Joe had no particular reason to think that Nikola Tesla had hidden anything here at all. Except that his father had told him the automaton would lead him somewhere, and someone else seemed to think those papers held secrets that he had yet to uncover.
His gaze stopped at the base of the column. A second piece of steel had been welded to it. The steel column was an I shape, and someone had welded a box in the corner facing away from the door. The object was painted the same color as the other steel — an industrial gray — and it would have been easy to overlook. His heart beat faster as he stared at it.
He hurried back to fetch the old toolbox, then stood in front of the beam. These weren’t a carpenter’s tools — they were for fixing furniture. He unpacked the tools, setting each carefully on the concrete floor: a plane, a chisel, a sharpening stone, a pocket square, a file, and a small hammer. He left tiny nails, a metal container of brown stain, and a stained cloth in the box.
None of the items were that useful. Maybe he should get an acetylene torch and come back. He had one at his house.
But what if someone noticed the broken window by then and boarded it up or brought down additional security? He might never get back into this room.
With a sigh, he bent over the object. When his father had returned the device here, he hadn’t welded it quite flush on one corner. Joe thought he could work the file into the edge and file off the old solder. Once he got through a few of the soldered spots, he could maybe use the file like a lever and pry the device loose. Maybe.
Good enough for him.
“Edison.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away, far enough that the dog wouldn’t get any metal dust in his eyes. “Lay down over there.”
Edison walked over and lay down with his head on his front paws, watching.
“Good boy.” He pitched the dog a treat.
He went back to the column and knelt next to it. The concrete was hard and cold under his knees, and that would get worse the longer he was here. Wishing it weren’t so loud, he began to file. Black dust and the occasional spark fell to the floor. He settled into a rhythm.
Soon he would get this box free, and he would know what had scared his father.
Chapter 30
Quantum stood in front of the New Yorker Hotel, a forty-story monument to Art Deco. It took up half a block. The place probably had over a thousand guest rooms, plus lobby, conference rooms, and who knew what else. Impressive.
The giant lobby was decorated with fashionable people, a lot of gold, and an Art Deco chandelier big enough to be buried in. But no Joe Tesla. Not that he’d expected to find him here. This place had probably gone through a lot of remodeling since Nikola Tesla’s day. Not a good place to hide anything long term.
He plunked himself into a yellow leather chair as if he belonged at the hotel, took out his secure phone, and went to the chat room to see if Ash had more suggestions. Careful not to type in anything that might get him in trouble later, he sent a message from the burner phone he used to communicate with Ash: @ hotel lobby. directions?
He did the math in his head while he waited for a reply. The hotel must have about a million square feet. He researched the place on the burner phone while he waited to hear from Ash. The hotel had a strong Tesla connection — Nikola Tesla had died in this hotel seventy-one years before. Seemed like his old room would be a good place to start. Maybe he’d hidden something in the walls or the floor. But Quantum would never find it if he had to search all million square feet.
He checked the chat room before standing up to go see if Nikola had made it easy for everyone and left it in his room.
ash: start in south basement. GO!
The basement made sense, since Joe couldn’t go outside, but how did Ash know he was in the south one? He must be tracking Joe’s phone. Quantum was glad he was using a burner. He didn’t want Ash tracking him.
ash: GO!
Quantum’s temper flared at the command in those capital letters. Nobody told him what to do. Nobody. But he tamped down his irritation. He needed to get the device, get the Bitcoins, and get the hell out of Dodge. In that order.
He walked over to the elevators and pressed B. Nobody questioned his actions. It seemed too easy. The elevator stopped with a bump, and the doors opened onto the basement level.
No money was spent on the décor down here. The walls were a dingy white, and the smell of laundry hung in moist air. The faraway thump of dryers reminded him of childhood trips to the Laundromat.
“Hey!” An overweight guy in a security guard outfit waddled up. “Guests aren’t allowed down here.”
Guess he wasn’t going to get lucky after all. He’d have to deal with — Quantum checked the man’s name badge — Mr. Francis Ferguson personally, which probably wouldn’t be that hard.
“I’m not a guest.” Quantum plastered an irritated look on his face, the kind every IT employee perpetually wore. “My name is Mathison Turing.”
Francis looked him over suspiciously.
Quantum glared back. He looked nerdy enough to pass as an IT consultant, and Mathison Turing was the best nerd name ever — having belonged to early computer genius Alan Mathison Turing, the guy who had practically invented modern computer science. “I’m here to fix the Wi-Fi. Someone in Reception called us.”
The guard’s eye twitched when Quantum said Reception. Apparently, that was a sore subject.
“The Wi-Fi is upstairs.” Francis put one pudgy hand on a nightstick. He didn’t rate a gun, which was a good thing.
“I know where the hub is, thank you.” Quantum sped up his voice and injected some peevishness. “I’ve fixed it up there, for now, but this is a chronic problem. It keeps going out. Or haven’t you heard?”
The guy nodded uncertainly. He knew he probably should have heard, and Wi-Fi went out everywhere all the time.
“I need to go down to the south basement and see where the fiber optics come into the building.” Quantum had no idea if the hotel used fiber optics, but he was willing to bet this guy didn’t either. “Can you give me directions?”
The security guard looked toward the noisy dryers as if they could tell him what to do.
“Or I can keep bumbling around on my own. I don’t care. I’m paid by the hour.” Quantum smiled. “I know your hotel is already mad about the size of the bill. What was your name again? I’ll need to log it.”
Francis sighed. “Give me your card. I’ll check.”
Quantum handed him a business card for Mathison Turing, IT consultant. The number on the card rang through to a complicated faux-voicemail system designed to keep the caller on hold until he gave up. He’d used it a bunch of times to mess with people.
The security guard dialed the number on the card and got the first voicemail prompt. He said his name, his telephone number, and the number seven, which was the code for other inquiry. He’d be at it for a while.
Quantum pointed to his wrist, where he’d have a watch if he wore a watch, then he rubbed his fingers and thumb together in the universal gesture for money. Time is money, asshole, he thought. Francis held up a hand to tell him to wait.
But he couldn’t wait. Joe Tesla wasn’t likely to stick around for long. Ash wouldn’t tolerate another failure, he was sure of it.
The guard entered another number and brought the phone to his ear.
Quantum rolled his eyes and whispered, “What if we call Reception instead? I’m sure they can verify my status, and then you can help me on my way.”