Ahh, the political stripes of President Wade Walters were showing through. No thought for the family or friends of the newly deceased. Instead, his only thoughts were for the country as a whole. Or perhaps, for his legacy. Either way, Ben found it refreshing.
As for himself, he’d gone over all the scenarios and so he had a pretty good idea of how things would play out. And the president was right. The news would hit Wall Street hard. The media might even think Terry had been deliberately targeted for her role in the economic crisis. If so, all the better. The more pressure the president felt, the easier it would be to manipulate the man.
“So, what did you want?” the president asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You said you were just about to call me.”
“Oh, yes.” Ben paused for effect. “We need to meet.”
“Aren’t we meeting tomorrow?”
“Well, yes. Terry and I had a nine o’clock appointment with you. But, well, this can’t wait, Mr. President.”
A short pause followed. When the president’s voice reappeared, it sounded confused and maybe a little guarded. “You mean… right now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s this about anyway?”
“I’d rather discuss it in person, Mr. President.”
A short pause. “When can you get here?”
While they discussed the details, Ben’s heart raced. This was it. Everything was in place. All he needed was to convince the president to follow his lead.
His eyes drifted back to the family portrait. His gaze settled in on a pair of cold, steely eyes. This is for you, Father, he thought. This is for you.
Chapter 21
We found the safe deposit boxes, I typed into my satphone.
It took a few seconds for Malware’s response to appear. I guess you really are as good as they say.
I’m better. Now, let her go.
But I don’t want boxes, she replied. Just one will do.
Which one?
If I told you, that would ruin all the fun.
This is fun?
It is for me. So, find my box. Oh, and Cy?
I didn’t bother responding. Seconds later, another message flashed across my screen. You have 37 minutes. And then she dies.
I exhaled. “Looks like we’re on our own.”
Graham picked up one of the boxes. Its burgundy-painted surface was dented and scratched. Its edges featured hand-painted pin-striping, done in a soft gold. More gold paint had been used to inscribe a number—165—just below a rung and next to a keyhole.
Graham flipped the lid open and checked the interior. “Empty.” He tossed the box over his shoulder and it clattered to the floor. “I bet they’re all empty.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist.”
“Okay, then I bet they’re all full.”
“That’d be even worse.” Swiveling my head, I studied the many boxes. They were numbered and, as expected, completely nondescript. Some were lidless. Others were partially ajar. Still others were closed. Regardless, Graham was right. Most likely, they’d all been unlocked and emptied years earlier.
“What are we looking for?” Graham asked.
Slowly, I walked through the vault, stepping over and around piles of boxes. Questions bombarded my brain. Questions about Malware. Questions about her motivations. But mostly, questions about her certainty. “Something boring,” I replied.
“Come again?”
“Malware went to a lot of trouble to get us here. And for what? Some valuables that would’ve been looted years ago?” I shook my head. “The box had to survive decades of vault robbers. Which means it’s boring. Worthless. Maybe not even a safe deposit box at all, come to think of it.”
My gaze shifted away from the boxes. I studied the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
Graham walked across the vault. Near the back wall, something caught his eye. “Check this out.”
I hiked toward him and maneuvered around a sprawling pile of metal boxes. “Good find. It’s got to be in here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it doesn’t get more boring than this.” For a moment, I took in the stacked piles of small cardboard boxes. They’d been ripped open and their contents — papers — had been rifled through. Other papers, crumped and torn, were strewn about the floor.
At some point, the people who owned the building had decided to empty the unclaimed safe deposit boxes. The valuables were either stolen or sold off to the highest bidder. That left the papers, which were transferred into cardboard boxes, evidently in case someone came looking for them. Eventually, those boxes were forgotten.
“So, Malware wants papers,” Graham said. “But which ones?”
“Let’s ask her.” I pulled out my satphone, typed in a quick message: Lots of cardboard boxes here, filled with papers. One of them yours?
YES, was Malware’s reply.
Which one?
You can figure it out.
It’ll go faster with your help.
True, but where’s the fun in that?
You’re all heart, Malware.
“Okay, she’s not helping us.” I thought for a moment. “It must be a will. Or maybe a land deed. Something like that.”
Graham kicked a small pile of crushed papers. They fluttered around a bit before settling back to the ground. “This could take hours.”
“I know.” My gaze hardened as Beverly’s face flashed before my eyes. “But we’ve only got minutes.”
Chapter 22
“Another letter.” Graham stared at the withered parchment like it had just kicked his dog. “This isn’t working.”
Balancing a tall stack of papers in my lap, I grabbed my satphone and checked the time. It was 10:23 p.m. My eyes closed and I exhaled a long breath of musty air.
Just seven minutes left. Seven minutes until the unthinkable. I had no idea where Beverly was and no way to rescue her. My only hope was to find whatever Malware wanted. And that meant I had to keep looking, keep searching. But Graham was right.
This wasn’t working.
While he sorted through the boxes, I’d attacked the scattered papers. At first, I’d gone through them meticulously, reading every last legible word. But as the minutes ticked by, I’d switched strategies, pulling aside anything that looked important — wills, deeds, contracts — and junking the rest. But that still wasn’t fast enough. With just seven minutes left on the clock, I’d gone through less than half of the scattered papers. Even worse, I still didn’t have the slightest clue what we were supposed to find. I could’ve already seen it for all I knew.
I glanced at the stack of papers in my lap. For the most part, they consisted of letters, mortgages, insurance polices, bills of sale, and discharge papers from World War II. We did come across the occasional stock or bond certificate. But I’d never heard of the various companies and I suspected the vast majority, if not all of them, had gone out of business.
I set the papers on the ground and focused my attention on a stack of cardboard boxes. The top one was marked with thin ink from an old-fashioned fountain pen. The first line of text read, #554, which I assumed was a reference to its original safe deposit box number. The second line read, Augustus Davis. Most likely, he was the name of record for that particular box.