Thomas Bolden was persona non grata.
He stood and, after notifying the librarian that he would be back in a few minutes, walked to the rotunda, where he began placing calls. He thought of all the congratulatory e-mails he’d received that morning. There had to be someone who’d give him a hand. He started with Josh Lieberman, an M and A banker at Lehman.
“Hello, Josh, Tom Bolden.”
“Should I be talking to you?”
“Why not? I know what you might have heard, but none of it’s true. Trust me.”
“You calling me from your BlackBerry?”
“Yes,” said Bolden. “Listen, I need a-”
“Sorry, pal… no can do… but, hey, good luck.”
Bolden tried Barry O’Connor at Zeus Associates, another sponsor. “Jesus Christ, Bolden, do you have any idea the shit you’re trailing?” whispered O’Connor breathlessly. Bolden might have climbed Everest or sequenced the human gene. “My man, you are in a heap of it!”
“It’s some kind of setup. I didn’t touch the girl.”
“The girl? I haven’t heard a thing about the girl. Word is you killed Sol Weiss.”
“Weiss? Of course not-”
“Get yourself a lawyer, buddy. I’m hearing bad things. Very bad things.”
“Hold on… I need a favor.”
“Tom, I’d love to but…” O’Connor’s voice grew hushed. “The phones, man, they’re wired, you know that.”
“Real quick. Some info on a company…”
“I don’t think this is the time to be thinking about business. Another call’s coming in. Good luck, Tommy. Get that lawyer.”
As Bolden flipped though his phone directory, a name caught his eye. It came to him he’d been silly to concentrate on bankers in New York. Rumors spread like wildfire on the Street. It was better to look elsewhere for help. He dialed a number with a 202 area code that he knew by heart.
“De Valmont.” The voice answered lazily, with the hint of an English accent.
“Guy, it’s Tom Bolden.”
“Hello, Tom,” said Guy de Valmont, senior partner at Jefferson. “What gives? Everything all right on the Trendrite deal?”
Bolden sighed with relief. Finally, someone who hadn’t heard the news. “Everything’s fine. I was wondering if you could help me with a query. I’m looking something up on a company named Scanlon Corporation. They were a defense contractor in the fifties and sixties, big into Vietnam. I can’t find hide nor hair of them after 1980. I know that Jefferson’s been active in that sector for a long time, and I was wondering if you might be able to track them down.”
“Say again? Scanlon? Doesn’t ring a bell, but 1980’s a lifetime ago. I’ll be happy to have a look. Get you back at the office?”
“Call me on my cell.” He rattled off the number.
“Where are you? Reception’s lousy.”
“I’m in…” Bolden hesitated before revealing his location. It would only be a matter of time until de Valmont learned about Sol Weiss’s death. Bolden didn’t want him phoning the NYPD saying he’d just talked to the alleged murderer, who had admitted to being inside the New York Public Library. “I’m at Grand Central,” he said.
“Give me a few minutes, say half an hour, and call back. But do me a favor and get a better connection than this.”
“You can’t look now? It’s an emergency.”
“ ‘Fraid not. J. J.’s been yelling for me. Bye-bye.”
Bolden hung up, then hurried back to the reading room. At his desk, he stared at the prompt on the computer screen. For the heck of it, he typed in “Bobby Stillman.” There were lots of Robert Stillmans, but no Bobbys. Pushing back his chair, he walked to the periodicals desk. “I need to do a search on a company,” he said, when the assistant came to serve him. “Scanlon Corporation. I’d like to look in The Wall Street Journal, the Army Times, Fortune, and Forbes. How much will that run me?”
“How far back?”
“Nineteen seventy-five.”
“I’ll need a minute to check that we have microfilm on all those. Army Times might be iffy.”
The periodicals desk was located at the near end of the room, in a three-sided pen that abutted the wall. The archway to the main reading room stood adjacent to it. As Bolden waited for the woman to calculate the cost of his request, he found himself looking at two men who had just entered the room. Clean-cut, dressed in blazers and slacks, they stood on either side of the door, finding their way.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” said Bolden, returning his attention to the woman.
“You’ll be happy to know we have the Army Times. The total will be twelve seventy-five. Three dollars for each search, plus tax. For twenty dollars, we can run a LexisNexis search. It’s much more comprehensive. “
Bolden counted out seven dollars from his wallet. “I’ll just take two searches: the Times and The Wall Street Journal.”
“I’ll have your change in a moment.”
“Sure thing,” said Bolden distractedly. He was interested in the two men. Instead of walking to a free computer or proceeding to one of the reference desks, they remained rooted to the spot, their heads slowly scanning the cavernous room. Bolden shifted his gaze to the opposite archway, perhaps two hundred feet away. Two men, dressed similarly in casual business attire, had taken up position just inside the arch. They sported the same short haircuts, the same watchful attitude.
Bolden lowered his face. It couldn’t be. There was no way anyone could have traced him to the library. He hadn’t been followed. He hadn’t checked, but he’d been sure he was alone when he left Jenny’s school. He had no doubt that he’d been alone inside the clothing store.
“Here you are, sir. Sixty-six cents change.”
And then he saw it. The man nearest him inclined his head toward his lapel and whispered a few words. Bolden tensed. His ears stopped up and he swallowed to clear them. Move, a voice commanded him. Get out now. They’ve seen you.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
Bolden bent over the counter. “Can you show me to the bathroom?” he asked with a pained expression. He held his hands to his stomach and winced. “I’m not well. I need to get there quickly.”
“Why, of course. It’s just outside the main reading room, sir. Don’t you worry.”
The librarian came to his side of the counter and took his arm. Together, they walked out of the computer room, brushing past the men positioned on either side of the passage. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught one of the men giving him the once-over.
Bolden shook free his arm and ran. He didn’t look behind him. He had ten steps, no more. He dashed across the main reading room, up the wide center aisle, past table after table, his tread thundering on the parquet floor. Everywhere heads turned to him. Voices called, “Quiet!” and “Slow down!” But when he cocked an ear behind him, he heard footsteps behind him, gaining.
He sprinted out of the main reading room, continuing across the rotunda to the top of the marble stairs. At the far side of the great hall, one of the men from the second team consulted with another, then began to run toward him. Bolden attacked the staircase recklessly, taking three or four stairs at a time. If he stumbled, he’d risk a broken ankle at best, and more probably a broken neck. Making the turn on the second-floor landing, he caught sight of his pursuers. Two of the men rushed down the stairs behind him. The other team started down the far staircase.
Breathing hard, he reached the ground floor. He heard a shout and saw a man tumbling head over heels down the far staircase. His eyes darted to the main entrance. Five sets of double doors governed entry and exit to the library. If only he could get outside, he might have a chance. He checked over his shoulder. The two behind him were rounding the last flight. One had unbuttoned his jacket and Bolden caught a glint of blue steel inside. He had to decide on a path. He slowed, hesitating when he could not afford to. He looked back at the main entrance. It couldn’t be. The same beefy shoulders, the neck corded with steel. The fanatical glare.