them and I followed her gaze. The first was a silver Elvis. Gelled and silvered hair slicked back at the sides, silver face, flashy sequined suit, chrome-rimmed sunglasses. Every minute or so he would pivot, thrust out his hips, and assume a new Elvis pose. The other performance artist, a few feet away, wore a jester costume. Gold and black hat with bells and a black bodysuit with a white collar. On each flap of his collar was a symbol for a suit of cards: spades, hearts, diamonds, clubs. His face was completely hidden by a white porcelain mask. On his left wrist I saw a red tattoo.
Laurel put a hand to her lips. “Who’s that?”
“Good question. The Elvis is probably a legitimate performance artist, but the jester’s got to be from the alchemy website.”
We were in a crowded park so felt safe enough. We waited to see what he’d do. His gaze wandered to Laurel’s ample breasts and locked on. I put my arm around her to send him the clear message that she belonged to me, then held up my other hand and flipped him the bird.
“Let’s take off,” I said. “I don’t want to hang around this guy.”
So that made three of them—Eris, Shim, and this jester. And they posed a danger not only to me but now to Laurel too. The only solution I could see was to counter their numbers with allies of my own. That meant giving Laurel more of the story and enlisting Tomas’s help. I’d wanted to learn what else Tomas knew anyway, and this would furnish the pretext. I could involve them while keeping something in reserve. Hal’s flash drive was safely, I hoped, with Nina. The only other existing file was on my BlackBerry, and Eris and her friends wouldn’t be getting their hands on that. I told Laurel about the Book of Nahum and what Tomas had revealed of it.
“I see why they’re so desperate to get it,” she said after a moment of astonishment over the immense find. “No wonder it’s worth a fortune. What did you say his name was—Tomas Zakar? Are you sure about him?”
“Samuel employed him in Iraq. That checks out.”
“How do you know it’s not just some story he gave you? He could be anyone. What if he has terrorist connections?”
“There’s no chance. Samuel would never have associated with someone like that. I’d like you to meet him; another pair of eyes might help us crack this thing, and there’s no point working at cross purposes.”
“All right. But if you sense anything negative about him, back off. This game of Hal’s is sucking us under and I don’t think you see that. You worry me by rushing headlong into things.”
I lost my cool over that remark. “Laurel, my life has been directly threatened. And look at what just happened. Those freaks will show up out of the blue, even in a crowded park. They have no fear. And how are they finding me? You’re quite right I’m rushing. I have no fucking choice.”
“Why are you getting mad? I’m just looking out for you.” She linked her arm through mine. “We’ll get it sorted out.”
The condo would be at the top of their list of places to find me. I had to get out of there. Laurel waited for me around the corner at Caffe Dante while I stopped by the condo to pick up a few things. But before I went anywhere near my place I stood in the doorway to Kenny’s and made sure there was no surveillance.
Once inside I threw a change of clothes, some toiletries, and Samuel’s last journal into a small case. I shoved my treasure chest into the back of his closet, folded a blanket around it, and tossed some shoes on top. I stuffed Samuel’s billfold with his American Express, Visa, and about two hundred dollars, returned to me after the crash, into my pocket.
As I was about to leave a call came.
“Darling, what have you become embroiled in this time?”
Claire. She never bothered to introduce herself, assuming the entire world knew who she was. “Funny you should call me.”
“Phillip passed along a message. He said you wanted to speak to me. Something about alchemy and Durer? You do get mixed up in the quaintest things, dear.”
“I’m just doing some research on a Durer print, but I think it’s under control. Can I check in with you later if I need to?”
“Of course. But now I’m intrigued. You’re chasing a big fat commission, aren’t you? I hadn’t heard of any Durers being available right now.”
“Everything’s always on the market, Claire. You know that. Listen, I appreciate your call but I’ve got to split.”
She hung up abruptly, feeling cheated, no doubt, because I’d held out on her.
I got in touch with Tomas, and he suggested we meet at his room at the Waldorf. Before leaving, I took out the precious bottle of 1985 Barolo I’d saved for a special occasion. On the back of my business card I wrote a thank you to Nina. There being no answer when I knocked, I left it propped against her door. She’d earned it.
Fifteen
Before going up to see Tomas, I suggested to Laurel that we wait in the Waldorf lobby to make sure no one had followed us. When we reached the hotel we settled into plump chairs.
Our housekeeper, Evelyn, taught herself English by watching old movies, so I grew up transfixed by Cary Grant captive in the Plaza, King Kong teetering from the Empire State Building, Lana Turner vamping at the Waldorf Astoria. Fantasy and reality not yet being distinct in my young mind, on one school visit to the Empire State I’d stubbornly refused to make the trip to the observation deck, afraid that a giant, hairy hand would curl around me and fling me off the top. Some of my strongest first impressions of the city came from those films. They gave New York a varnish of glamour no other place possessed, one of the many reasons I loved it so much.
On special occasions, Evelyn would bring me to the Waldorf. For her, walking into the lobby was like entering a king’s palace. We’d tour the place the way others would a gallery or museum, finishing off our visit with lunch at Peacock Alley—a Waldorf salad with candied walnuts for her, and for me an indulgence, strawberry napoleon with white chocolate mousse. The Waldorf had undergone a long process of recovery from the sixties, when many of its fabulous art deco designs had been concealed under carpets or behind heavy drapes. The work of Louis Rigal—his twelve remarkable murals, and the mosaic disc on the floor made of 150,000 pieces of marble—shone on full display. A focal point of the room, the tall clock from the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, still rang its Westminster chimes every fifteen minutes.
People drifted through the lobby, going about their business. No one seemed to be paying any special attention to us. I glanced over at Laurel. She was looking down, fidgeting with a tissue, fright at seeing the jester still occupying her mind, I guessed. She had a lot on her shoulders already, and the news I’d brought her might well have been too much for her to handle. In the short time we’d spent together, I’d felt an attraction for Laurel that I hadn’t experienced for a long time. She caught me looking at her and gave me a half smile. “Let’s go up,” I said. “I think we’re okay here.”
The elevator stopped at the second floor to admit an older woman wearing heavy, oversweet perfume. Her hair was a frightening helmet, stiff and overly bright, speaking of decades of applied color. She strode in and commanded center spot, forcing Laurel and me to retreat to the back wall.
Tomas’s door swung open after the first knock. A friendly lion seized my hand in both of his huge paws, insisting, “Come in, come in, John. You are most welcome here.” I noticed a deep welt on the man’s palm when he took his hand away.
Tomas looked up from his perch on a chair in the corner and gestured toward the lion. “My brother, Ari.”
Laurel greeted them politely when I introduced her; she appeared duly impressed by the surroundings. When Ari stepped aside, we could see the room was actually a large two-bedroom suite with a living area done up in faux Chippendale, fresh flowers on gleaming tables, ornate draperies, carpets and walls in soft coffee and cream tones, all of it designed to project an air of inoffensive gentility. The high ceilings soared to elaborate cornices. A camera like those used by TV photojournalists sat on one of the chairs beside a beaten-up backpack. The suite occupied a premier position in the hotel, its windows looking out onto Park Avenue.
I thought they’d been burning incense until I noticed a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, a package of Gitanes Brunes open beside it. The coffee table was covered with takeout containers. The presence of someone
