“I’ll see what-”
“No, there’s no ‘I’ll see.’ That’s the deal. Second, I want protection for me-and for Lilly. Even more for Lilly.”
Our eyes locked. She could have turned me down flat. But if she accepted, it would mean that Treasury’s focus on Lilly and BOS/Singapore really had come as a surprise to her, and that my hunch was correct. For some reason, the FBI was out of sync with its sister agency, and Agent Henning needed me to stay involved if she was going to figure out what the heck was really going on.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll check with the bureau to see what kind of protection I can get.”
“Thank you. And when this is over, remember that I was the one who told you that whoever wrote that Treasury Department memo is dead wrong: Lilly had nothing to do with Cushman.”
“Sooner rather than later, you are going to have to open your eyes and help me see the real Lilly Scanlon.”
I wasn’t blind, and of course there was a corner of my mind that wondered if Treasury was right-that Lilly really did know something. But I wasn’t going to share that with Henning. I felt guilty enough as it was for having spied on Lilly.
My gaze returned to Alice and her friends on the giant mushroom. “Sure thing,” I said, “I love chasing down rabbit holes.”
10
T he subway took me down to TriBeca, and on the short walk to my apartment I stopped at the corner deli for takeaway. A couple of slices of pizza for me, a dinner salad for Lilly. I probably should have called to ask what she wanted, but I knew the chicken Caesar would be a winner. More to the point, I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet, not even about something as mundane as,
My relationship with Agent Henning was complicated. Sometimes she felt like an adversary. Other times she seemed like someone I could trust. My first impression had been highly favorable, but only because I found it intriguing that such an attractive woman on the other side of the coffee bar seemed incapable of taking her amazing green eyes off of me. The second impression had been not so favorable. Getting cornered by an FBI agent is not exactly a banner day for a Wall Street banker. It was soon clear, however, that I was not suspected of any wrongdoing. The target was one Lilly Scanlon at BOS/Singapore. My immediate reaction had been that the FBI was overlooking an obvious point, which I’d laid right on the table.
“I work in New York.”
“We have cooperation from an insider. She’ll get you transferred.”
“But I have no interest in going to Singapore.”
“It will only be for a few months.”
“That’s a few months too long.”
“We could be talking about billions of dollars for Cushman’s victims.”
“It’s not that I don’t care. But if this thing blows up and it comes out that I was a mole working for the FBI, my career is over.”
“It won’t blow up.”
“Easy for you to say. Look, I don’t mean to sound mercenary, but you’re asking me to take a huge risk. I understand the point about helping Cushman’s victims, but…”
“What’s in it for you?”
“Back up even further.
“Because I know you’re not Patrick Lloyd.”
The answer had hit me like ice water, but Henning was just getting started.
“Here’s the deal… Peter.”
Her invocation of my real name had done its job. Naturally, what had followed was the proverbial offer I couldn’t refuse.
“Yo, dude,” said the guy behind the counter. “You want the dressing on the salad or on the side?” He seemed annoyed, as if it was the third or fourth time he’d asked. I’d zoned out.
“On the side,” I said.
A cold wind was blowing in from the river as I walked home. With no gloves, my right hand was glad for the steaming pizza in the paper sack I was clutching. My left was not so happy toting my overnight bag. I hurried down the sidewalk, passing a few pedestrians, then stopped short in front of my building. It was dark, I had things on my mind, and I was in a rush to get home-but I could have sworn that the man in the overcoat who’d just walked past me was the guy from Puffy’s Tavern.
I pivoted and did an about-face. The man was walking briskly and had already reached the corner. He stopped to check for traffic, then glanced over his shoulder. The glowing streetlamp provided just enough light: there was instant, mutual recognition. I dropped the suitcase and the food and ran after him. He took off like a rocket.
“Stop!” I shouted, my arms and legs pumping. He ran even faster, heading west toward Hudson. I knew a shortcut through the alley and decided to head him off. I was at full speed when a truck backed out from behind a restaurant. I planted my foot, intending to cut like Reggie Bush, but I looked more like George Bush auditioning for
“Beat it, pal,” the driver shouted from his truck. “You can’t sleep here.”
I thought about continuing my chase, but the pain in my ankle trumped that inclination. I pulled myself up and hobbled back to my apartment, only to find a homeless man seated on the sidewalk enjoying my pizza and Lilly’s salad. I grabbed my suitcase.
“Hey, that’s mine!” he said.
I was in no mood to argue, and under the applicable urban laws of street survival, he probably had the better argument anyway. “How much you want for it?”
“Fifty bucks.”
I gave him twenty, and he was happy. I dialed Lilly’s cell on my way into the building. There was no answer, which concerned me. At Puffy’s, the more I had thought about it, the less sure I was that I’d seen that man before in Singapore. This time, the opposite was true.
I dialed my apartment, but it went to the answering machine. “Lilly, if you’re there, pick up the phone,” I said.
She didn’t answer. I hurried into the building and took the stairs, no time to wait for the old elevators to descend all the way from the penthouse. I dug out my key as I ran down the hall, turned the lock, and pushed open the door-pushed so hard that I nearly dislocated my shoulder when the chain lock engaged. It should have occurred to me that Lilly would have it secured. But if she was inside, why hadn’t she answered the phone? I called out through the opening.
“Lilly, it’s me.”
I waited, then stepped back and rang the doorbell. No response. I dug out my cell and speed-dialed hers. Again, no answer. I dialed my landline and could hear it ringing inside the apartment, but it went to the answering machine, just like the last time.
“Lilly!”
Still no response. I dialed the front desk and spoke to the guard. “Gabriel, do you remember the woman I introduced you to last night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see her go out today?”
“No, sir, but I’ve only been here since four.”
