“What the fuck are you doing,” she said. “You’ve got your money!”
“You lied to us. You never should have done that. There are repercussions.”
She started to struggle, but when Spocatti slammed his gun against the side of her head, her eyes rolled back and she went down at his feet in a heap of unconscious sleep.
Carmen looked down at her. “I want that suit and those boots,” she said. “They’re fantastic.” She looked up at Spocatti. “But don’t worry, I’ll get them later. What do you have in mind?”
Spocatti glanced across the room at Mark Andrews, who hadn’t moved because he couldn’t move. He stepped farther away from the bar and onto the staircase that was on the other side of it. She followed him and he quietly told her.
“We have time for all that?”
“I think so.”
“But what’s the point? We should lock them in one of those cages, get out of here, make an anonymous call to the cops and be done with it.”
“The police are a little busy right now, Carmen. We’ve got time. We finish this our way, then we call the feds, the cops, the media.”
“They could die if we do this.”
“Not if we do it right. And we have to do it right. I want them in jail. Death is too easy. I want a spectacle. I want something people won’t forget. And don’t think I’m not thinking about our own safety. That comes first. We do have time for this. Cain and Spellman aren’t here for a reason. They can’t get through. The streets are either jammed or blocked. Enough time has passed for them to be here, but they’re not.”
“They could be close.”
“Then we lock the door and deal with them if I’m wrong.”
“Cain is good. You saw what she’s capable of. She took me down and she shot you. Don’t forget that.”
“She also had surprise on her side,” Spocatti said. “This time, we’ll be ready for them.” He holstered his gun. “They’re coming,” he said. “And so will everyone else. But Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker lied to us. They deserve what’s coming their way. Let’s really give the world something to talk about. Let’s crank this into the stratosphere. Let’s fuck with people’s heads. You with me?”
“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
A knock came at the door.
Worse, a knock came at a door that might be unlocked.
Carmen immediately came across the open space, wishing the lights weren’t on. She pulled out her gun and held it on Andrews. She put her finger to her lips and pressed the barrel to his temple. All over her face was one message. If you say one fucking word, you’re dead. I will kill you. You will die. There’s no option. And then she pushed him across the room, to the very spot where Carra lay unmoving.
Spocatti pulled Bobby out of the entryway, into the large room and behind one of the cages. The man had almost completely bled out. Behind him, he left a broad swipe of congealed blood.
There was another knock on the door, this time more aggressive.
Carmen lowered the lights and now Bobby’s blood, while sticky, appeared black on the dark floors. As another knock came, this one the most impatient yet, they quickly moved Lasker and Wolfhagen behind the bar.
They looked at each other. It was Spellman and Cain, they were sure of it. They rushed across the room and moved to the curtained window to peer outside, but they couldn’t see anything. The tall hedges on either side of the entrance blocked their view, though not of the street, which was teeming with people. Some were running. Others were on their cells and walking quickly. All were moving toward the Park.
They couldn’t see who was knocking. And then the knock came again.
Spocatti went to the door while Carmen moved in place just behind the wall that separated them. She drew her gun. She heard Spocatti put his hand on the doorknob. And then she heard a voice the moment he opened it.
“I’m Jennifer Barnes,” a woman said. “Channel One. I apologize for knocking so late, but I noticed your lights are on and this is important.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I think I was given the wrong address,” she said. “I was sent to 11 West 82nd Street, but it doesn’t exist. I’ve been walking all over this neighborhood and saw that you’re 11 West 83rd, so I thought I’d stop to see if this was the correct address.”
Carmen pressed her back against the wall. Her gun was poised and ready. She could hear the people on the sidewalks in ways that she’d never heard them in this soundproofed house.
“Who are you looking for?” Spocatti asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“How can it be complicated?”
She hesitated. “It has to do with a federal investigation.”
“Ah,” Spocatti said. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Jennifer Barnes. I’m a reporter at Channel One.”
“And how did you get this address?”
“I’m working with Detectives Mike Hines and Linda Patterson. They gave it to me.”
“Who were you hoping to find?”
Another hesitation.
“I’ll need to know, Ms. Barnes.”
“I’m here to see Mark Andrews.”
“I see,” he said. But he said nothing more.
“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Barnes said. There was an edge to her voice. “I’m sorry if I interrupted. I think I might have the wrong address.”
“Actually, you don’t,” Spocatti said. “Ms. Barnes, you’re at a federal safe house. If you’d like to see Mark, step inside. But I’ll need you to stay with me in the entryway while I phone my superior. Before we go any farther, he’ll need to question you.”
“Show me your identification.”
And Carmen knew the moment Barnes drew a sharp breath that what Spocatti showed her was his gun.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
12:17 a.m.
The streets of Manhattan were so clogged, it took them ninety minutes to reach the safe house on West 83rd. When they finally got there, the building, a gorgeous pre-war limestone with large casement windows and an impressively grand entrance, appeared to be in darkness.
But it wasn’t.
As they passed it, they could see a slant of light beyond the heavy curtains that shielded the windows. People were inside. Mark Andrews might just be waiting for them.
This was their second go around the block and as they drove past the building this time, Marty took it slower, looking for any sign of life inside. But all he saw was that sliver of light and those heavy, almost industrial-looking curtains. He lingered on those curtains and had to admit that if this was a government safe house, they’d fit right into the equation given the privacy they offered.
He tapped out Jennifer’s number again and still got a rapid busy signal. He tried Hines and Patterson and got the same thing. The pit of worry in his stomach now had grown into a vine that wrapped itself tight around his chest. If anything happened to Jennifer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He was in love with her. He was scared for her. But when they’d left Roberta’s, he knew he’d never get close to East 77th Street-or to her. And so they came here. They needed to see if Andrews was alive or if they were being set-up.
On 82nd Street, they found a parking space that wasn’t a parking space. It was reserved for hydrant access, but perfect for his needs. Given what was unfolding on the other side of the Park, it was unlikely his car would get towed tonight, and so he backed into the space, righted the car, shut it off and looked at Maggie.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked.
She nodded. “It was Mark’s voice,” she said. “I’ve thought about it ever since we left the restaurant and it was his voice. I know you have reservations, but there’s no question. It was Mark on the phone.”
“You have your gun?”
“I do.”
“It’s loaded.”
“It is.”
“Even if it was Mark and he is alive, you’re aware that this might be Wolfhagen. Somehow, he might know we’re onto him and he’s setting us up.”