of weather and terrain known to man. I think I can handle a couple of city tunnels.”
“In case it’s escaped your attention, the two subjects vanished for a reason,” I retorted. “Maybe a little-used tunnel collapsed on them. Maybe it was foul play. Regardless, if something goes wrong, there’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. I’m dead and so is anyone unfortunate enough to be with me.”
I looked at Chase. “You already tried a manhunt. You already tried the police. You said it yourself back in Colombia…a solo operation might be the last chance you have to find Kolen and Adcock.”
Chase smiled.
The bastard. He’s actually enjoying this.
“So I did,” he replied. “However, Beverly’s still travelling with you. But you have my word that she won’t get in your way. Her responsibilities are strictly limited to observing your progress and reporting back to me.”
His tone indicated that the discussion was over. I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms.
“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s get down to business. You mentioned you’d prepared a strategy?”
“According to the briefing I read aboard the plane, after attempting to pawn the gold bar, Fred Jenson disappeared into a subway station near Union Square. An initial investigation revealed that he maintained a permanent residence somewhere in New York’s tunnels. Subsequently, you hired several teams to canvas the area.”
I leaned forward. “One of those teams consisted of Javier Kolen and Dan Adcock. They entered the subway system shortly after midnight on August 21. They were tasked with searching several miles of tunnels, beginning with the Lexington Avenue Line. Javier reported his position at the start of the search but failed to check in at Union Square. Thanks to an eyewitness…”
“A severely intoxicated eyewitness,” Beverly added.
“…we have reason to believe that they successfully passed through the Grand Central Terminal station. Thus, I’ll begin my search at that point and trek south to Union Square.”
Chase frowned. “I hoped for something more creative. The manhunt and police search exhaustively searched that entire length of tunnel.”
“Those efforts were heavily flawed
. They were conducted far too quickly and with a greater emphasis on locating people rather than clues. My search will be far more detailed and wider in scope.”
Chase looked at me thoughtfully. “What sort of supplies will you need?”
“Access keys. And maps. I need maps of every known underground installation in Manhattan. Subway tunnels, access corridors, sewers, everything.”
“Beverly can handle that. She’ll load them onto her laptop.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to have to worry about recharging a computer. I want hard copies.”
“Her laptop is state-of-the-art and can go many hours without a recharge. If you like, I can arrange one for you as well.”
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I just want maps I can hold.”
“Will do. As for accommodation, I think you’ll be pleased to know that we’ve booked a suite for you at the Ritz-Carlton.”
“I’m not sleeping in a hotel. Neither is Beverly.”
She shot me a glance. “Is that right?”
“Conventional search tactics have failed. As Jack already mentioned, creativity is important at this stage of the game. Therefore, I want to immerse myself completely into the environment.”
Chase gave me a strange look. “What are you saying?”
“Just this…once I enter the subway system, I’m not turning back. I’m going to eat, drink, and sleep in those tunnels. I’m not resurfacing until I have answers. Or until I’m in a body bag.”
Chapter 10
Someone was following me.
I’d sensed the presence five minutes earlier while crossing 71st Street. At first, I paid it no heed. But by the time I reached 78th Street, an alarm bell rang inside my head.
As I turned the corner at 2nd Avenue, I glanced at the sky. I couldn’t see the moon or stars. I couldn’t see anything but the boatloads of rain that poured down on me.
Taking cover behind a brick wall, I peered back. Thanks to the late hour, the street was nearly empty.
My eyes swept across the rain-soaked sidewalk, the mist-covered parked cars, the dark storefronts, and the overflowing trashcans.
Nothing moved.
I pressed my head against the cold, wet bricks.
You’re hearing things.
I started to pull my body away from the wet wall. Then I halted and stood still for a minute.
Something about the block seemed different.
It wasn’t a recent change but rather, a change that had taken place sometime over the last three years. I spun in a circle, examining the block. Was it the landscape? The storefronts? The flowerboxes hanging high above me?
Suddenly, it came rushing back to me.
The odor.
I twisted around to face the intersection. A barbecue restaurant once sat on the opposite corner. In my former life, I’d walk by it and smell the intoxicating aromas of pit smoked barbecue pork ribs, beans, and salt potatoes. I never ate there. I didn’t know why. But damn, I loved its smell.
It was a small thing but it bothered me. The apartment halfway down the block once served as my second home. And the odor acted as a welcome mat of sorts. Without it, I felt completely out of place.
Shifting positions, I stared down the street. I needed to meet Beverly in an hour. And then, we would embark on our assignment. It could take days, maybe weeks. I didn’t know when I’d get another opportunity to visit that second home.
To visit her.
Water splashed noisily under my boots as I marched ahead. It sounded thunderous to my ears, especially when pitted against the near silence of the vacant, lifeless street. I tried to step more carefully, but I just kept getting louder and louder.
Halfway down the block, I turned to the side. Through the thick mist, I saw the familiar fifteen-story apartment building looming on the opposite side of the street.
Darkness and sheets of rain engulfed the structure, rendering it nearly invisible. Even its bright lights, protected by a concrete overhang, barely made a dent in the night. Although less than a hundred feet separated me from the building, the distance looked and felt more like a mile.
A gust of wind caught hold of me but I stood my ground. As it faded away, my eyes lifted to the fourth floor, second window from the left. Although I couldn’t be sure, I thought I saw a tiny light. Did she still live there? Or had she moved on with her life?
Thunder clapped and a bolt of lightning shot across the sky. Its fierce light lit up the block. And in that one brief moment, I saw her.
Diane stood at the window, arms crossed, staring into the rain. Her face looked tight, her expression pensive. In the momentary flash of light, she stood out above everything else, like a dazzling star in a dull sky.
The image blinked away into nothingness. And as darkness returned, I knew I’d never forget it.
My brain wrestled with itself for a few moments. I wanted to see her, talk to her before it was too late. I knew all too well the pitfalls of waiting to deal with something. One day turned into another and then another. Soon, everything got buried under the surface, a tumor waiting to kill you.
But it seemed selfish only to consider my own needs. I’d hurt her badly three years ago, worse than I’d realized. Maybe the best thing I could do for her was walk away and let her forget me all over again.
My hesitation built upon itself and my brain began to churn up more and more excuses. I felt like a teenager at a school dance, one part raring to go and the other part glued to the wall.
A covered bus stop sat on the sidewalk, just a few feet away. Seeking shelter from the stinging rain, I walked into it.
A sign hung on the left wall. “Call Your Representatives,” it screamed in bold lettering. “And Tell Them to Sack Jack!”
The accompanying image showed Chase standing in the middle of a destitute, disgusting subway station. His hands were spread wide and his face reflected a mixture of confusion and stupidity. I chuckled. It was actually a pretty decent likeness.
Next to it hung a similar sign, clearly meant as a response. “Call Your Representatives,” it read. “And Tell Them to Back Jack!” The image on this poster was different, with a strong, determined Chase sending away a bunch of fat cats, who obviously represented the labor bosses.
My eyes lingered on the bosses. Dollar bills flowed out of their pockets. Back in my former life, I would’ve favored the labor movement. But three years spent living on the fringes of civilization had caused me to rethink my political views.
That didn’t mean I supported Chase. Quite the contrary. Even if his motives were pure, I still wouldn’t have supported him. He and the bosses were just different ends of the same government entity. And these days, my opinions on government were well outside the realms of polite thinking.
Thunder clapped again. With a sigh, I stepped out of the shelter. Steeling myself, I walked into the quiet street and began to cross the pavement.
Abruptly, the wind accelerated. It caught me mid-step and I lost my balance.
I smashed into the street, smacking the back of my head against the concrete. For a few seconds, I lay there, trying to blink away the cobwebs, tasting raindrops and blood on my tongue.
I propped myself up on my elbows. The wind intensified, plowing into me like a freight train. Ignoring the pounding in my head, I looked up at the building, searching for Diane’s window. I hoped to see a light, hoped to see her face.
But all I saw was darkness.
Slowly, painfully, I rose to my feet. But something kept me from walking forward. I didn’t know if it was guilt or something else. All I knew was that I wasn’t ready to see her.
I wasn’t yet ready to confront that part of my past.
The wind lessened as I turned around and wobbled back to the sidewalk. At the corner, I took one last look over my shoulder, hoping to see another flash of lightning. Hoping to see her building.
Hoping to see her.
But all I saw was darkness.
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Chapter 11
Ryan Standish stepped into the shadow of a staircase. His black poncho blended in perfectly with the darkness, rendering him nearly invisible. Silently, he watched as Cyclone Reed strode down the opposite sidewalk.
Standish barely recognized him. Reed appeared distracted, lost in thought. He was but a mere shadow of the fearless, reckless man Standish had confronted back in Colombia. Something must’ve ripped the wind right out of his sails.
Something recent.
Something at that apartment building.
But what?
After reemerging from behind the staircase, Standish walked down the block. He’d followed Reed for hours, searching for insights into the man’s personality.
Standish wanted to know everything about Reed. His interests. His desires.
His weaknesses.
Everyone had weaknesses. There were no exceptions. And if exploited correctly, those failings could turn even the most determined person into nothing more than a simpering fool.
The trick was to find such weaknesses. Most people hid them. But if one kicked over enough stones, they always came to the forefront. Some cared for ailing family members. Others got weak-kneed for fast women. Still others would do anything for power.
Standish found it all rather pathetic. He didn’t mind powerful emotions. Not at all. They were an essential part of humanity. And with the right discipline, they could be a source of great power as well. But he had no patience for boundless feelings. Emotions, like so many other things, were best experienced in moderation.
Initially, he’d looked forward to uncovering the chinks in Reed’s seemingly impenetrable armor. But as the night wore on, he found himself increasingly agitated. No strip clubs, no drugs, no gambling, no alcohol. At least for the moment, Reed seemed incredibly focused and businesslike.
In other words, boring as shit.
