Overfall (19 page)

After a quick survey of the hallways, he proceeded to the roof. The helicopter was no surprise; the people he was dealing with were far too clever to allow themselves to be trapped at the top of a high-rise. According to his sources this was the only office building in Manhattan on which a helicopter could be landed and it required a special permit. Quickly he moved back downstairs and entered the offices of Dyna Science Corp.

He greeted the receptionist who sat behind a large built-in island that looked like a breakfast bar in a modern kitchen. He smiled and showed her his name tag, while she transferred a call.

“Super sent us up here. We’re checking for spores.
Stachybachus.
There were some complaints on the fifty-ninth. I’ll just be taking some dust samples.”

“Spores?”

“Yes. If overly abundant they can cause a significant health risk. But we can fix it, even if the concentrations are high.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” said the young woman, a blonde with wonderful skin. She also had a name tag. Virtually everyone had a name tag these days.

The phone beeped quietly and she spoke into the headset.

He opened the briefcase and removed a tiny vacuum machine utilized in the collection of dust samples from carpets.

“Maybe I could just take a sample from under here,” he said, coming around behind the island. She looked slightly dismayed at having a man crawling around near her legs, but soon got caught up in another call. He pressed a small microphone onto the underside of her desk. It stuck on contact.

He went down the hall to the rest room, where he entered a stall and set up shop. From his briefcase he removed a Beretta semiautomatic with a silencer already affixed. Next he installed an earpiece and commenced the tedious job of listening to the receptionist. It was a full twenty minutes before he heard the serious-sounding male voice of Dr. John Weissman.

He placed the pistol in the briefcase and exited the rest room.

Alder leaves of yellow and mustard brown were strewn in the trail and the wet had matted them like carp scales, making the forest run almost quiet save for the wet thud of tennis shoes and the raspy breaths of tired lungs. Jill and Grady broke out of the park and onto a three-cornered beachfront road where a group of small shops attracted tourists.

“I’m going to use the rest room,” Jill said. “You be good.”

Grady saluted, and after Jill had disappeared into the ladies’ room she trotted to a nearby phone booth, punched in the number of Guy’s cell phone, and used her calling card number to make the connection.

“Hey,” she said when he answered.

“Where are you?”

“Way up the coast. Near Carmel, I think, maybe Big Sur. There aren’t any signs right here.”

“Are they holding you against your will?”

“I can leave any time I want. I’m okay. It’s rough but I’m okay. I could really use a hit but I guess that’s the whole point. Look, any second my keeper will be coming out of the can, and if she sees me I’m toast. So I just called to say I’m fine and I’ll call for a real talk as soon as I can.”

“Take your time. I know you’re working through things but I do love to hear your voice. You need to let me know where you are, just in case.”

She set the receiver in the cradle, knowing she could easily be caught. Then she ran toward the rest room door to put distance between herself and the offending paraphernalia. After a few strides Jill came out.

“Were you at the booth?”

Grady hesitated. For reasons she couldn’t get hold of she felt very uncertain about her response.

Jill stepped close and put a hand on Grady’s neck, then put her head next to Grady’s head as if they were huddling.

“Look, I’m starting to like you. Don’t let me do that if you’re going to disappoint me.”

For a moment Jill said nothing more. Grady figured she could be forgiven this one transgression. It was, after all, a nothing telephone call and unworthy of one of their foul punishments.

“You’re a druggie,” Jill began again, “and I know you probably still think like one—keeping that connection going with the old life. Calling your friends, telling them you miss the stuff. Come on, let’s run.”

Grady wanted to argue and explain that Guy was no druggie, but instead she put one foot in front of the other back down the trail with a half hour to go, too tired to lie or fight.

Anna sat in the limousine facing backward, as did Shohei. She wore a simple turtleneck sweater, a St. John knit given her by a fatally injured girl whose last wish was to meet Anna Wade. “Who would have ever thought that Shohei would sit on a seat with Anna Wade?” Shohei said.

“I don’t think it’s really such a big deal, Shohei. Wardy Long sat beside me, held my hand, and tried to propose before he threw up in my lap, and now he works in a correctional center making license plates.”

Shohei laughed and nodded. “Okay if I be impressed anyway?”

As they pulled to a stop, Shohei pointed. “Look at that guy over there.”

Anna peered through the tinted glass window at a wide-shouldered figure in a panama hat leaning against the concrete. His arms, neck, and chest filled out his leather coat. Sunglasses dangled from the open neck of the coat as if he expected the sun to shine. She looked closer, trying to discern the face under the shadow of the hat, and suddenly realized that it was Sam puffing on a cigar.

Without even thinking about the men who had been following she opened the door, jumped out, and confronted him.

“You son of a bitch.”

“Hello to you too. Shall we go up?” Sam asked.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

“California.”

“Sam, don’t give me a hard time.”

Maddeningly he took her arm and started walking toward the entry. Not knowing what else to do, she walked beside him, Shohei trailing. They walked briskly along the sidewalk to the entry level of the building. They entered a large lobby several stories high and hundreds of feet across.

From nowhere two men appeared in the lobby, escorting them to the elevators.

Instinctively she looked back to the front door, saw several men exiting a dark sedan on the street.

“Are they the ones? In that dark-looking car?”

“Probably, but don’t look at them.”

“Why are they following me?”

“Maybe they have personal business in the building, like you and me.”

“What floor are you going to?” she asked.

“I’m going to fifty-nine.”

“And I suppose by some marvelous coincidence you’re going to Dyna Science Corp,” she said.

“I can’t believe it. Is that where you’re going too?”

“Sam, I have a private meeting.”

“Oh, absolutely. So do I.”

“Who are you meeting?”

“Dr. John Weissman.”

“Well, I’m meeting somebody else.”

“Whose name is?”

“I’m sure you already know.”

Sam pushed the button for the fifty-first floor.

“Why are we doing this?” Anna asked.

“Fool the followers. A little—distraction—never hurts.”

They stopped at the fifty-first floor and exited.

“Now what?” Anna said.

“The stairs.”

They climbed eight flights to the fifty-ninth. By the last stair her thighs and calves were burning. She knew Sam was watching her and she could detect the mirth at the corners of his mouth. As far as she could tell he was completely unfazed by the fast climb.

According to the placard as they exited the stairs, the floor was occupied by Dyna Science Corp. Even the hall outside the offices was elegant with blue red-trimmed carpets, wall tables with blue vases, some paintings of the neoclassical period, and the occasional chair. Everything picked up on the blue and red, whether by echo or contrast.

“I want to attend to my business alone.”

“Okay. We’ll all wait inside in the lobby.”

“I’d prefer you wait here.”

“Okay,” he said, but continued walking toward the door.

“You said okay.”

“Okay, I understand you want me to wait out here.”

“So you’re refusing to wait out here.”

“Why would I wait out here?”

“To respect my privacy. To allow me to attend to my business uninterrupted.”

“Okay.”

“Screw you,” she said, walking in the double doors with Sam and the entourage following.

“To these people I am Robert. Don’t tell them otherwise. Get behind me, eyes on your toes. Leave your hat and sunglasses on no matter how dumb it feels,” Sam said in her ear. Instantly she took off her sunglasses and her hat and turned to look Sam in the eye, radiating her displeasure. Then she gave the receptionist her best infectious smile.

“Good morning. I’m here to see Dr. Carl Fielding.”

The receptionist’s face lit up. “Anna Wade. How exciting to meet you. They told me Anastasia Wade, not
the
Anna Wade.”

“Robert,” the receptionist said, still looking at Anna but talking to Sam. “Look at who you’ve brought us.”

“Quite an event, huh?” Sam said.

“It’s very nice to meet you, May,” Anna said. “You’ve got a great place here and I’ll bet that is your daughter?” Anna looked at a small picture on the woman’s desk.

“She’s my pride and joy.”

“She looks to be at that age where everything is exciting.”

“That’s so true.”

“What grade is she?”

“She’s in the second grade.”

“Well, give her an extra hug for me, would you?”

“I will. And I know you’re here to see the professor.”

“Dr. Carl Fielding. I’m wondering where I might find him.”

“Well, I was about to say that Dr. Fielding is not here but he suggested you see Dr. John Weissman. Who also has an appointment with Robert.”

“This Robert?” Anna asked.

“Well, yes. That’s our only Robert.”

“This is Sam,” Anna said.

“Nickname,” Sam said. “We just need one of the small conference rooms for twenty minutes. That’s it.”

“Okay, let’s see. Two-B. And it’s open for the next two hours.”

“Great. Anna and I will be in the guest office for a couple of minutes if you could get that call going for me.”

May nodded.

“We’ll be right back.” Sam led Anna toward a small office off the lobby. Anna knew how to allow her publicist and agent to handle her and her activities when she so desired. Sometimes it was easier to think about her work and not sweat the details. But right here, right now she wasn’t going to be handled. She stopped and turned to May.

“May, did Carl Fielding actually speak with you when he left a message for me?” Anna said.

“Yes. like I said, he suggested you see Dr. Weissman.”

“I see.” She turned to Sam. “Somehow this was your doing.”

“Only partly,” he said. “We can clear this up in this office if you’ll just come and listen.” This time she allowed herself to be ushered inside. Sam closed the door. “Dr. Weissman is the guy.”

“And why are you the one to determine that?”

“Good point. How would you like to decide this?”

“I thought I was doing okay.”

Sam stuck his head out the door. “May, is Dr. Fielding on the line yet?”

“Just coming, I’ll patch him through.”

Sam put a phone in Anna’s hand.

“You spoke with my ex-husband, Joshua Nash?” she asked Dr. Fielding, by way of introduction.

“I did indeed. I assume we’re talking about Jason Wade’s work?”

“Yes. I understood you would meet me.”

“Yes. I’m so sorry if I disappointed you by not being there. Dr. Weissman and I have been friends since graduate school. He would be most familiar with Jason’s work. We don’t really have a handle on all that Jason is doing, but I could do you no better than John. I would have been there today but I’m teaching this quarter and I’m a little strapped at the moment.”

“Well, thank you very much, Dr. Fielding. You’ve been very helpful.”

“If you need anything else ...”

“We’ll let you know.”

“So who do you choose?” Sam asked Anna after she had replaced the receiver. “Will John fit the bill? He’s Carl’s man.”

“Carl’s or yours?”

“You talked to Carl.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me all this?”

Sam shrugged. “I knew you’d overlook any unintended slight.”

“Let’s go talk with Dr. Weissman,” she said.

“If that’s your choice I can live with it.”

John Weissman was a tall balding man with a confident smile and a fringe of once-blond hair. Sam immediately pulled the curtain over the interior glass wall of the conference room, giving them privacy from reception.

“Sam tells me that you would know more about Jason’s work than Carl Fielding.”

“He’s probably right, as far as I can tell,” John said. “Based on what little we know of Jason’s work, that is. If this is about the modeling Jason’s doing with the neurology people—trying to model consciousness—I don’t think anybody understands it.”

“Well, whatever my brother is working on,” Anna said, “he insisted I take this disk. I have no idea what’s on it.”

“Well, we can take a look and see what’s there, at least generally. Now why is it he gave this to you?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m sure it’s highly confidential.”

“I will say nothing. This will be a personal matter, just between us.”

Anna removed the CD from her purse, now in a Bob Dylan jewel box, and handed it to Dr. Weissman.

At that moment Shohei came in unannounced.

When Jill and Spring went to town to shop, Grady was too savvy to use the phone in the beach house. They had taken her cell phone.

As she considered how she might call Guy, she spied two young men walking onto the back patio of the neighboring beach house, obviously contemplating the barbecue and carrying a large piece of red meat.

She would ask for a quick ride to the nearest store, use the phone booth.

“Hi, guys,” she said easily with a good solid smile.

“Hi. I’m Clint. This is Seth.”

“I wondered if I could impose on you to give me a ride to that store down the road. I want to get some orange juice.”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” Seth followed up.

“Who is the guy who brought you here?” Clint asked on the way to the store.

“You were watching?”

“We just got here ourselves and saw the Porsche.”

“You should see his other car.” In some detail she described the Vette.

“Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know. He was hired by Anna Wade, my aunt.”

“You don’t mean
the
Anna Wade? Not the movie star Anna Wade?”

“That would be who I mean.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Relax, fellas. I don’t even speak to her.”

When they got to the store she managed to send Clint and Seth to find a patio hummingbird feeder, a marvelous excuse that came to her as they were driving. She went to the phone booth with her enthusiasm mysteriously drained.

“I’m still in the program. I’m doing great. Still can’t talk long.”

“Where the hell are you?” asked Guy.

“I told you, California coast somewhere.” It amazed her that she was lying and she wasn’t certain why.

“I want to see you.”

“Keep your shirt on and you will. Right now you have to give me a little space to do the program, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you that a little snort won’t fix.” His voice was strong with an edge and quite different.

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Yeah, well, you’re probably right. Hey, I miss you. I love you. I’d just feel so much better if I knew where you were.”

“I know. I’ll call soon.”

“They are now two floors below. Temporarily confused, I’m sure. And not too subtle in their searching,” Shohei said.

“Go,” Sam said.

“What’s happening?” Anna said.

“This is the part where you were to have kept on the hat and the sunglasses and let me do the talking so May wouldn’t have a clue that
the
Anna Wade was here.”

“Well, I didn’t do that. So how about plan B?”

Sam took out a radio. “Grubb in, Scott in,” he said.

Sam looked at her, then at John. “If you want to escape what might conceivably be a serious risk of death or injury, you should do exactly as I say.”

Seconds later one of her escorts from downstairs, a large black man in a suit looking like a linebacker on steroids, came through the door, followed by a leaner fellow nearly as tall and sporting a platinum-blond crew cut. Even in the loose-fitting suits it must have been an effort for the men’s tailors to contain the muscle.

“One in. One out. Anybody strange comes that May doesn’t know, stop them—whatever it takes, exclusive of shooting, unless they use heat first. Then kill them. Grubb,” he said, addressing the black man, “why don’t you stand out front? You make a good red flag.