“W ho is it?” asked Lilly.
“Flower delivery.”
The chain and deadbolt were secure. Lilly peered through the peephole. The man in the hallway was holding a bouquet of red roses.
“Just a minute,” she said.
Flowers. With all that had happened, she, of course, had to consider the possibility that it was a ruse-a clever way for someone to gain access to the apartment.
“Who are they for?” she asked.
“Lilly Scanlon.”
Hmmm. No one knew she was in the apartment except Patrick. It would have been sweet of Patrick to send flowers to make up for running off after last night’s reunion. But a girl who was under threat of death unless she coughed up two billion dollars could never be too careful.
“I’m leaving the chain on the door. Hand the flowers to me through the opening.”
“They’ll get crushed.”
“Then hand me one rose at a time.”
She turned the deadbolt, opened the door, and let it catch on the short length of chain. He handed her the first long-stemmed rose, then another. She had the fifth in hand when he grabbed her wrist and pressed a blade to her veins.
“Scream and you’ll bleed out in two minutes,” he said.
Lilly gasped and swallowed her scream. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice quaking.
“Just listen to me,” he said in a rushed, husky voice. “I know why you got fired. I know why you ran from Singapore. I know why your boyfriend was attacked. I know all those things.”
Lilly closed her eyes, then opened them, but she couldn’t stop the trembling.
The man continued. “There’s only one way for you to get out of this alive, Lilly. But you have to follow my instructions to the letter. If you don’t, they’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
She didn’t. Not in the least. This was all too crazy. “What are you telling me to do?”
“Trust me.”
She could barely form a response. “Trust you?”
“Yes. Here’s my first show of trust: go to the Church of Peace and Prosperity International on John Street. Ask for Manu Robledo. Tell him you know who opened BOS numbered account 507.625 RR. Tell him you know it was him.”
It was almost too much to remember, not because of the quantity, but because of how important it was-if it was true.
“Tell him he’ll get his money,” the man said, “but tell him you’re in control.”
“I can’t-”
“Tell him ,” he said, squeezing her wrist so tightly that Lilly had to bite her lip to stop the pain. “You must do exactly as I say.”
“Okay,” she said. “I will.”
“Good. And tell him you got his name from Patrick.”
“No!”
“Do it!” he said, stern but not quite shouting.
“Please, keep Patrick out of this.”
“His name isn’t even Patrick. It’s Peter Mandretti.”
“What?”
“His father testified against the Santucci family, which means that your boyfriend has much bigger problems than Manu Robledo. The mob is breathing down his neck. Don’t make his problems yours, Lilly. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t want you to help-”
His grip was like a vise around her wrist, and this time the pain dropped her to her knees.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “whatever you say.”
He loosened his grasp, but not completely. “It’s possible you’re being watched. We have to make sure no one follows you. Don’t leave this building through the main entrance. Use the fire escape.”
Again she blinked, barely comprehending. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
He gave her wrist a final squeeze. Not a threatening one. It was as if he were trying to reassure her. “Trust me, Lilly. You deserve to live.”
He released her. She pulled her hand inside, closed the door, and instinctively withdrew to the center of the apartment. Her emotions rushed forward, a combination of fear over what had happened and relief that he hadn’t slashed her wrist. Fighting off tears, she went to the peephole. He was gone. She collected herself, trying to decide what to do. There seemed to be no right answer.
She went to the computer and found directions to the church.
“D on’t turn around.”
Robledo’s voice ripped her from the past. He was seated in the pew behind her, and she was having trouble following his command.
“Eyes forward!” he said.
She obeyed, but it wasn’t easy. It was the same voice she’d heard on the phone when Patrick was threatened in Times Square. The same voice that had threatened her in Singapore when she saw the Treasury memo. The same voice she’d heard day after day when receiving transfer orders for numbered account 507.625 RR at BOS. She wanted so badly to put a face with it.
“How did you find my name?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
She felt a cold, round point of pressure at the base of her skull. “How about now?” he asked, nudging her with the pistol. “Still none of my business?”
Lilly tried to keep her voice from shaking. “It doesn’t matter how I found out.”
The old church was silent, save for the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking.
“It matters to me,” Robledo said.
Lilly searched for the words her source had fed her, but her delivery failed her. “I’m… I’m in control.”
He grabbed her by the hair, yanked her head back against the pew so that she was staring at the ceiling. The muzzle of the pistol was at her temple.
“You got my first warning shot in Singapore,” he said, speaking so close that she could feel his breath in her ear. “Your boyfriend got the second one in Times Square. That’s it. No more mock executions. The next bullet goes in your pretty little head. I’m giving you five seconds to answer my question: How did you get my name?”
Thinking under this kind of pressure-caught between one man threatening to slash her wrist if she breathed a word about his existence, and another who threatened to blow her brains out if she didn’t-just wasn’t part of her constitution.
“I don’t know,” she said, agonizing. “I don’t remember, I just don’t-”
“Patrick told you, didn’t he?”
Lilly froze. That was exactly what the man who’d delivered the flowers had wanted her to make Robledo believe.
Robledo didn’t wait for her response. “Patrick came to see me,” he said.
He couldn’t see her face, but Lilly wondered if Robledo could nonetheless sense her surprise. She wondered if that was the reason Patrick had at the hospital, seemingly out of the blue, asked about her possible involvement in a cult.
“I didn’t give Patrick your name. I swear.”
“That’s what I’m saying! He gave it to you. Didn’t he? ”
“No,” she said, searching for another explanation, anything she could think of to keep Patrick out of it. A lie finally came to her. “I got your name before I left Singapore. That’s why the bank fired me.”
“I almost believe you, which makes you one lucky girl. I’m not convinced that it takes both you and Patrick to find my money, but I’m not sure that it doesn’t. So you’ve bought yourself some daylight. For a while.”
“I need more time to find the money.”
“No.”
“I’m not going to beg.”
“Wouldn’t make a difference anyway.”
“This is not a bluff. The snags are real. Don’t worry. It’s nothing we can’t handle. We’ll get there.”
“Then get there,” he said. “No extensions.”
“I’m not asking for an extension. You gave me two weeks originally. I said I could do it in one if you kept your hands off Patrick. Just go back to the two weeks you gave me.”
“No.”
“It’s just another week.”
“I said no !” He pushed her head forward with so much force that her chin hit her chest. “And n
ever come here again. You got that?”
Lilly felt as though she were suffocating, trapped between her fear of Robledo and an even greater fear of the deliveryman who had told her what to say to him.
“Yes,” she said. “I got it.”
19
I t had stopped snowing, but a few flakes still swirled in the sky, blown from treetops by a chilly north breeze. My toes were freezing in an inch-deep blanket of white that had fallen since breakfast. Alice and her friends looked almost edible, a chocolate bronze topped with cream-cheese icing. Snow in central park was the perfect antidote for my six months in steamy singapore.
The last two days were another story.
Barely forty-eight hours had passed since I’d skulked out of the wrong meeting in the Paradeplatz Conference Room, only to face an executive-style grilling from Joe Barber about Lilly Scanlon and Abe Cushman. Not exactly what I’d hoped for on my first day back in the New York office. How had so much gone wrong so quickly? It was almost as hard to swallow as “the official response of the bureau” that Agent Henning had just announced to me.
“What do you mean you can’t protect me?” I said.
She was standing before me, no time to brush the snow from the bench and take a seat. It was just the two of us. Connie had tired of waiting and insisted that she needed to return the van, presumably before her boss called upon Curious George and the zoo police to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but my hands are tied.”
Andie had a copy of the Parks police report with her, and I’d added the details about my visit to the emergency room. The FBI’s quick rebuff on protection wasn’t what I had expected.
“So, that’s it? Too bad, so sad, you’re on your own, Mr. Lloyd?”
She glanced away, then back. “Can we walk? I’m freezing.”
Always cold. I kept forgetting that the bureau had tapped her from Miami for this operation. I matched her stride, and the new snow squeaked beneath our feet as we followed the path around the sculpture.
“Part of the problem is my supervisor,” she said. “He thinks you haven’t been all that forthcoming.”
“The information I agreed to pass along was very limited. Essentially, I promised to tell you if Lilly confessed to money laundering.”
“The deal was broader than that. You agreed to tell us if Lilly made any admissions that are consistent with our theory of money laundering.”
“If that’s the FBI’s view, then you should have told me more about your theory.”
“We told you what you needed to know. I would have liked to tell you more, but like I said-”
“Your hands are tied, I know. That can be a highly convenient predicament.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Maybe it is,” I said. “But if you want the truth from me , tell your supervisor he needs an attitude adjustment.”
We stopped walking, and our eyes locked. A moment of sunlight broke through the clouds, forcing Andie to squint, which made her expression even harsher.
“Is that some kind of threat?” she said. “ Are you holding out?”
I was thinking of Manu Robledo. “I may have a name for you. I don’t have anything in writing, but it may well turn out that he’s the holder of a certain numbered account at BOS/Singapore.”
“Who?”
“I’m not prepared to share.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“We’re playing by my rules now. My six months in Singapore were payment enough for what you did for my father. Going forward, anything you get from me is strictly on a quid pro quo basis.”
The sun disappeared, but Andie’s eyes continued to narrow as she studied me. Finally, she said, “We’re still helping your father.”
I was already of the firm belief that Dad was alive, but it was hard not to react to official confirmation. I struggled to play it cool. “I knew he was alive,” I said.
“I gave you more than that,” she said. “I told you we’re still providing specialized medical treatment for him. Don’t ask me where or under what name. I can’t tell you.”
“If your supervisor thinks I haven’t kept up my end of the deal, why are you continuing to provide treatment to him?”
She blinked. It was Andie’s first flinch in the eight months I’d known her, and it was as if she had looked me in the eye and said, That’s a very good question, Patrick, and I wish I knew the answer.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said.
“Nice try.” I said. “Quid pro quo. I’ll give you the name of the numbered account holder when you tell me the following: What is my Dad’s new name? Where did you send him? And why is the FBI still helping him even though your supervisor thinks I’ve been holding out?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Make it happen,” I said.
She paused, but I didn’t get the impression that the answers to my questions were on the tip of her tongue. In fact-and this was just more of my gut-I wondered how much she personally knew about Dad’s situation.
“I’ll work on it,” she said.
“Work fast.”
She didn’t answer, but the silence confirmed that the conversation was finished. For now. Our footprints in the snow showed us the way back toward the bench.
20
I t was more wind than snow that forced Lilly indoors for cover. She found a deli down the street from the church, but a nervous stomach made eating impossible. She ordered a camomile tea to calm herself down.
“Anything else?” asked the cashier.
How about a Xanax?
“Just the tea, thanks,” she said.
Lilly broke one of her last remaining fifties. She’d fled Singapore with $9,990 in cash, just below the currency reporting requirement. Burning through money was easy in Manhattan. Her wallet was getting thin, but she didn’t dare use a credit card. Cash wouldn’t leave a trail.
The only open seat was near the entrance at the storefront counter. She claimed a stool and gazed out the plate glass window, watching a sidewalk construction crew stand around and do nothing. An hour of snow flurries was enough to block out the company name on the truck. Lilly wondered if it was one of the Santucci firms. Construction was a staple of the family’s many mob-run businesses-at least that was what her source had told her.
A construction worker noticed her and winked. Definitely not one of those ripped and gorgeous hotties on Desperate Housewives who sweated out pheromones. Lilly averted her eyes.
Steam rose from her cup. A quick sip scalded the roof of her mouth. It was a little thing that, cumulatively, was a big thing. She almost started to cry. Lucky for Gerry Collins that he was already dead. If he weren’t, she would probably have killed him.
Thank you, Gerry. Thank you for using me.
Or had he?
Again, her mind replayed that three-year-old phone message he’d left on her voice mail just before his death: “It’s blown up. I’ll call you when I can. Talk to no one until I reach you.”
Was it possible that Collins had thought she was aware of the scam? The arrangement had certainly been sweet. She’d essentially done nothing, and BOS had still given her revenue credit for over $2 billion in private banking activity. Perhaps Gerry had simply assumed that she was smart enough to recognize a deal that was too good to be legit. Since his death, the Treasury Department had certainly operated under that assumption, had even put it in an internal memo.
Her cell rang. She didn’t recognize the incoming number, but she knew it was him-her source. He’d promised to follow up after her meeting with Robledo at the church. “Promised” was probably the wrong word. Everything he said sounded more like a threat. She was tired of getting hit from every direction-from him, Robledo, BOS, Treasury. It was time for her to find her spine and push back. She walked out of the noisy deli, found cover beneath the sidewalk bridge scaffolding, and answered her cell phone. He began with a question.
“Do you trust me now, Lilly?”
She didn’t answer.
“Admit it,” he said. “I steered you right. Robledo is the man you talked to on the phone every day at BOS, isn’t he? The same man who threatened you in Singapore and your boyfriend in Times Square.”
“Yes. I recognized the voice.”
“So, do you trust me?”
“You nearly got me killed!”
“Watch your tone,” he said.
She didn’t back down. “Robledo put a gun to my head and told me no extensions on the deadline.”
“Did you tell him you’re in control?”
“He knew I wasn’t in control.”
“Did you tell him that you know he was the numbered account holder at BOS?”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told him I got his name before I left Singapore. That’s why the bank fired me.”
“Lilly, Lilly. You have to be clearer. His connection to the numbered account is the whole point; that’s your control.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“I can only tell you what to say. It’s your job to be convincing.”
“You’re the one who wants me to drag Patrick into this. Robledo didn’t believe a thing I said about him.”
“What are you talking about?
“Robledo knew right away I was lying. Patrick went to see him before I even got there.”
“What? Did you give Patrick his name? I told you never to share any of our secrets with Patrick!”
Lilly had indeed been warned, and the accusatory tone put her on the defensive. “I didn’t say anything to Patrick. I don’t know how he got it.”
There was silence on the line, and Lilly felt the construction guy watching her again. She walked around the barricades and started down the sidewalk.
“We can work with this,” her source said finally. “Actually, the fact that Patrick is meeting on his own with Robledo makes it even easier for me to help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
Need You Now Page 11
