They found a restaurant called Picholjne nearby, where they had dinner and made plans for going to Florida. Vicky was ready to bounce off the walls with excitement, and Jack found himself beginning to look forward to the trip.
What better way to see Disney World than with a child? he thought, drinking in her smile and her bright eyes.
The only time Vicky stopped talking about Mickey and Donald was when the fabulous dessert tray came by. She had two.
7.
Thomas Clayton had emerged from the strip joint after two hours and walked directly back to his apartment.
This, Yoshio had learned, was one of the patterns of Thomas Clayton's life. Very sad, he thought. He didn't know much about him, but felt sorry for him. This was a lonely, lonely man.
And with this Yoshio himself felt a rare pang of loneliness, a sudden yearning for home. Not for family, for he had none, and not for Tokyo, for New York had given him his fill of big cities. No, he wished he were booked into a little ryokan on Shikoku, overlooking the misty vistas of the Inland Sea.
He realized that he had wasted the day. All of the principals seemed to be in a holding pattern, as if waiting for something. But for what? Tomorrow, perhaps?
If so, Yoshio would wait with them.
His stomach didn't feel right. Perhaps the grease from that shish kebab meat—supposedly lamb—he had eaten while waiting for Thomas Clayton this afternoon. He decided to take a break from American food. He stopped at a restaurant in the East Fifties with a superior sushi bar. He spent a number of hours there, sipping Sapporo Draft, nibbling sashimi, and speaking Japanese.
Then he returned to his apartment and watched Kemel Muhallal and his superior hovering around that lamp in the back room of Muhallal's apartment, looking at their mystery object.
8.
Jack dropped off Gia and Vicky, then hurried over to Alicia's for a meeting with her and Sean O'Neill, her new lawyer.
As he stepped through the door, Jack handed her an envelope. He liked her wide-eyed look when she opened it and pulled out Mr. Sung's fifteen one-thousand-dollar bills. He told her it was a donation to the Center. She thought it was from him, but he assured her it wasn't. He told her the donor was a very caring real estate investor who wished to remain anonymous.
"He wants you to buy some 'fun things' for the kids," Jack told her. "You decide."
Jack then spent an hour or so with Sean and Alicia working out the plan for Monday morning. Sean had called Gordon Haffner at HRG on Friday and arranged a nine-thirty meeting there with his new client, Alicia Clayton. He'd made it clear that his client did not under any circumstances want her brother present. They would confer with Mr. Haffner alone, and he would convey the substance of the meeting to Thomas Clayton afterward.
And then with everything set and in place for tomorrow, Jack had gone home, ready to end this exceptionally fine weekend with another installment of the Dwight Frye festival. The Vampire Bat, perhaps.
Then Milkdud called, saying he'd just returned from successfully rehacking the Hand Building. Jack thought that was great until Milkdud explained what Jack would have to do tomorrow…
MONDAY
1.
"You rested and ready for this?" Milkdud said as he and Jack walked down Forty-fifth Street in their suits, carrying their briefcases.
"No."
As they neared the entrance to the Hand Building, Jack said, "You're sure there's no other way to do this?"
"If there is, I don't know it."
"I must be crazy."
Milkdud laughed. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."
Jack wished he was as sure about that.
They pushed through the revolving door into the lobby, looking like they belonged there, and breezed past the security counter where a pair of uniforms were sipping coffee and raptly checking out yesterday's football scores in the morning paper.
"Kind of gives you a new appreciation of the value of organized sports, doesn't it," Jack said as they approached the elevators.
"Especially football pools." Milkdud checked his watch. "Quarter to eight. The shifts are changing. That helps too."
"As does the lack of those dreadlocks you sported when I first met you."
He smiled. "I learned the hard way that dreads and hacking don't mix. They kept getting caught on things in tight spots. Besides, a big part of hacking is going unnoticed."
"Yeah. And I imagine that's kind of hard to do when you've got what looks like a hairy octopus hanging on your head."
A bell chimed to their left, and the center elevator opened its doors. Jack stepped toward it but Milkdud held him back.
"Uh-uh. We're taking the one over there on the left."
"What's the difference?"
"That's the one that's going to put you closest to where you want to go."
"I'm all for that," Jack said.
Milkdud reached inside the center cab and pressed a button, sending it back up.
Half a minute later, the doors to the left elevator opened.
"That's ours," Milkdud said.
As they started toward it, Jack spotted a red-haired woman rounding the corner. She headed their way.
"Move it, Dud," he whispered. "Company's coming."
They'd shown up early to ensure that they'd be able to ride an empty elevator car. This redheaded early bird was going to mess up their plans.
They scrambled through the doors. As soon as he got inside, Milkdud hit "7" and then leaned on the door close button.
"Hold it, please!" the woman called from outside.
"Sorreeee," Milkdud said softly as the doors slid closed and they started up. "But we need this one all to ourselves."
"Close," Jack said.
He could feel himself tensing up as the floor numbers climbed the display. He wasn't relishing the next few steps.
Milkdud squatted and opened his briefcase. He pulled out a curved piece of metal about the size of a coat hanger hook. A length of slender cord trailed from its end.
"All right. Here's your hook. You remember how to work it, right?"
"Yeah. I think so."I hope so.
"Just like we practiced last night." He handed Jack the hook and cord, then snapped his briefcase shut. "And you've got your change of clothes, flashlight, headlamp, and cell phone, right?"
"Right."
"Okay. Let's do it."
Jack swallowed. "Which floor?"
"Seven. A new tenant is renovating before moving in. The workmen probably don't arrive until eight, so—"
"Probably?"
Milkdud shrugged. "I did my thing here yesterday. They don't work on Sunday, so what can I say?"
"Okay. Let's assume they're not there yet."
"Right. Which is good. That way you won't be too rushed."
The car eased to a stop.
Milkdud gave him a thumbs-up. "Okay, Hacker Jack, go to it. I'll start back down—and don't let the alarm bell rattle you."
A bell is the least of my worries, he thought.
With the hook and cord in one hand and his briefcase in the other, Jack stepped through the open doors.
The seventh floor was indeed under construction, a clutter of lumber and wallboard, all coated with a fine layer of sawdust and plaster.
And no workers yet.
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Jack dropped his briefcase and began working the hook through the space between the metal lintel and the top of the elevator doors. He and Milkdud had practiced this a dozen times last night on the elevator in Milkdud's building. The top space here was narrower.
And then the elevator alarm bell started ringing as Milkdud hit the emergency button, stopping the cab between the sixth and seventh floors. Jack had been expecting this, but still he jumped.