The Manhattan Puzzle

by Laurence O'Bryan

  They’d gone down about halfway now. She felt better, relieved to be moving. It seemed they’d left their pursuers behind.

  ‘I hate running down stairs,’ said Laura.

  ‘I ordered a taxi on my phone while we were waiting for you,’ shouted Greg. ‘It’s on its way down Lexington. It’ll be below in one minute. That’s what the app says.’

  ‘I hope it comes,’ shouted Laura.

  Then she heard a bang from up above. Anxiety exploded through her. She took the next set of stairs in two jumps. Laura was ahead of her, going faster now too.

  Greg was even further down.

  Then she heard a shout from up above.

  ‘Get ’em boy!’ And then barking and a scrambling noise. She started to run.

  53

  Henry Mowlam was sitting at a wooden meeting-room table in a spartan room on the sixth floor of their office building in Whitehall. The view from the narrow window was of offices and a stretch of the River Thames, with the upper part of the illuminated Millennium Wheel visible behind them. The wheel glistened.

  Finch was in the small modern kitchen, next to the meeting room making them coffee. They’d left the observation room, underground, a few minutes before.

  ‘This is explosive stuff,’ said Henry, as he stacked the files he’d been leafing through together.

  ‘I know,’ said Finch, poking her head through the doorway, then disappearing again.

  Henry had spent the last ten minutes speed reading what was in the files. When Finch set the mug down in front of him he had his questions ready. ‘Why do the Chinese want this facial recognition software so badly?’ he said.

  ‘For automated population control, and for the elimination of genetic aberrations, which lead to dissent. That’s the best guess of the geniuses in the research agency.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘All that from a face?’

  Finch nodded. ‘It’s about tracking people. Once they have this working they’ll be able to pick up relatives of high-risk individuals at choke points, like bus stops and train stations, and revoke their city residence permits.’

  ‘You think this is connected to what’s going on in Germany?’ he said. He glanced at the file he’d been looking through detailing the funding sources for the nationalist party that had come from nowhere to dominate the headlines during the recent parliamentary elections in Germany.

  ‘Yes, the money for their first six months came from this hedge fund Lord Bidoner is involved with. It’s not the sort of the thing that would put anyone behind bars, but it’s worrying.’

  ‘You do know we still haven’t got FBI approval on tracking Isabel Ryan.’

  ‘It’s being escalated, Henry.’ She picked up the files and put them under her arm.

  ‘We better go back downstairs,’ she said. ‘I just wanted you to see these.’ She smiled at him as she passed.

  ‘I appreciate it,’ were his last words, before he closed the door.

  As they walked down the corridor to the elevator he walked close to her. Their arms touched. He could feel her body heat. He closed his eyes. This was not the time to get distracted. He had to stay focused.

  They had some decisions to make soon. Very soon.

  The BXH conference call had shown their lack of reliable information on what had been going on at BXH. But what concerned him more was the fact that every member of the Ryan family was now missing.

  54

  Greg hit the exit door running. It swung wide, banging hard against the outside wall. The noise it made was like a clang from a kettle drum.

  It had stopped snowing.

  The door had a brass sheet on it, covering it completely inside and out. Once it must have been luxurious, in a sixties sort of way. Now it was dented, scuffed.

  There was snow and slush under their feet. Isabel’s shoes were holding up well, so far, but they weren’t snow shoes. Her fingers and cheeks tingled. It felt as if she was being assaulted by the cold.

  A yellow cab was waiting at the end of the alley. She went after Greg and Laura, slipping, sliding, towards it. She knew at that moment what the phrase having your heart in your mouth meant. Her throat felt as if it was almost blocked.

  It was so good to get inside the cab. It felt safe.

  ‘Let’s go uptown to my place,’ said Laura, as the cab moved off. She was settling back as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Is Bao okay?’ said Greg. He leaned over Laura and looked Isabel straight in the eyes.

  ‘She’s fine, I think,’ said Isabel.

  ‘Who the hell was that?’ He grabbed her knee.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The words caught in Isabel’s throat.

  Goddamn it. Goddamn them all.

  ‘Look,’ said Laura. Isabel turned and looked out of the back window of the cab.

  A man had come out of the alley they’d just come from. He was bald and wearing a long buttoned-up navy coat. He had a large Alsatian on a lead. He looked like a security guard from a high-class gated estate. He stared at their cab, as if he was memorising it.

  ‘I suggest we don’t go back there for a while,’ said Laura. ‘I don’t want to meet that guy. You don’t want to either.’ She nudged Greg.

  Isabel had a weight inside her. It grew as the cab speeded up and she could see through the back window that he was just standing there not following them. Everything that had happened in Istanbul and Jerusalem had come back to her. She’d been kidnapped by a man just like this.

  ‘Bastard,’ shouted Greg. He waved a fist briefly, then banged it into his chest.

  ‘Leave us alone,’ he shouted.

  The taxi slowed down. Laura shouted at the driver. ‘Keep going.’

  U2 were belting out ‘One’ on the cab radio. She looked out of the window. She was almost hallucinating. The snow, the lights of the other cars, their combined heavy breathing, all added to the sensation that this was the cab ride from hell. Then the car bounced through a pothole and the music got louder. They passed 42nd Street. She definitely didn’t want to go back to her hotel.

  Maybe she could go back there later. Much later.

  And breathe. This isn’t about you. Go to BXH in the morning. Tell them you want to see your husband. There’s no way they can deny that he’s here in New York. You saw him, for God’s sake.

  Her heart slowed.

  At least she knew the routine in the bank on busy weekends. People would go in there at eight on a Sunday morning if necessary, so Sean had said. And as they were heading into Chapter 11 that was definitely what was going to happen tomorrow.

  She stared out of the back window. There were cabs and trucks and a snowplough behind them.

  ‘Who was that fucking idiot?’ said Greg. ‘A friend of yours?’ He sounded angry. She didn’t blame him.

  ‘Do you think that guy was from BXH?’

  Isabel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Could be.’

  ‘They’re up to their necks in dumb contracts,’ said Greg. Someone’s going to end up holding one hell of a giant bag of worthless paper if they go south.’

  ‘It won’t be that big a disaster,’ she said.

  ‘What? No way, their balance sheet has more holes than a Swiss cheese. The shock wave from BXH defaulting will go around the world and flatten tons and tons of people. Millions I reckon.’

  ‘But they won’t default.’

  ‘That’s not what the market thinks. Their share price is close to zero. All their depositors will start queuing for their money back soon. Maybe from tonight.’ He turned his head to watch someone at an ATM.

  ‘They’ll need a loaves and fishes moment to survive what’s coming.’ He sniffed. ‘I hope they don’t get it.’

  ‘The Fed’ll step in,’ said Laura. ‘Pump hundreds of billions in.’

  ‘There’s a bunch of senators who are against any more big bailouts,’ said Greg. ‘This is gonna give them a real fright. They might just stand up to Wall Street this time.’

  He closed his eyes, be
nt his head down.

  They were heading up Third Avenue. They’d reached 59th Street already. Towers of glass and concrete were all around.

  Isabel’s phone warbled.

  A text had come in. A tiny ember of hope glowed inside her. Could it be Sean? Her cold hand pulled her phone out.

  It was Sean!

  He’d sent a message!

  It was short.

  But it was good news.

  He wanted to see her.

  She tried to call him back immediately. She held her breath as she waited to be connected. Any second now she’d be speaking to him.

  A woman’s voice came on the line.

  ‘The number you are calling is not available at this time. Please try again later.’

  Goddamn it!

  But why was he texting her?

  Someone must have seen her. Was that why his limousine had come back into the city? Would there be some simple explanation as to why he hadn’t called her? Doubtful. And was it even him? She just didn’t know.

  So what should she do about Greg and Laura? She remembered how Sean used to tell her to keep things quiet. Not to involve too many people. He was good at all that. He never ever panicked. And his smile was good too, of course, the way it flashed across his face, warming her inside.

  She felt a familiar longing, a deep desire to see him.

  ‘Pull over,’ she shouted.

  ‘Jeez Louise,’ said Laura, as the cab swung.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Laura,

  ‘I have to do something.’

  She couldn’t bring them with her. Sean would flip right over in a second. And they didn’t deserve getting caught up in anything else. She and Sean attracted trouble.

  ‘I’m sorry about your apartment.’ She reached over and gripped Greg’s arm.

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Are you gonna be okay?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll call Laura tomorrow. I promise. If your place is trashed and the police need me to make a statement I’ll be there. I’m not going to disappear. I just need to do something.’

  ‘Be real careful,’ he said. ‘This is all too fucking crazy.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘So that’s it?’ said Laura.

  ‘I’ll call you. I promise. I’m sorry. I mean it.’ She gripped Laura’s hand.

  Greg was looking at her, his eyes wide.

  ‘Was that your husband texting you?’

  She looked at him blankly, as if she hadn’t understood what he’d just said. She couldn’t tell him what she was doing. She’d probably said too much already. She felt lightheaded. The shock of hearing from Sean was building like a wave inside her. She wanted out of the cab.

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘There are a lot of cabs out.’

  And it was true. There was a string of them with their lights on coming up Third Avenue behind them.

  The cab driver turned to her. Wondering who was going to pay the fare, probably.

  ‘Can I put in some money?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t insult us,’ said Laura.

  As she opened the door, she said, ‘I’ll call you.’ She was still pointing a finger at them as the cab pulled away.

  She stood there with her hand up. A cab pulled over. She got in and gave the driver directions.

  She closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the seat. Was Sean waiting for her? Or was she being stupid? A memory came to her of him calling her name, ‘Isabel’.

  She shivered. Let this be the end of all this stupid searching. One way or the other.

  ‘Here you go,’ said the driver. ‘This is as far as I can take you.’ He turned to her. He had a thin scar down one side of his face. They’d reached the intersection of 45th and Lexington.

  It was even colder outside now. The slush by the side of the road was icing up, crunching loudly under her shoes as she got out.

  Lexington was quite busy with traffic, but 45th Street had been cordoned off with blue and white striped police barriers across the road. Cars were being diverted.

  There were three police trucks in a row on one side of the street, officers in thick coats talking to each other, and an ambulance further on. And a crowd milling around in the middle of 45th, in front of the entrance to the bank, as if they were waiting for something to happen or for someone to show up.

  Most people were wrapped in scarves and wore heavy, padded overcoats. It was a middle-class, middle-aged mob.

  There must have been a few hundred people hanging around, stamping their feet, talking to each other. Some had flasks with them. Others had banners with things like ‘SAVE OUR JOBS’ written on them. Some were jabbing their banners in the air.

  At the entrance to the bank there were three police officers in uniform, and the same number of security guards in black puffy jackets with white badges on their arms. It didn’t look like they were letting anyone in. Her heart sank deep down inside her. This was not what she’d expected.

  Across the street from the bank entrance the arc lights of TV news camera crews were lined up above the crowd like a row of glaring vultures.

  BXH going down had clearly become a major news event. How the hell was she going to get into the bank?

  She took her phone out, stood beside a street light, and tried his number again. Nothing. Still nothing. And this time it didn’t even connect. Was this it? Was someone playing nasty games with her? Her heart contracted, as if someone had reached in and squeezed it.

  55

  Alek banged on the door again. No one came. The room felt cold. He was hungry. He hated the people who’d brought him here. They had lied. His Daddy wasn’t waiting for him. He was tired. And so cold.

  He headed for the bed. There was a blanket on top of it. He pulled it over himself and curled up in a ball. He trembled as the tears rolled down his cheek.

  He wanted to go home.

  He wanted so much to go home. And he needed a drink. And he was hungry.

  He heard the door opening. He turned to look.

  Someone was coming in.

  Was it Daddy?

  No, it wasn’t.

  He closed his eyes and screamed.

  56

  The guy next to her had a shiny bald patch. He looked like a bank teller from Fifth Avenue. He had a black Crombie coat on, which went down to just below his knees.

  He was smiling grimly. When he spoke his accent was French, with an American twang.

  ‘You will get cold in that thin jacket.’ His smile had been replaced by a worried look.

  ‘I’m not hanging around. Who are all these people?’

  He looked at her for a moment, as if wondering why she was asking. ‘I work for BXH. Most of these people do too. Not you?’

  She shook her head.

  He leaned close to her, whispered. ‘Are you a customer?’

  She nodded.

  ‘There’s a BXH ATM around the corner. Some of us are taking our money out. I heard BXH cash cards will be rejected by the ATMs from tomorrow.’ He wiped his brow. ‘But that’s just a rumour. I’m sure it’s not true.’

  ‘Someone will take BXH over.’

  ‘Maybe. The retail part, but who knows about the rest of us. They have been very naughty at the top here, you know.’

  A vein was thumping in his forehead.

  ‘They have been gambling with all our futures.’ He leaned close. ‘And they have lost.’ His eyes glowed with an alarming intensity. He made an exasperated noise.

  ‘It’s all too crazy for me,’ she said. It was hard to take in what he was saying. A disturbing memory from a dream, of red eyes in the darkness, had come to her.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s crazy, young lady. I’ve been working here for twenty-three years and all my savings are in BXH, and my retirement fund is stuffed with BXH stock. If they’ve thrown it all away, what will I do?’ He rubbed a hand across his forehead.

  ‘They’ll be rescued,’ she said.

  He shook
his head. He raised his eyes to the building looming like a castle above them. Lights were blazing from various floors. ‘You know some senior people are in there. Protecting their asses, I’d say.’

  What would he say if she told him her husband might be in there, that he’d just sent her a message?

  ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

  She pushed through the crowd. The security guards in front of the entrance were turning people away with shaking heads. Her hopes were low as she elbowed her way to the front.

  A security guard, six foot of hard muscle and menace, glared at her. He looked like the kind of guy who would shoot you if you made any sudden movements.

  ‘My husband’s inside. Can I go in, please?’ she said.

  His eyes were dead. He stared at her for a long moment.

  ‘This building is closed.’ His accent was hard, as if he ate rusty beer cans for breakfast.

  ‘I have to get in. My husband told me to come. He’s in there.’ Her voice had despair and frustration in it.

  ‘No way, lady.’ He was looking over her head, as if he had finished with her.

  What was she going to do?

  She turned away, heading back towards the intersection with Lexington.

  She read the message Sean had sent her again.

  COME BACK TO THE BANK. WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN NY?

  It wasn’t a lot to base your hopes on. But it was enough. Did he know all these people were outside?

  HOW DO I GET IN? THERE’S A MOB OUTSIDE she texted to his number. A young guy beside her was groaning loudly as she sent the message, as if he was sick.

  ‘Does anyone know what’s going on?’ shouted the young guy, turning to the people around him.

  ‘We’re getting stiffed,’ someone shouted back.

  She walked on. What should she do if Sean didn’t answer? Would he come out looking for her? Should she wait?

  She heard a siren. Then flashing blue lights were reflecting all around.