apprehension grew by the minute. I continued the search long after I knew in my gut she wouldn’t be found. When my brain finally caught up with my heart, a wave of sadness folded around me. I felt a sudden hatred for this place and wanted to get away from it.
What had she done—fled into the rainy night? Surely she would at least have left a note if she’d already gone to New Haven. The first inkling that something had gone wrong presented itself when I went into the rotunda. I saw a narrow opening, a seam in the panels where the marble met a strip of wooden inlay. Of course. There had to be some exit other than the elevator. But unless you actually moved your hands over the surface, when the door was closed you’d never know it was there. It was wrong, the door standing open like that.
I called her cell and got her voice mail. My email showed a new message, sent minutes ago from an unfamiliar address. No text, just a video attachment. What I saw put the fear of God into me.
Twenty-three
The video opened with a gray and grainy background, everything out of focus, then cleared up and zoomed in on Laurel. They’d bound her to a standing pipe in a room with tiled walls and floor. There was no audio. The film had the jerky, amateurish quality of a bad wedding video. Her body had slumped, her head lolling as if her neck was broken. I tried to see if I could detect the rise and fall of her chest, anything to give me a scrap of reassurance. Someone off camera must have issued an order because she jerked her head up. Her face was white and slack, in her eyes a mixture of dismay and terror. She spoke but I couldn’t tell what she said from the movement of her lips.
I bolted down the stairs, falling a couple of times, not even feeling it. I had the presence of mind to straighten myself up right before the exit to the lobby. Gip would not be on the desk. I pushed open the door and gave the night doorman a nod. “You know Laurel Vanderlin?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Did you see her go out?”
“Almost an hour ago, yeah. Her friend took her to the hospital. I asked whether I should call emergency, but the friend had a car right outside. A good thing because she had trouble making it that far.”
“Her friend. A fairly hot-looking blonde?”
“Can’t really say. Why? Don’t remember who you were with?”
He kept a poker face but I could tell what he was thinking. A threesome done up with a lot of booze and designer drugs that had gotten out of hand. He’d seen it enough times before. He watched me every step of the way out the lobby without saying another word.
I ran for blocks up Seventh Avenue. The rain came in sheets; I didn’t care. I needed to raise a shield between me and this last terrible hour.
When my lungs began to sear every time I reached for a breath, I took shelter under an awning. Every inch of me was wet, my clothes plastered to my body as if I’d gone swimming in them, water streaming down my face. The image of Laurel in that room drilled holes through my brain.
I stumbled along, hardly aware of where my feet were taking me. The cascade of horrors paraded in front of me like ghouls from a graveyard—the car crash, Hal’s murder, Shim and Eris hunting us, the grinning jester, and now Laurel. Every one of my actions had a dark edge. My brain exploded with anguish.
My cell went off. Another email. Short and to the point.
Meet us at the High Bridge water tower tomorrow at 9
P.M
. Laurel for the engraving. She’ll die if you bring the police.
I wandered around, desperate to figure a way out of the situation. I ended up sitting in a pocket park; the benches were wet from the rain but I barely noticed. Even at night, the smokers were out in full force, leaving a trail of butts under every bench. A guy next to me dressed in a smart pinstripe suit threw his still-burning cigarette on the ground, picked up his briefcase and helmet, and walked over to his motorcycle. A stone-black Ducati S4R, splendor on two wheels. He straddled it and revved the motor. I’d have given anything to be able to take off into the summer night like him and leave the cesspit of my life behind.
The High Bridge was built in the 1840s to hold a pipe bringing fresh, clean water from the Croton River into Manhattan. The oldest surviving bridge in Manhattan, it had fallen into decay and was closed after the cops caught kids dropping rocks onto the Circle Line boats. I’d seen photos of it and thought at the time how much it reminded me of Roman empire architecture. Originally built of stone, the classical series of arches spanning the Harlem River conjured up images of the ancient aqueducts bisecting the Tiber valley. Underneath the flat surface, an enclosed hollow ran the entire length of the bridge to carry the pipe. In those days, even the most functional spaces were beautifully designed, and this one had elaborate pillars and arches.
The tower stood at a desolate point in the park. Someone had been murdered there last year. Walking into that situation would be tantamount to strapping myself into an electric chair and pulling the lever. I had to find some other way to negotiate saving Laurel.
A rumble of thunder sounded as I entered the Waldorf. The earlier rain had made no dent in the humidity; the air was thick with oppressive heat like the inside of a volcano ready to blow.
In my room, I rooted around in my bag looking for the gun. I needed all the help I could get now.
It was gone. Had someone alerted security to search for it? If so, I was dead meat; they’d have called the police by now. If someone had complained security would have to act, but it was unusual for a hotel to invade a patron’s privacy. And who’d have told them? No one had access to my room. I quickly changed and made my way over to the Zakars’.
Ari gave me his usual enthusiastic welcome when he opened the door. “Ah, John, we wondered when we’d see you. We expected you hours ago. Tomas gave up waiting and went down to the bar. Where is Laurel?”
“They’ve taken her, Ari. What in God’s name am I going to do?”
He sank down on the couch and put his head in his hands. “It is bad. You may not get her back, I fear.”
“What a fucking bastard Hal was for doing this to us.”
Ari raised his head. “Yet it is done. We just go forward, that’s all. But I’m afraid there’s something else I must say.” He got up and went into his bedroom and returned with a plastic bag.
I wondered what was coming next.
Ari cranked open the window and asked whether I’d mind if he smoked. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a little silver dish with a flip top. A portable ashtray. He got out his package of Gitanes, selected one, and lit up. Holding the cigarette sideways between his thumb and his forefinger, he took a steep drag and blew the smoke out with a sigh. Then he opened the bag, reached inside, and brought out the gun.
“Tomas found this in your suitcase. You don’t have permission for it; we saw that the serial number was filed off. He’s very angry you kept it around us.”
“Are you kidding me? He had no right to go through my things. How did he get into my room, anyway?”
“He should not have. But it’s also wrong for you to keep it when you are with us. Tomas is here on false papers. If we’re together and you’re caught with this, or even worse, if you use it, there will be terrible trouble for everybody. Tomas disabled it anyway. You can’t use it any more.”
“What I choose to do is none of your business. And, I might add, because of the decisions your brother and Samuel made, Laurel could die.”
“I agree, but we’re all bogged down in this, this … mire now. I’m trying to do what I can to pull us out. The only reason I came here was to watch out for Tomas, and now I have to fly to London early tomorrow. I don’t want to leave unless I know there is peace between the two of you.”
“You didn’t answer me. How did he get into my room?”
“Trying to survive in Iraq through two wars and much treachery in between can be a great motivator to learn skills people like you have no need for.” He put the bag down on the bed beside him.
“Why do you have to go to London?”
“I’ve made more progress on the story I told you about. That is also the problem—it’s been a little too successful. Some highly placed officials in the U.S. government got wind of it. Serious threats have been made against me, and I’ve been called back to London. They want me to take some time off until I’m reposted.”
