Mr. Rossi led them to a dark corner of the lot. He, Dirk, and a red-haired man she’d never met helped her to collapse the wheels on the gurney and load it into the limo. The guy didn’t introduce himself, and she didn’t ask, but she guessed he was the doctor.
She stripped off her scrubs and handed them to Dirk. “Keep on Mrs. Tesla. Tesla seemed to think she was in more danger than he was, so be careful.”
He tossed her a mock salute and jogged back to the hospital.
She climbed into the limo and sat in one of the two seats facing the bench. Mr. Rossi came in after, and the limo driver closed the door. The red-haired guy hunched over Tesla’s unconscious form, checking his pulse and bandages.
She leaned up to the panel that separated them from the driver, then glanced at Mr. Rossi for approval. After he nodded, she rapped on the glass and it slid down an inch.
“Grand Central Terminal,” she said. “But take it slow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said a deep voice, and the partition rolled up.
She touched the lump of keys in her pocket. Edison was a very good dog. She could use those keys to get them into the elevator. Tesla had shown her which key to use months ago, after they’d both nearly been killed not far from where the elevator let out. She was pretty sure she’d be able to figure out which key opened the front door of his house too, but that wasn’t the biggest problem.
The biggest problem was Tesla’s security system. There was a console at the base of the elevator. She’d walked past it many times, and she had seen Tesla enter an eight-digit code to disarm it, but she didn’t know any of the numbers.
She had no idea what would happen once they got to the bottom of the elevator and set off his alarm. Would his system call the police? Release poisonous gas? Set off a loud noise? Do nothing? With Tesla, you never knew. But whatever happened, he’d be safer down there when it went off than he would be in that hospital.
“Is he OK?” she asked the doctor.
“He’s resting comfortably,” he said. “But he needs to be in bed, under medical supervision.”
“We’re on our way,” she said, then leaned back in her seat to think. Worst case, they’d have to all wait by the elevator until Tesla woke up and gave them the code.
The driver had followed her directions and was moving them along smooth and easy. The sun had started to set, and the buildings and sky glowed orange. People were walking a little more quickly now, so it must have cooled down outside.
The limo drove by a beautiful blonde in a black miniskirt and a paint-spattered black T-shirt. She looked like any other terminally cool artist. The sight of her gave Vivian the answer she needed.
Celeste.
If Tesla had told anyone his alarm code, it would be Celeste. Tesla had given her Celeste’s number for emergencies, and this definitely qualified.
But Celeste was sick, and Vivian didn’t want to call to tell her that Tesla had been cracked on the head, and that they’d broken him out of the hospital. She dialed anyway the number and waited.
“Hello?” said a breathy voice.
“Vivian Torres here, ma’am. You don’t know me, but—”
“Is Joe OK?”
“There was an incident—”
“At the New Yorker Hotel. I know. Has he regained consciousness? Can he cope in the hospital?”
“We’ve had to remove him from there, and we’re headed to Grand Central now.”
“Bring him here,” Celeste snapped, as if Vivian were her servant.
“He told us to take him home.”
“Let me speak to him.”
Vivian didn’t know how to put this delicately. “He’s…sleeping right now.”
“Of course. You had to knock him out to get him out of the hospital. If he’s asleep, it doesn’t matter where he goes. Bring him to me.”
Vivian hesitated. Tesla had told her to take him home, but he hadn’t really been able to think things through. What if she did take him to Celeste’s house? Then he and Celeste could be trapped in her penthouse together. Who was to say that Tesla wouldn’t prefer that?
But he’d told her to take him home. She kept coming back to that.
“I’ll give you my address,” Celeste said. “And I’ll hire a doctor to come here to care for him. I already have a doctor of my own.”
Vivian looked over at Mr. Rossi. He was staring at her intently.
“Just a moment, ma’am.” She covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “I called Celeste to get Tesla’s security code.”
“Does she have it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She says we should bring Tesla to her house.”
Mr. Rossi shook his head, one quick, decisive movement. His decision was clearly made. “You said he told you to take him home.”
“He wasn’t completely lucid at the time.”
“Home. If he wants to be put under anesthesia later and taken to Miss Gallo, he can make that choice himself.”
She looked at the phone in her hand.
“I’ll tell her. I’ve known her for years.” Mr. Rossi held out his hand, and she gratefully handed him the phone. After a few minutes of quiet argument, he pulled a gold pen out of his suit pocket and wrote down a long number.
She texted Andres Peterson. By the time Tesla woke up, he’d have his dog by his side.
And then she’d figure out who the hell had done this to him.
Chapter 38
Ash stopped pacing the length of his long living room and dropped onto a ridiculous modern sofa. Rosa had bought it when they were married, and he somehow couldn’t get rid of it even though it was not now, and had never been, comfortable.
He cycled through his email and his chat rooms. Quantum was back. He’d worried that the enterprising young hustler might try to sell the Oscillator to a higher bidder, or use it himself, but he was in the chat room, waiting like a good boy. He let him stew for a few minutes before answering.
ash: hello
quantum: thought it best to stay offline for a bit
ash: can the subject id u?
quantum: no
Ash wondered if this could be true. Not that it mattered. Quantum would not be a problem for long. He’d be richly paid, and then he’d go where all the richly paid went, where everyone went, eventually.
ash: do u have it?
quantum: yes
ash: xchange?
Quantum entered details for a Bitcoin account. He would probably pick the payoff up at a Bitcoin ATM, making it more difficult to find him. Clever, but not clever enough.
ash: how do i get device?
quantum: the price has tripled
ash: has it?
Quantum posted a link to a video feed. When Ash clicked on the link, he saw a large metal box with a glass door. It looked like a gun safe, which meant that the door was probably not glass, but ballistic glass. He could hire someone to break into it, of course, but that would take time.
The camera zoomed in on one of two objects inside. He recognized the flat bottom and distinctive cylinder. It was the Oscillator, just as Nikola Tesla had drawn it many years ago. As if on cue, the camera panned to the left to display a bomb. Thirty minutes left on the counter, and it began to count down.
quantum: can detonate or stop the detonation remotely
ash: intrigued
quantum: triple. we both know it’s worth more
ash:??
quantum: hello segment
He stared at the words, not sure what they meant. Then he realized that they were synonyms. Synonyms for two words that might be high on the NSA’s radar today. Hello meant hi or high. And a segment was part of a line. High line. Ash gulped. Quantum was saying that the Oscillator was responsible for the collapse of the High Line park extension. Ash needed to make it clear that he understood the reference with some synonyms of his own for park.