“She’s missing. You haven’t seen the images I’ve seen. That woman reporter went on air and the last thing she said was that the Channel One family also was affected. They mentioned Jennifer. They’re searching for her, but they can’t find her. When the buildings let go, they lost her. They said there’s too much rubble. Too much chaos. I’m so sorry. They’ve put out an alert that if anyone does see her to please contact the station immediately.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
11:36 p.m.
“Get rid of Bobby’s body,” Carra said to Spocatti and Carmen. “Wipe up his blood. He’s been there awhile, so he’s probably stuck to the floor, poor thing, but clean it the best you can. There are towels at the bar. He can’t be there when Spellman and Cain arrive.”
“If they arrive,” Spocatti said.
“Oh, they’ll be here,” Carra said. “Love is a funny thing. Maggie Cain now knows her beloved is alive. They had a lovely chat. She’s flooded with hope. When they come in, take them out, then finish off Andrews.”
She looked down at Mark. “Sorry,” she said. “But you’ve seen too much. And do you really want to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of your life?”
He didn’t answer.
“I didn’t think so.” She looked at Spocatti. “Then we do what we discussed earlier—call the police and get out of here. Each of you has your checks. You’ll never have to see us again. Just cash them in and move on.” She bowed her head to them. “And, thank you. We couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“We mean that,” Ira said.
“Our pleasure.” He looked at Carmen. “Let’s get Bobby. We’re losing time.”
“Why are you doing this, Carra?”
That stopped Spocatti. It was Wolfhagen who posed the question, and now Carra was coming over to him to answer it.
“I’ll keep this brief,” she said. “When we were married, you never once told me you traded inside information. You lied to me, you kept it all from me, and yet when it blew up in your face, it also blew up in mine. Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the past five years? It’s taken years to rebuild my name, and I’m only halfway there. As long as you’re alive, they still see you in me. The stink won’t go away until you go away. So, guess what? You go away tonight.”
“Right now, I’m a guest at your home,” he said. “The media has been chronicling it. People saw me at your party. How are you going to explain that?”
She reached out the tip of her whip and ran it along the curves of his face. “I’m going to tell them the truth. We had an argument over the home in La Jolla, which is mine and which I’ve decided to sell. If they want to—and they will—they’ll document your phone call to me just as they’ll document that soon after it, you booked an immediate flight to New York City.
“Because you live there, you threatened me not to sell. You flew here to tell me to my face that you weren’t moving. You told me that if I sold, you’d hire someone to set fire to the house, which belonged to my father. I took you in as a guest because it was better to keep you close while I figured something out.”
She paused. “It’s only been a day, Max. And guess what? I have figured something out. In the meantime, how could I have known that you had an ulterior motive to be here in New York? How could I known everything you were doing on the side? All these deaths captured on film.” She shook her head at him. “You’re not a very good person. The world knew that once. They’ll be reminded of it again.”
She looked at Spocatti. “Bobby,” she said. “Then the rest. Move.”
He turned to Carmen—communication in a glance. He began to step past Wolfhagen and Carra. “You said there were towels at the bar?”
“They’re at the far end. There should be enough, but Bobby was big, so who knows?”
“Right,” he said, and as he passed her, he swung violently around, dipped his hand into his holster and removed his gun. Carra sensed the rush of motion and turned just as the butt of Spocatti’s revolver came straight at the side of her head. She ducked and he missed. Missed! She stumbled back and he swung again, but not before her whip whirled around and struck him hard across his face.
Stunned by the blow, he shook it off while she ran across the room. He charged after her. She was quick, but not quick enough—those boots she wore were a bitch and they didn’t give her the traction she needed. As she ran past Wolfhagen and toward the bar, where he knew there’d be a staircase, he saw Carmen swing at Wolfhagen’s head. He collapsed on the floor just as Ira Lasker started for the door.
“Door!” Spocatti called.
Carra was running faster now. She skidded as she rounded the bar. He heard a thump behind him and knew it was Lasker. He heard footsteps running his way and knew it was Carmen. And then, suddenly, Carra turned to face him.
She swung the whip at him again, but this time he was prepared for it and caught it with his free hand. He yanked on it and pulled her close into to him. He could feel her breath on his face. He could see wild fear and rage in her eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing,” she said. “You’ve got your money!”
“You lied to us. You never should have done that. There are repercussions.”
She started to struggle, but when Spocatti slammed his gun against the side of her head, her eyes rolled back and she went down at his feet in a heap of unconscious sleep.
Carmen looked down at her. “I want that suit and those boots,” she said. “They’re fantastic.” She looked up at Spocatti. “But don’t worry, I’ll get them later. What do you have in mind?”
Spocatti glanced across the room at Mark Andrews, who hadn’t moved because he couldn’t move. He stepped farther away from the bar and onto the staircase that was on the other side of it. She followed him and he quietly told her.
“We have time for all that?”
“I think so.”
“But what’s the point? We should lock them in one of those cages, get out of here, make an anonymous call to the cops and be done with it.”
“The police are a little busy right now, Carmen. We’ve got time. We finish this our way, then we call the feds, the cops, the media.”
“They could die if we do this.”
“Not if we do it right. And we have to do it right. I want them in jail. Death is too easy. I want a spectacle. I want something people won’t forget. And don’t think I’m not thinking about our own safety. That comes first. We do have time for this. Cain and Spellman aren’t here for a reason. They can’t get through. The streets are either jammed or blocked. Enough time has passed for them to be here, but they’re not.”
“They could be close.”
“Then we lock the door and deal with them if I’m wrong.”
“Cain is good. You saw what she’s capable of. She took me down and she shot you. Don’t forget that.”
“She also had surprise on her side,” Spocatti said. “This time, we’ll be ready for them.” He holstered his gun. “They’re coming,” he said. “And so will everyone else. But Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker lied to us. They deserve what’s coming their way. Let’s really give the world something to talk about. Let’s crank this into the stratosphere. Let’s fuck with people’s heads. You with me?”
“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
A knock came at the door.
Worse, a knock came at a door that might be unlocked.
Carmen immediately came across the open space, wishing the lights weren’t on. She pulled out her gun and held it on Andrews. She put her finger to her lips and pressed the barrel to his temple. All over her face was one message. If you say one fucking word, you’re dead. I will kill you. You will die. There’s no option. And then she pushed him across the room, to the very spot where Carra lay unmoving.
Spocatti pulled Bobby out of the entryway, into the large room and behind one of the cages. The man had almost completely bled out. Behind him, he left a broad swipe of congealed blood.
<
br /> There was another knock on the door, this time more aggressive.
Carmen lowered the lights and now Bobby’s blood, while sticky, appeared black on the dark floors. As another knock came, this one the most impatient yet, they quickly moved Lasker and Wolfhagen behind the bar.
They looked at each other. It was Spellman and Cain, they were sure of it. They rushed across the room and moved to the curtained window to peer outside, but they couldn’t see anything. The tall hedges on either side of the entrance blocked their view, though not of the street, which was teeming with people. Some were running. Others were on their cells and walking quickly. All were moving toward the Park.
They couldn’t see who was knocking. And then the knock came again.
Spocatti went to the door while Carmen moved in place just behind the wall that separated them. She drew her gun. She heard Spocatti put his hand on the doorknob. And then she heard a voice the moment he opened it.
“I’m Jennifer Barnes,” a woman said. “Channel One. I apologize for knocking so late, but I noticed your lights are on and this is important.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I think I was given the wrong address,” she said. “I was sent to 11 West 82nd Street, but it doesn’t exist. I’ve been walking all over this neighborhood and saw that you’re 11 West 83rd, so I thought I’d stop to see if this was the correct address.”
Carmen pressed her back against the wall. Her gun was poised and ready. She could hear the people on the sidewalks in ways that she’d never heard them in this soundproofed house.
“Who are you looking for?” Spocatti asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“How can it be complicated?”
She hesitated. “It has to do with a federal investigation.”
“Ah,” Spocatti said. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Jennifer Barnes. I’m a reporter at Channel One.”
“And how did you get this address?”
“I’m working with Detectives Mike Hines and Linda Patterson. They gave it to me.”
“Who were you hoping to find?”
Another hesitation.
“I’ll need to know, Ms. Barnes.”
“I’m here to see Mark Andrews.”
“I see,” he said. But he said nothing more.
“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Barnes said. There was an edge to her voice. “I’m sorry if I interrupted. I think I might have the wrong address.”
“Actually, you don’t,” Spocatti said. “Ms. Barnes, you’re at a federal safe house. If you’d like to see Mark, step inside. But I’ll need you to stay with me in the entryway while I phone my superior. Before we go any farther, he’ll need to question you.”
“Show me your identification.”
And Carmen knew the moment Barnes drew a sharp breath that what Spocatti showed her was his gun.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
12:17 a.m.
The streets of Manhattan were so clogged, it took them ninety minutes to reach the safe house on West 83rd. When they finally got there, the building, a gorgeous pre-war limestone with large casement windows and an impressively grand entrance, appeared to be in darkness.
But it wasn’t.
As they passed it, they could see a slant of light beyond the heavy curtains that shielded the windows. People were inside. Mark Andrews might just be waiting for them.
This was their second go around the block and as they drove past the building this time, Marty took it slower, looking for any sign of life inside. But all he saw was that sliver of light and those heavy, almost industrial-looking curtains. He lingered on those curtains and had to admit that if this was a government safe house, they’d fit right into the equation given the privacy they offered.
He tapped out Jennifer’s number again and still got a rapid busy signal. He tried Hines and Patterson and got the same thing. The pit of worry in his stomach now had grown into a vine that wrapped itself tight around his chest. If anything happened to Jennifer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He was in love with her. He was scared for her. But when they’d left Roberta’s, he knew he’d never get close to East 77th Street—or to her. And so they came here. They needed to see if Andrews was alive or if they were being set-up.
On 82nd Street, they found a parking space that wasn’t a parking space. It was reserved for hydrant access, but perfect for his needs. Given what was unfolding on the other side of the Park, it was unlikely his car would get towed tonight, and so he backed into the space, righted the car, shut it off and looked at Maggie.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked.
She nodded. “It was Mark’s voice,” she said. “I’ve thought about it ever since we left the restaurant and it was his voice. I know you have reservations, but there’s no question. It was Mark on the phone.”
“You have your gun?”
“I do.”
“It’s loaded.”
“It is.”
“Even if it was Mark and he is alive, you’re aware that this might be Wolfhagen. Somehow, he might know we’re onto him and he’s setting us up.”
“I’m aware of it.”
“You’re prepared to take that risk?”
She nodded.
And so was he. “I need you to follow my lead. I’ve seen you shoot. I know you’re trained and capable of protecting yourself. But if he’s got a team in there, we’re in the shit. If you do see Mark at the start, I want you to remember that they might have planned it that way to get you inside. They’ll be expecting you to go to him, but you can’t. Is that understood?”
“It is.”
“You need to follow me and just do as I say.”
“Alright.”
“The moment they open the door, I’ll know whether we’re dealing with the feds. You always can tell a fed. I’ve been around enough of them to smell them. If I think it’s something else, I’ll tap my thigh once, but we play it cool. We’re grateful that they reached out to us. We just want to see Mark.” He paused. “And once that door closes behind us, we act. We take the motherfucker out quietly and get ready for the onslaught. We keep them at bay as long as we can and, if we fail, we run. Is that clear?”
“What do you mean by quietly?”
“We pistol whip him and ease him down onto the floor. No gunfire. They know we’re coming and they’ll be ready for us, but anything could happen. If for some reason they’re distracted when we arrive and only one person comes to the door, all the better for. Slim chance, but you never know.”
“Got it.”
Because of the street lamp above them, he couldn’t see her face. It was in silhouette. But in her voice was something else—cold determination. She’d waited for this. She was ready for this. “You’re clear on everything?”
“I got it, Marty. I’m following your lead. I’ll do what you want.”
While that’s certainly what he wanted to hear, why did he feel her emotions were going to get the best of her and, if she did see Andrews, that she’d screw it up?
* * *
On the sidewalk, the walked side by side. They moved briskly and kept pace with each other. Maggie’s hair swung but the rest of her was rigid. Marty was focused and running every possible situation he could think of through his mind. Neither said anything to the other. They could have been a pair of automatons.
Save for a few stragglers, most people were either on the other side of Manhattan, trying to assist, or they were in their homes watching the situation unfold on television. Except for the faint wail of sirens off in the distance, the streets were relatively quiet, the only exception being the heaviness of their footsteps.
They rounded 83rd and started toward the safe house. In spite of the warmth, Marty still wore his blazer. He’d given Maggie the light windbreaker he kept in his car. His gun was concealed in his holster. Maggie kept hers tucked in her waistband at her back.
The building was now in front of them. So was a young woman comin
g their way. She passed them with her head lowered. They could hear her sobbing. Instinctively, they slowed and watched her over their shoulders. She never looked at them. She made no attempt to reach for a cell phone or something worse. She was legit.
They took the steps, exchanged a glance. Then Marty knocked.
The door edged open.
Surprised, each took a step back. Marty held his hand out behind him, keeping Maggie back, and drew his gun. He listened but could hear nothing. He maneuvered his head so he could look through the crack, but it wasn’t wide enough.
He knocked again, harder this time, his gun held low at his side and ready. The door gave a few more inches. This isn’t right, this isn’t right, this isn’t right. He put his hand on the handle and gave the door a gentle push. It swung open. This isn’t right, this isn’t right, this isn’t right. He looked back at Maggie and saw that she had drawn her gun. He motioned for her to lower it lest they be seen by anyone who might pass on the street. She did so, holding it close to her thigh.
There was no other way to do this but to step inside. So Marty eased into the oddly shaped, narrow front foyer. There was a door to his left and to his right, but only the door to his left was open. The lights were on inside. The floor was sticky. He listened and thought he could hear something. It sounded like feet scuffing against wood.
He moved closer to the open door and pressed his back to the wall. He waved for Maggie to join him. When she did, he motioned for her to close the door. But before it latched shut, he stopped her. Keep it open. Don’t make a sound. Leave it slightly ajar, just as they’d found it.
Again, they listened. Something or someone was in the next room. They strained to hear anything that would give them a clue, something telling, and this time they heard what sounded like scratching. And then they heard a tapping.
And then, without warning, something or someone gurgled.
The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set Page 71
