She gave her number and told him she was wearing a dark blue T-shirt and a beige linen jacket.
She left the hotel with a little tourist map and turned right to walk the hundred or so yards to 6th Avenue. On reaching Sixth she became aware of the enormous scale of Midtown, which she hadn’t at all appreciated during the cab ride in from the airport during the middle of the night. Then the compressed, thunderstorm heat of Manhattan hit her. She walked south to Bryant Park, where she drew iced tea through a straw and tried Eva again but without success. Then she made her way along 42nd Street to 5th Avenue. Passing the New York Public Library she glanced up at the couples sitting on the steps, fanning themselves in the sluggish air like a theatre audience.
It took nearly an hour of tramping up and down 5th to locate the Stuyvesant Empire Bank, which turned out to be just half a dozen blocks from 34th Street. Its frontage was so nondescript that she passed it several times. All the while the Empire State building loomed imperious and Germanic in a strange apricot light that escaped from behind the massive cloud formations to the south and west.
Just six blocks away, she thought. Less than ten minutes’ walk. Rahe must have visited the Empire State the previous week. This gave her an idea. She called Lyne from the street and asked him to send pictures of Rahe and the suspects in the Bosnia photograph to her email address. She also asked for a picture of Sammi Loz.
She began to retrace her steps to the hotel while going over the details of the pictures. Lyne tried to interrupt several times, eventually saying, ‘Isis, you’re not listening.’
‘Sorry, go ahead.’
‘We’ve got some good information on Larry Langer. He comes from a Connecticut family. They’re rich people, originally in the garment industry, who moved out of New York. Langer was a delinquent kid – a real nut. Disappeared to Bosnia for five years and returned briefly to the States in ninety-nine after wandering the globe, saying he was a Muslim. That didn’t please his family because they’re Jewish. They haven’t heard of him since. But they have reasonably fresh pictures, and these are being released worldwide tonight, together with the Bosnia photograph of Aziz Khalil. They didn’t want to do it, but now they totally buy the idea that there may be five guys still out there.’
‘Send one of Langer to me.’
‘You got it.’
‘What about Latif Latiah, Abdel Fatah and Ajami?’
‘Nothing.’
‘And you’ve circulated all the agencies with the information. What about Mossad?’
‘I couldn’t tell you about that. But I guess someone has talked to them.’
‘So what are you doing now?’
‘Nothing much. Waiting, I guess, and working through the night. Oh, I nearly forgot, I had a call from Dolph. He’s doing fine now. So’s Joe Lapping.’
Seeing the tourist map tucked under her arm, a beggar in ragged shorts and T-shirt had started to bother Herrick, singing her praises in extravagant terms. ‘Honey, just let me drink your bathwater,’ he shouted.
Herrick spun round. ‘Will you fucking well leave me alone you creep.’
‘I hear you’re getting into the ways of the city,’ said Lyne, when she returned the phone to her ear. It was then that her eyes caught sight of a familiar walk way off down 5th. A man holding some ice-cream cones, moving through the crowds just like Foyzi had in Cairo. Then he disappeared from sight.
‘Are you there, Isis? What’s up?’
‘Nothing. I thought I saw someone I recognised.’
‘Look, why don’t you get a little rest? You’re doing everything you can. Oh, one other thing. I told the Chief I heard from you.’
‘I knew you would – you’re a bloody boy scout…’
‘He agreed I could send it, but he’s awful sore you’re not at home watering the roses, or whatever you English girls do when you’re relaxing.’
‘Leave it out, Nathan.’
‘Well, it’s good to have it official, anyway,’ he said. ‘Besides, you do need to rest. Go lie down for chrissakes, or you’ll be thinking you know everyone in New York.’
She hung up and made her way back to the hotel, where she took a shower and lay naked in the cool sanctuary of her room for about an hour, getting up once to try Eva again and download her email.
She arrived at the bank at exactly 3.30 to find a dapper figure dressed in a black lightweight suit marching up and down the sidewalk, talking on his cell. She pulled her passport from her shoulder bag and put it under his nose. He nodded, but continued to speak. At length he hung up and put out his hand.
‘Special Agent Ollins, pleased to meet you. Your guy, Youssef Rahe, made a trip up to the Canadian border last Wednesday. We got a payment at a gas station.’
‘But we know he didn’t use the Zachariah cards.’
‘Exactly. He paid in the name of Youssef Rahe. Maybe he made a slip or something. Anyways, we can place him at a gas station outside Concord, New Hampshire, last Wednesday at 11 p.m. That’s just eighty-five miles from the border. What do you think he was doing there?’
‘Picking up someone.’
‘Right. That’s the only reason he would go up there. The attendant remembers him because of the Arabic name. He says the car was headed north and there was a passenger inside. Who might that be?’
She lifted her shoulders.
Ollins brushed the top of his close-cropped blond hair with the flat of his palm, apparently absorbing Herrick for the first time. ‘Okay, let’s see these people,’ he said, jerking his thumb at the bank.
They were shown into a room, where three bank executives were nervously ranged along a table. Herrick withdrew her laptop from her bag and switched it on. ‘Gentlemen,’ said Ollins. ‘We need your help, and fast. Miss Herrick is from England and she’s working with us on a counter-terrorist operation. She has something to say to you and some questions to ask. We would appreciate it if you’d do everything in your power to help her.’
Ignoring the throbbing pain in her arm, Isis began to speak slowly, breathing as calmly as she could. ‘You are aware that we’ve already made inquiries about account 312456787/2, held in the name of David Zachariah. And we’re grateful for your service. First of all, I want you to confirm that the picture I am going to show you is of the man you knew as Zachariah.’ She spun the laptop round on the table.
The three executives leaned forward, two of them reaching in their pockets for reading glasses. They exchanged looks, then one said, ‘That is Mr Zachariah, yes.’
‘Now I’m going to show you some of Mr Zachariah’s associates. ’ She turned the laptop back to her and clicked on the icon for the Bosnia picture. ‘This is not too clear, but I want you to look at it very carefully and see if you recognise anyone.’
Again they huddled round the laptop and squinted at the image. ‘Maybe it would help if you emailed us this picture and we had it enlarged and printed out,’ suggested one.
All this took five or six minutes and eventually a secretary appeared with the copies of the Bosnia photograph, as well as the new Langer picture, which Herrick intercepted and placed face down on the table. As they looked again, she ran through the names she had in her notepad – Larry Langer, Aziz Khalil, Ajami, Latif Latiah and Abdel Fatah.
‘We believe all these men are still at large. We are particularly interested in Langer.’ She turned over the study of Langer, a haunted-looking man in his thirties with sunken eyes and a beard, smiling ruefully at the camera. ‘This man appears in the other picture before you.’
‘Langer, Langer,’ said one of the executives.
‘His people were in the rag trade – the garment industry. It’s close to here, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, we have had dealings with the family.’ He swivelled to a terminal by the wall and turned it on. For some time he worked through the files. ‘Yes,’ he said, pushing himself back so the others could see. ‘Lawrence Joseph Langer. Date of birth, 1969. He had a checking account with us for twelve years, though it was inactive for long periods.’
‘Can you look up Zachariah’s records and see if there are any transactions between the accounts?’ asked Ollins.
‘No problem,’ said the man, printing off the file on Langer.
After a few moments he spoke again. ‘It seems that Mr Langer was in receipt of money from Zachariah on
