The service entrance to a spanking-new building at 590 Fifth Avenue had been propped open by deliverymen, and Blaine sped through it up a wide set of stairs. He heard what must have been singing and had climbed three flights before a collection of crates deposited on the landing blocked his way further up. He had no choice but to go through a door that brought him to the origin of the singing.
He was on the dais of a synagogue that occupied the second and third floors of the building. A robed man, apparently a rabbi, was standing next to a young boy, while a man in different robes, apparently a cantor, chanted from a scroll. Few others were present. It must have been a rehearsal, a rehearsal for the boy’s upcoming Bar Mitzvah.
“Get out!” Blaine shouted, as he rushed forward, but his warning was barely complete when two of the Hasidim charged onto the dais after him. One stumbled and slipped but the other came straight for McCracken. The man aimed his machine gun.
Blaine grasped the heavy wooden ends of the Torah scrolls and swung the heavy object like a bat as he lunged toward the gun-wielding “Hasid.” The sacred symbol cracked into his face and tore his feet out from under him as the second “Hasid” regained his balance and a third came through a door at the front of the synagogue.
McCracken dove to the floor of the dais and rolled. He grasped the machine pistol of the downed “Hasid” and fired a burst at the second man now charging toward him across the dais. The bullets caught the man in the gut and sent him careening into the Torah stand. The stand toppled to reveal the terrified boy who had sought cover behind it.
The third assassin’s bullets flew wildly across the dais. A man screamed, then a woman. The boy crouched in fear.
Blaine leaped to cover the boy as the third “Hasid” fired a fire spray over the area where the boy had just been. The leap had separated Blaine from his gun and he swept the floor for it frantically. He found it just as the costumed killer, snapping a new clip into place, was charging up the synagogue’s center aisle. Blaine fired at motion more than shape as the front door crashed open and the fourth “Hasid” burst through.
The third had stopped and crumbled in his tracks. Blaine twisted to train his machine pistol on number four. He fired a split second before the last gunman and sent the man over two sets of seats. He was dead when he landed.
McCracken kept the boy tight beneath him as he checked the dais. A young woman was holding her arm. The rabbi was bleeding rather badly from a leg wound. Blaine eased the terrified boy gently up at the shoulders.
“Now,” he told him, “you can live to become a man.”
Chapter 6
“Blaine, where have you been? What happened? I’ve been calling the parlor and—”
“Never mind, T.C. Your grandfather’s safe, but it was close. I don’t know what he’s gotten involved in but it must be big. And unless I miss my guess, it’s got something to do with some twice-stolen crystals.”
“Crystals? You mean gems? Stolen? Blaine—”
“Listen to me. I’m not sure what these crystals are but they’re part of the mystery and they’re the only trail I can follow. But somebody might not want me to get very far, and it might not take them very long to put the pieces together. Just stay put at the Waldorf until you hear from me.”
“No, I want to—”
“You’ll do as I say,” he insisted firmly, then lowered his voice. “I’m going to tell you how to reach an Indian friend of mine in case something happens to me. You’ll be safe. He’ll make sure of it.”
“Blaine, you’re scaring me….”
“I just want you to appreciate me more when I come to pick you up.”
McCracken rented a car at Hertz’s midtown depot and headed out toward the home of Lydia Brandywine, which was in Woodmere. He wasn’t sure how she connected with all this but a connection was plain; the robbery had occurred days after she had examined the crystals. So she had alerted someone, the force behind the “Hasidim” perhaps, to their existence. Whether she had done so on purpose or not Blaine didn’t know. He intended to find out.
Lydia Brandywine lived in a large house, not quite large enough to be a mansion, off Chester Road. It was painted white, and its facade was dominated by a trio of pillars. The grounds were spacious, and a circular drive fronted the entrance. McCracken parked directly before it and climbed the steps. He rang the bell, waited a few seconds, and then rang it again. He heard locks being turned and then the door swung open.
“Have you seen my cat?” an old voice asked him through the crack left by the chain. “Have you seen Kitty?”
“No,” McCracken said, flashing his best smile. “Erich Earnst sent me. He’s recovered those crystals you were interested in, and he sent me out to inquire about possible settings for them.”
She gazed beyond him. “Has he recovered my cat? She’s disappeared before, though. Always comes back. Wants to eat.”
“May I come in, Mrs. Brandywine?”
“Why?”
“To discuss possible settings for the crystals.”
“Oh, yes.” She started the door inward to unfasten the chain. “Certainly.”
The door open, she bid Blaine to enter. He saw she was frail and wrinkled, her body hunched over. She was hardly the type he’d expect to be a second-floor customer of Erich Earnst and well known in the diamond district to boot. She wore a long dark dress with a shawl covering her shoulders.
“It’s so nice to have company. If only I could find Kitty. Here, Kitty,” she called. “Here, Kitty….”
Blaine followed her through the huge marble foyer to a set of double doors. She thrust them open to reveal a grand wood-paneled library dominated by shelves of leatherbound books.
“I feed her in here. Sometimes she hides.” She walked in, eyes peering about, voice higher. “Here, Kitty. I’m getting your dinner ready. It’s your favorite. Here, Kitty. Oh, where is that damn cat!”
“Mrs. Brandywine,” McCracken started, “if you could spare a few minutes….”
“What’d you say your name was?”
“McCracken.”
“First or last?”
“Last.”
“You have cats, McCracken?”
“No.”
“Don’t. More bother than they’re worth.” She moved to an elegant brass-legged glass table with an antique bowl atop it and a can of cat food resting alongside. Leaning over, she began to spoon its contents into the bowl. “She’ll smell the food and come running. That’s my best hope. Here, Kitty.”
“Mrs. Brandywine, about the setting …”
She swung toward him. “Yes. Wanted to make a collar for Kitty. Something different. Fell in love with the crystals at first glance. Just the kind of thing I had in mind.”
“The expense didn’t bother you?”
“Why should it?” She was spooning again now, tapping the last of the can’s contents out onto the side of the antique bowl. “Here, Kitty!”
Blaine kept himself patient. “The crystals, Mrs. Brandywine, did you tell anyone else about them?”
“Just Kitty. She was very happy. Didn’t run away for a week afterwards. Damn cat. Why do I bother?”
“Was there anyone else?”
She eyed him sharply. “Anyone else what?”
“That you discussed the crystals with.”
“Who else would be interested? Don’t get out much anymore you know.” She was mixing the cat food up now. “Here, Kitty!”
“How did you get into the city the day you visited our shop?”
Lydia Brandywine had to stop and think. “My driver. Victor.”