Edison sniffed an unused train track gone rusty with time, probably tracing the footsteps of a rat. He looked back as if to signal an all clear. That was good enough for Joe.
He and the dog set off up the unused track. This track would connect with other tracks where trains still ran, so they’d have to stay on their toes, but the subway station they were after wasn’t far, about half a mile. He fell into the gait he’d developed for the train tracks — shorter than his usual stride, measured by the distance between train ties, and not his natural pace. He ought to film it for his gait-recognition database.
“Feels good to be out, doesn’t it?” He took a glow-in-the-dark tennis ball out of his pocket and tossed it along the unused track.
Edison ran for it.
He felt himself unwind. He kept up a quick pace while playing fetch. He bet he’d be the only person with a wet tennis ball in his tuxedo pocket.
Eventually, they reached an in-service track, with a live third rail, and that was the end of their game of fetch. They’d gone this way so many times before that they were both on autopilot.
He and Edison walked to the Bryant Park Station at 42nd Street (green, blue). The station felt homey. He liked the dark orange pillars and the gleaming white tiles. Edison liked the smells. He stayed close — as soon as he donned his vest, he was all business — but his nose swept back and forth along the platform until the train came and they got on together. The subway riders, as always, smiled at Edison. A little girl wearing a Batgirl costume told him his tie looked sharp. Edison’s tie, not Joe’s. He wondered why she was dressed up as Batgirl, since it wasn’t Halloween, but it was New York, so he didn’t ask.
At 81st Street Station (purple, cyan), he exited the train and waited for the crowd to disperse, then headed to the stairs at the end of the platform. He and Edison had unlimited access to the tunnels under the city — a perk of his underground house. The house came with access to all the tunnels for the designer and his descendants. While he wasn’t technically a descendant, he’d procured the house from one, and his security clearance made it easy for him to receive the keys to the kingdom.
Several yards down the tunnel, an old metal door had been set into the wall. It had been placed there a century before and been well maintained ever since — the surfaces were regularly painted and the hinges oiled. The door opened onto a steam tunnel. Many buildings in New York City ran on steam, including the Museum of Natural History. He had keys for all of them, at least for their steam tunnels.
He unlocked the door using a key from another era — long-barreled with a hexagonal head.
Insulation-wrapped pipes ran along the right-hand wall. Little dust had gathered on the insulation, so the pipes had been changed recently. Con Edison worked constantly on the system, and he often met their workers in his wanderings in his giant backyard.
Edison crowded up next to him, and he petted the dog’s head. “It’s OK, boy. Just us.”
He walked faster. Although he usually liked being underground, Edison hated the hot and humid steam tunnels. He’d had a bad experience in a steam tunnel, and he clearly remembered it.
The door at the other end of the tunnel stood open, and a woman in a black and silver evening gown beckoned. “Come on, Edison! Don’t you look fancy?”
The dog broke away and hurried toward her. Maeve. She’d dyed her hair silver and swept it upward. Black stripes ran down her silver dress, curving across her breasts in toward her waist and back out across her hips. Joe wanted to run his hands along those lines.
“You look fantastic.” She always did. He leaned in to kiss her, and a long time later, she stepped back.
“We could skip the first part of the party and come back later.” His voice was husky.
“Tempting.” She kissed his neck above his collar. “But I’m not letting you out of your speech.”
He kissed her again. “You sure?”
She pulled away. “Nice try.”
Someone cleared his throat from the shadows behind her, and Joe jumped.
“It’s Mr. Karpenko,” Maeve said. “The museum sent him to keep an eye on us.”
“Thank you for taking the time.” As part of his steam-tunnel life, he had to get special permission and an escort to enter many buildings from the basement door. He knew a lot of security guards.
“Just doing my job.” Karpenko stood only a little taller than Maeve and was small-boned. He seemed like an odd choice for a security guard, but maybe he had ninja skills.
Maeve took Joe’s hand and led him up a set of utility stairs, her glamorous dress out of place against the raw concrete. “You wouldn’t believe who is up there.”
Karpenko locked the door behind them and traipsed a foot from Joe’s heels. His proximity made Edison uncomfortable, and Joe motioned for the dog to go farther ahead.
“They’re even filming it,” she said. “They have drones flying around the museum.”
Films with multiple angles of his humiliation. Great.
Chapter 14
Vivian wished she were anywhere but at a fancy gala at the museum. She’d been here on field trips, and she’d loved the exhibits of fish and polar bears and crabs, and the life-sized blue whale hanging from the ceiling. If she remembered correctly, it was ninety-four feet long and weighed twenty-one thousand pounds.
But the vast room felt too much like the ocean. Dappled blue light shone down on the whale and lit up partygoers. It reminded her of her time in the submarine.
She did a quick circuit to get a feel for her surroundings. Blue Dreams had brought in a catering company and set up buffet tables in the corners. Waiters circulated through the crowd carrying silver trays loaded with Champagne flutes. A platform had been erected underneath the whale’s tail and a blue curtain hung at the back. That was the makeshift stage where Tesla would be speaking later, assuming he showed up.
A woman in a black dress that looked like it was made from garbage bags sneered at Vivian. She sneered back. She knew she looked like a poor relation in her black pants and jacket and fancy white shirt. Her sister, Lucy, would have been able to list her sartorial shortcomings in detail, but this woman had no right to.
People’s eyes slid right past her. Not a bad quality in a bodyguard, even a one-armed one. A warm hand touched her elbow, and she turned to her partner for the evening, Dirk Norbye. An old friend from the Army, he was currently in the NYPD but often moonlighted as a bodyguard for Tesla. He looked fine in a tailored blue suit that probably cost a month’s salary.
“Did you see Tesla?” she asked. Dirk had looked on the second floor, and she’d taken the first floor.
“Nope,” he said. “But I did spot a guy you might want to talk to.”
He pointed, and she knocked down his pointing hand because it looked too obvious. The hottest guy she’d seen in a long time stood near the buffet. He had curly black hair and pecs she’d like to bounce a quarter off. The errant lock that had fallen out of his wetsuit hood arched above his forehead. The diver from the police harbor unit who had rescued her and Tesla.
“Wishing he’d had a reason for mouth-to-mouth?” Dirk asked.
“He is way too hot to be single.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dirk said.
“Would I?” she asked. “Tell me details.”
The man headed toward them.
“Hey, Norbye.” He shook Dirk’s hand and turned to her. “You look a lot better than the last time we met.”