Russell instinctively moved his head into the area he supposed the microphone to be. ‘Yes, captain.’
‘I didn’t tell the commissioner about our arrangement. If anything gets out before this thing is over, your life will be worse than your worst nightmares. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Very clear, captain.’
This meant that from now on their lives were inextricably linked, for better or worse. When Vivien next spoke, it was in a calm, detached voice. Russell admired her self-control, something he himself was quite lacking in.
‘Good. We’ve established that. Any other news?’
The captain’s tone retuned to being the professional tone of a police officer examining the elements of an investigation. The emotional break was over. They were getting back to work.
‘The good news is that, if we need it, we have the whole of the NYPD at our disposal. And the power to drag anyone from their beds at any time of the night, starting with the commissioner.’
There was a noise of papers being leafed through.
‘I have here in front of me the results of the first tests. The experts think they’ve identified the kind of primer used. It’s a simple but very ingenious device, which emits a series of radio impulses at different frequencies and in a specific sequence. Given all the radio waves in this city, this stops the mines from exploding at a chance signal.’
Russell had a question that had been nagging at him since this crazy story had started. He again intervened in the conversation.
‘The building that blew up was built some years ago. How come the bombs were still working after all this time?’
That question was one that the captain must also have asked himself, because he let out a sigh before answering. In spite of his experience, it was a small mark of his incredulity at the genius of madness.
‘No batteries. The son of a bitch connected the primer to the building’s current. It may be that in the course of years some deteriorated and are no longer active, but God knows how many places the man put that shit.’
There was a strange sound, and for a moment Russell was afraid that they had been cut off. Then Bellew’s voice again spread through the car.
‘You’re doing great work, guys. I wanted to tell you that. Great work.’
Vivien took over again and ended the conversation. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you, then. Call me as soon as you have anything.’
‘As fast as I can.’
Vivien hung up and for a few moments only the muted noise of the traffic competed with their thoughts in the silence of the car. Russell looked out at the street and the lights shining through the dark. On this day without memory, time had preceded them and the darkness had caught them almost by surprise.
It was Russell who spoke first, with words that reciprocated the trust Bellew had placed in him. ‘Do you want the original?’
Distracted by her thoughts, Vivien didn’t immediately grasp what he was saying. ‘What original?’
‘You were right when you accused me of coming to you with a photocopy of the paper I got from Ziggy. The real one I put in an envelope and sent to my home address. It’s a system he taught me. I think it’s in my mailbox right now.’
‘Where do you live?’
Russell was pleased that Vivien had made no other comment. ‘Twenty-ninth Street, between Park and Madison.’
Vivien drove in silence along Queens Boulevard and across the Queensboro Bridge. They emerged onto Manhattan at 60th Street, turned left onto Park Avenue and drove south, at the mercy of the traffic.
‘Here we are.’
Vivien’s voice reached his ears like a memory and Russell realised that he had dozed off. The car was now parked on 29th at the corner of Park, just across from his building.
Vivien saw him rubbing his eyes. ‘Are you tired?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘You’ll have time to sleep when this is all over.’
Without saying that what he was hoping for was not sleep, Russell took advantage of the green light and crossed to the other side of the street. When he got to the entrance to his building, he pushed open the glass door into the lobby. The building, like all those of a certain standing in New York, had the services of a doorman twenty-four hours a day. He approached the doorman behind his desk and was surprised, at this hour, to find Zef, the building manager, with him. Zef was a friendly man of Albanian origin, who had worked hard to get to his current position. Russell had always been on good terms with him. He was convinced that Zef, for all the dubious activities he’d been a witness to, was secretly his only fan.
‘Good evening, Mr Wade.’
Russell not only led a wild life, but was also a tad absent-minded. That was why, after losing several bunches, he always left his keys with the doorman. Usually whichever of them was on duty would hand them over as soon as he arrived, without even needing to be asked. The fact that this didn’t happen now told him that something unusual was going on. His suspicions aroused, Russell turned to his friend.
‘Hi, Zef. Have you lost the keys this time?’
‘I’m afraid there’s a problem, Mr Wade.’
The man’s words, not to mention his expression, made him even more suspicious. The thought that now crossed his mind wasn’t so much a conjecture as a certainty, but he asked the question anyway. ‘What problem?’
The man’s embarrassment was obvious on his face, in spite of which he had the decency to look him in the eyes. ‘A representative of Philmore Inc. came here today. With him was a lawyer bearing a letter from the executive director addressed to me. And one for you.’
‘And what was in them?’
‘The one addressed to you I didn’t open, obviously. I put it with the rest of your mail.’
‘And the other?’
‘The one addressed to me says that the company apartment in this building is no longer at your disposal. With immediate effect. So I can’t give you the keys.’
‘What about my things?’
Zef shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that meant: Don’t shoot me, I’m only the piano player. Russell felt like laughing.
‘The person in question went up to the apartment and put all your personal effects into suitcases. They’re over there, in the storage closet.’
He seemed really upset by what had happened, and, given their relations in the past, Russell had no reason to doubt that he was genuine. In the meantime, the doorman had fetched the mail and placed it on the marble desktop. Russell recognized the logo of Philmore Inc. on an unstamped yellow envelope. He took it and opened it. When he unfolded the sheet of paper, he immediately recognized his father’s handwriting.