Thoroughly confused as to what was intelligent deduction and what paranoid delusion, Marissa wished she hadn’t let the vaccination gun out of her hands. If Tad was somehow involved, then she’d lost her only hard evidence, provided it tested positive for Ebola.
As her plane touched down at La Guardia airport, Marissa decided that if the New York outbreak confirmed her theories about the origin of the Ebola outbreaks, she would go directly to Ralph’s lawyer and let him and the police sort things out. She just wasn’t up to playing Nancy Drew any longer. Not against a group of men who thought nothing of risking entire populations.
When the plane stopped and the seat-belt sign went off, indicating that they had arrived at the gate, Marissa stood and wrestled her suitcase out of the overhead bin. Danny insisted on helping her down the jetway, but when they said good-bye, Marissa vowed she would be more careful in the future. No more conversations with strangers, and she would not tell anyone her real name. In fact, she decided not to check into the Plaza as Carol Bradford. Instead, she’d stay overnight at the nearby Essex House, using the name of her old high-school chum, Lisa Kendrick.
George Valhala stood by the Avis Rent-a-Car counter and casually scanned the crowds in the baggage area. His employers had nicknamed him The Toad, not because of any physical characteristic, but rather because of his unusual patience, enabling him to sit still for hours on a stakeout, like a toad waiting for an insect.
But this job was not going to utilize his special talent. He’d only been at the airport for a short time, and his information was that the girl would arrive on the five o’clock or the six o’clock flight from Chicago. The five o’clock had just landed, and a few passengers were beginning to appear around the appropriate carousel.
The only minor problem that George foresaw was that the description he’d been given was vague: a cute, short, thirty-year-old female with brown hair. Usually he worked with a photo, but in this case there hadn’t been time to get one.
Then he saw her. It had to be her. She was almost a foot shorter than everyone else in the army of attaché-case-toting travelers swarming the baggage area. And he noticed that she was bypassing the carousel, having apparently carried her suitcase off the plane.
Pushing off the Avis counter, George wandered toward Marissa to get a good fix on her appearance. He followed her outside, where she joined the taxi queue. She definitely was cute, and she definitely was little. George wondered how on earth she’d managed to overpower Paul in Chicago. The idea that she was some kind of martial-arts expert flitted through his mind. One way or another, George felt some respect for this little trick. He knew Al did too, otherwise Al wouldn’t be going through all this trouble.
Having gotten a look at her up close, George crossed the street in front of the terminal and climbed into a taxi waiting opposite the taxi stand.
The driver twisted around, looking at George. “You see her?” He was a skinny fellow with birdlike features, quite a contrast to George’s pear-shaped obesity.
“Jake, do I look like an idiot? Start the car. She’s in the taxi line.” Jake did as he was told. He and George had been working for Al for four years, and they got along fine, except when George started giving orders. But that wasn’t too often.
“There she is,” said George, pointing. Marissa was climbing into a cab. “Pull up a little and let her cab pass us.”
“Hey, I’m driving,” said Jake. “You watch, I drive.” Nonetheless, he put the car in gear and started slowly forward.
George watched out the rear window, noticing Marissa’s cab had a dented roof, he said, “That will be easy to follow.” The taxi passed them on the right, and Jake pulled out behind. He allowed one car to get between them before they entered the Long Island Expressway.
There was no problem keeping Marissa’s cab in sight even though the driver took the Queensborough Bridge, which was crowded with rush-hour traffic. After forty minutes they watched her get out in front of the Essex House. Jake pulled over to the curb fifty feet beyond the hotel.
“Well, now we know where she’s staying,” said Jake.
“Just to be certain, I’m going in to see that she registers,” said George. “I’ll be right back.”
14
May 23
MARISSA DID NOT SLEEP WELL. After the incident in the room at the Palmer House, she might never feel comfortable in a hotel again. Every noise in the hail made her fearful, thinking someone would try to break in. And there were plenty of noises, what with people returning late and ordering from room service.
She also kept imagining symptoms. She could not forget the feel of the vaccination gun in her hand, and each time she woke up, she was certain she had a fever or was otherwise ill.
By the next morning, she was totally exhausted. She ordered fresh fruit and coffee, which arrived with a complimentary New York Times. The front page carried an article about the Ebola outbreaks. In New York, the number of cases had risen to eleven with one death, while in Philadelphia the count stood at thirty-six with seventeen deaths. The single death in New York was the initial case, Dr. Gush Mehta.
Starting at ten, Marissa repeatedly called the Plaza Hotel to inquire after a parcel for Carol Bradford. She intended to keep calling until noon: the overnight carriers generally guaranteed delivery by that time. If the parcel arrived, she would be less wary of Tad’s betraying her and would then go up to the Rosenberg Clinic. Just after eleven, she was told that the package was there and that it was being held for the guest’s arrival.
As Marissa prepared to leave the hotel, she didn’t know whether to
be surprised that Tad had sent the serum or not. Of course the package could be empty, or its arrival only a ruse to get her to reveal her whereabouts. Unfortunately, there was no way for Marissa to be sure, and she wanted the serum enough to make her doubts academic. She would have to take a chance.
Taking only her purse, Marissa tried to think of a way of obtaining the package that would involve the least risk. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any bright ideas other than to have a cab waiting and to be sure there were plenty of people around.
George Valhala had been in the lobby of the Essex House since early that morning. This was the kind of situation that he loved. He’d had coffee, read the papers and ogled some handsome broads. All in all, he’d had a great time, and none of the house detectives had bothered him, dressed as he was in an Armani suit and genuine alligator shoes.
He was considering ducking into the men’s room when he saw Marissa get off the elevator. He dropped his New York Post and beat her out the revolving door. Dodging Fifty-ninth Street traffic, he jogged across to the taxi where Jake was waiting and climbed into the front seat.
Jake had spotted Marissa and had already started the car. “She looks even cuter in daylight,” he said, preparing to make a U-turn.
“You sure that’s Blumenthal?” asked the man who had been waiting in the backseat. His name was Alphonse Hicktman, but few people teased him about his first name, just calling him Al, as he requested. He’d grown up in East Germany and had fled to the West over the Berlin Wall. His face was deceptively youthful. His hair was blond, and he wore it short in a Julius Caesar-style shag. His pale blue eyes were as cold as a winter sky.