“The whistle-blowers?”
“Yes. That’s who I am. But Veritas Arcana isn’t an organization-it’s only me and a few committed volunteers. And now you’re asking me to bury something the world needs to know about. Except it doesn’t belong to me-or you.”
“And you’d put Ezra’s life up as collateral?”
“No. I love my son-I would never do that.”
“You don’t understand, Matheson. You already did.”
Matheson started to say something, then stopped. He brought one hand up to his face, bowed his head, and covered his eyes. “Christ,” he said. “I had no idea they were so close. I just needed six or seven more hours. Just…” He sighed deeply and went silent.
A batter approached the plate, doffed his cap to the crowd, and patted his substantial belly. There were as many laughs as cheers.
“Two crucial points, Matheson,” said Geiger. “One: as much as anything, luck is the reason that your son isn’t already dead. And two: they won’t stop. Not as long as they feel there is the slightest chance they can accomplish their task. That’s what they do. They don’t stop.”
Something scratched at Matheson’s mind again.
“I know your voice,” he said.
“No, you don’t.”
The cost of his conversation with Matheson was making Geiger tremble with exhaustion. It was time to get what he came for and go.
“Matheson, hand the package over-now.”
Matheson nodded at the ground, then reached inside his jacket. He took out a manila envelope and held it up. Geiger took the envelope and slipped it into his bag.
Matheson sighed again. “Would you tell Ezra I love him-and that I’m sorry?”
“Matheson just gave him an envelope,” reported Mitch. “Manila, about four by ten.”
“Fuck.” Hall had a cigarette going and took a deep drag. “Why would Matheson give it to him?” He was asking himself more than Mitch. “And how could Geiger even know what it is?”
“Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s not our stuff. Maybe it’s money and Geiger is holding Matheson up before he gives the kid back. Jesus, Richie-who cares? This is our chance. I’m fifty feet away. I could steamroll ’em and grab-”
“No! You’re in a crowd in Central Park, for chrissake. Since 9/11 every fucking New Yorker wants to be a hero. You’d have a dozen people jumping on you before you know it.”
“Okay, Richie, but now Geiger’s leaving. Who do I stick with?”
Hall turned on the Lexus’s emergency flashers, and for a moment he watched them blink on and off. Did they even need Matheson anymore?
“Matheson or Geiger? C’mon, Richie!”
Hall punched the flashers off. “Geiger,” he said. “Geiger’s got the stuff now. Stay on him.”
Hall ended the call and drove up the block. After taking the turn onto Amsterdam, he pulled to the curb at the corner. He kept the motor running and got out. Leaning against the car’s warm steel, he stared back down the street at Geiger’s place. A few people strolled the sidewalks. The sun was just starting to go down, and shadows had begun to roll themselves out like black wallpaper on the sides of the buildings.
Hall took a deep, slow, pleasing breath. He felt better now. Every job had its detours and dead ends, and he’d been on plenty of cakewalks that had turned hellish. But he still got a rush watching calamity get put in its place.
He looked again at Geiger’s building. Now it was time to deal with Ray.
The thought occurred to Ray while he was sitting on the toilet in Geiger’s bathroom. For more than twelve hours, his brain had been overheated-dealing with pain, saturated with medication, deprived of sleep-but the heaviness was moving away. His inner skies were clearing.
He had always been aware that in his partners’ eyes he was the “dumb one” of the trio, and that was fine, because he’d learned that when crunch time came around, knowing how others saw you was as good as being smart. So what came to him now, with his pants down around his ankles, was that if Geiger didn’t call with the code, Richie wouldn’t go out of his way to get him out of here. And if the whole operation fell apart, Richie and Mitch were going to be checking airline schedules to destinations without extradition treaties and not giving him a second thought.
Ray knew the “you’re fucked” monster had just taken a seat at the table, fork and knife in hand. But he wasn’t about to become the monster’s next meal without insisting on some company.
“So what the fuck, Richie? Huh?”
Hall had been watching the foot traffic on 134th Street when his cell rang, and he immediately noticed that the edge in Ray’s voice was returning. The lidocaine must be wearing off.
“Hang in, Ray. Mitch has got him covered. We just talked.”
“Yeah? I’m happy for both of you. What about me?”
“Ray, Mitch is on him. He’s gonna snatch him any minute now, and then we’ll get the code. All right?”
“I want out of here,” Ray said, “or fuck everyone and everything. I do not go down solo on this. Hear me?”
Leaning against the car, Hall studied the glow of his cigarette for a moment. “Ray, have I ever once not had your back? Ever? ” He listened to silence, and then flicked his butt away. “That’s right, Ray, I have always been there for you-and now you want to give me this hard-case bullshit? Jesus, man.”
Ray was silent for a moment. “Yeah, okay. I hear you.”
Hall heard a beep on the line. “That’s better, Ray. Now hang on while I put you on hold for a minute-Mitch is calling again.”
Hall switched over to Mitch’s call. “What’s happening?”
“He’s on Eighty-eighth just off Central Park West. He’s stopped at a side door to 281 CPW. He must have a key, because now he’s going in.”
“You where you can see both the side door and the lobby entrance?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Stay put. I’m on my way.”
“Where’s Ray?”
“Still locked up,” said Hall. “We’ll get him later.”
Before switching back to his call with Ray, Hall looked down the block at Geiger’s front door. He had been waiting for the stretch of sidewalk in front of Geiger’s building to be clear of people, and now it was.
He clicked Ray back on.
“Ray, I’ve got the code. Mitch squeezed it out of Geiger and just called me with it.”
“Great! How’d Mitch get him to give it up?”
“I believe he stuck a gun in his mouth and said, ‘Please.’”
“Amazing what a little good manners will get you.”
Hall glanced at his cell. “Okay, ready? Here it is: five-six-eight-three. Got it?”
“Five-six-eight-three,” Ray repeated.
“Right. That’s ‘love’ on the number keys. L-O-V-E.”
“Peace and love-I get it.”
“Okay, Ray. See you in a minute.”
“Right.”
Hall clicked off his cell and stared at its face. “Good-bye, Ray,” he said.
When it came, the sound was not what Hall expected-it was more a muffled foomph! than an explosive roar. Hall watched the building fold in on itself like a house of cards, and when the cloud of gray dust settled, it revealed the collapsed structure as a pyramid-shaped pile of rubble, with no damage to its neighbors on either side. Geiger had installed the directional charges perfectly.
