Based on the way Crane had talked about Milstein, Beck didn’t think he’d be working at the office any time soon. But he needed more information. He needed Olivia’s help so he could find out everything possible about Crane’s portfolio and anticipate his moves.
Beck said, “Okay you guys, head home. But first take me over to Church Street. I’m going to head uptown.”
Demarco said nothing. Just kept driving east.
“Alex, when you get home, see if anything shakes out.”
Beck hit his cell phone while Demarco maneuvered toward the uptown street.
“Manny?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the Battery Tunnel.”
“You pick up that package?”
“Yeah. We got what you asked for.”
“Good. When you get home, just put him in the basement. Don’t say anything to him. Put a bag or something on his head from now until then. Check him for weapons and all. Leave a jug of water with him. Nothing else. No lights. No talking.”
“Okay.”
“Demarco and Alex are heading back, too. I have to go check on Olivia. This thing has got to blow apart at some point. They have to organize and come at us, so hunker down and make sure Willie Reese has his boys out watching the streets.”
“I’ll call him.”
“And call Olivia. Tell her I’m coming. What room is she in?”
“Forty-oh-one.”
*
Beck had the cab drop him off on the Fifty-eighth Street side of the Four Seasons Hotel so he could get to the hotel’s elevators without walking across the huge open lobby that faced the main entrance.
As he walked toward the double bank of elevators in the center of the hotel’s mezzanine level, he could feel the pressure of time, fatigue, and the growing burdens of pain plaguing him.
The knife wound on his leg throbbed, made worse by Stepanovich’s knee kicks. He could barely close his hands, and by tomorrow he’d be feeling another set of bruises and strains.
He decided that his move against Markov’s men in Tribeca had probably delayed any attack on them, but for how long? And how many men could Markov send against him? And what if he called on Kolenka for help?
Beck stood in front of the elevators that would lead to the fortieth floor. He thought about hotel security. The doormen on Fifty-eighth Street had greeted him and held open the door, but barely glanced at him. It was after eleven, but the bar and restaurant on that side of the hotel were still open. He could be a guest, a diner, someone stopping in for a drink, or a hired assassin.
There was a single corridor in the middle of the hotel which occupied a section of the block between Fifty-eighth and Fifty-ninth streets where the elevators were located. There were six elevators. Three on the south side of the corridor that went from the fifth floor to the twenty-ninth floor. Then three on the north side that went from the thirty-first floor to the fifty-second floor.
Beck waited in front of the north-side bank of elevators. An elevator opened and he stepped in. The car was empty.
The elevator rushed him to Olivia’s floor without stopping. He stepped out into a surprisingly small foyer, lit with discreet overhead accent lighting. Small brass plaques to the right and left indicated which rooms occupied each corridor. There was a small Léger print above each plaque.
Beck called Manny once more.
“Okay, I’m at the hotel. Call your woman who’s watching Olivia and tell her I’m heading toward the room now. Tell her what I look like and to open the door for me.”
“How soon you gonna be there?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Okay. Give me a minute before you knock.”
“Sure. Demarco back yet? You get that guy squared away?”
“D’s not back yet. Yeah, we got the guy set the way you asked.”
“One last thing, after you talk to your gal, call Ricky and Jonas and tell ’em to get some sleep, then get back on Milstein in the morning.”
“Got it. What are you gonna do with the one we snatched?”
“Pump him for information. Maybe trade him for something. I don’t know. Just leave him alone to wonder what’s next.”
Beck broke the connection. He relaxed for a few moments, standing motionless in the quiet opulence of the fortieth floor, giving Manny time to call the woman guarding Olivia.
He wondered how much a room went for at the Four Seasons.
He inhaled slowly and held his breath for a moment, listening, feeling for a sense of the city just outside. He felt nothing, heard nothing, but it seemed as if he could still sense something out there. A hum? A pulse of the city? He wondered if he was imagining it.
He thought for a few more moments how hotels were able to create such a cocoon of peace and security like the one that surrounded him. How the careful lighting highlighted certain areas while leaving other sections in soothing shadows. How the plush carpets absorbed sound and the tasteful decorations gave an impression of opulence.
Beck looked at the calm subtle colors surrounding him. He considered how important it was for guests to feel like they had escaped from the discomfort and tension of a sometimes frantic, often inhospitable city into a refuge where they could feel warm and safe and protected. Was it true?
No, thought Beck, it was an illusion.
34
Markov had sweated through his clothes in the cramped back room at the Waldorf. It had nothing to do with the hotel’s ventilation, which worked fine. He always sweated when he concentrated and pushed and cajoled and manipulated and calculated until he had accomplished what he’d set out to do.