Black Water Transit (11 page)

Everybody froze, and now the three-round burst was staring right at Jack. Jack swiveled around in his chair and picked up the receiver. It was Earl Pike.

“Jack. How are you?”

“Good, Earl. And you?”

“Fine. I’ve made the arrangements.”

“Okay. Let me get a pen … okay. Go.”

“I have a container truck coming in now. The guy just called. He’s outside Saratoga. Where do you want him?”

“You sure you don’t want to have your driver take it straight down the Taconic to Red Hook, save you some handling costs?”

Jack was watching Greco’s face while he said this. She was monitoring the call on a surveillance tap. Her pale face sharpened and her eyes glittered with anger. She shook her head so hard her hair flew out in a ring and slapped the side of her cheekbone. Pike was saying something and Jack had to ask him to repeat it.

“You got somebody else there, Jack?”

“I’m in my office. My business is still operating. What do you want me to do, close the door and hang a sheet over my window?”

“Don’t get testy. No, I don’t want to have my driver take the container to Red Hook himself. There’s lots of routine federal and state surveillance all over the New York and Jersey waterfront. We take the load at your docks, it goes into bond there, by the time it arrives in Red Hook, nobody’s going to pay any attention to it. It’s simpler, and simple is always best. You follow?”

“I follow. I’ve got a freighter waiting at the river here. The
Agawa Canyon
. You know the address?”

“Your docks, right?”

“Right.”

“I know them. When can we get the load on?”

“There’s no special handling. The
Canyon
’s almost full. She leaves around six tonight. She’ll be at the Red Hook Container Terminal around one in the morning. That work for you?”

“Yeah. I’d like to have someone meet her there.”

“Why? The container’s in customs bond by then. You can’t approach it. Technically it’s not in the U.S. anymore. It’s going straight onto a container ship out of Baltimore.”

Greco’s face was a picture. Jack was looking her right in the eyes, and what was there was cold-blue fury. Two tiny red patches floated on her pale cheekbones. Jack had his hand raised.
Quiet
.

“I just want the transfer covered.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you. I trust in Allah too, but I tie up my camel.”

“Okay. Your call. No problem. Give me the name of your driver. I’ll see the yard man has dock space cleared. We’ll get your container on as soon as it arrives. After that, you know where it will be. Send whoever you want
to Red Hook. My guys will do whatever it takes to make your man happy. I’ll see to it. Okay?”

“Works for me. Where’ll you be?”

“Where do you want me? You want me there too?”

“No. Once again, why flag the shipment that way? Your guys would wonder why the hell the boss is there at two in the morning. Somebody would talk. How about you stay where I can reach you?”

“I’ll be right here. At my desk. Or at home, by the phone.”

“Done. We’ll talk again.”

Pike rang off. Greco stood up, still in a frozen rage.

“That was extremely stupid, Mr. Vermillion.”

“No it wasn’t, lady. I acted like any shipper would. His container is in bond—had to be for your predicate act, anyway—and there’s no reason to follow it around the system. It was a reasonable response to a client. You heard him.”

Greco’s face was hard and cold, but she worked at a sudden chirpy smile and managed to show a lot of teeth to Jack.

“I see. Good. Very good.”

“Now what?” asked Jack. “You have a tail on him? You follow him to Red Hook?”

She smiled.

“There’s no tail on him. Too risky. He’s too good for that. If he spotted any surveillance, he’d just ditch the whole operation. Anyway, we don’t need to track him from his hotel to the terminal. All we need to nail the case is Pike’s arrival at the dock, claiming the cargo. All you do, when the container comes in, you see that it’s loaded. We’ll have someone videotape the loading operation. For continuity, chain of evidence. When it gets down to Red Hook, we’ll be waiting. We’re going to take it down right there. Luther advises me that an oceanic interception is tactically questionable and would
involve too many other agencies. I agree. We’re going to keep this an ATF operation. Even if Pike doesn’t show up, it doesn’t really matter, because we still have him on the audiotape here, setting it all up, which constitutes a predicate act in furtherance. We’d like him to be there, but it’s not necessary. Whatever happens, he’s all ours.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You told Pike you’d be available. That’s what he’ll be expecting. Stay by your phone. When it’s over, we’ll call you.”

Greco walked over to Jack’s desk and put out her hand. It was cold. Perhaps it was the air-conditioning. She pumped his hand once, her green eyes hard on his face. The three-round burst stood up and looked right through him. Long after they had left, Jack felt her chill in his hand. It troubled him, made him feel that he didn’t really know what was going on. And further down, buried deep but not deep enough, he felt a pang of guilt about betraying Earl Pike. Pike had done him no harm, had seemed to be a good man at the core, was even a veteran of the same stupid war. And here was Jack Vermillion, feeding him to a woman like Valeriana Greco.

Please, Dad
.

No. He was into it now and would have to see the thing through to the end. If they were keeping something from him, well, that was just the way of all cops. Whatever it was, he’d find out sooner or later. Jack had that part right, anyway. It was sooner.

At seven-thirty that same evening, with a heavy rain pelting the windows outside, the concierge in the tower lobby of the United Nations Plaza Hotel looked up from her copy of
The New Yorker
and saw a white male, late twenties, his lips thin and dry-looking, standing in the at-ease position in front of her bronze desk, wearing a tan trench coat over a dark-gray wool single-breasted suit.

He was rumpled, windblown, and slightly damp. The scent coming off him was part rain-damp and part lime-scented cologne. His close-cut hair was a shiny blue-black. The suit jacket was open and she could see the dark-gray butt of a semiauto pistol in his belt. This did not surprise her, since the UN Plaza Hotel was ground zero for all sorts of federal agencies. Lean sharp-faced cops in nicely cut suits were a buck a basket around here.

The cop—he had to be a cop—smiled at her, showing her how charming and nonthreatening and cuddly he was. His eyes were the palest blue she’d ever seen, so clear and colorless they struck her as slightly inhuman. She smiled back.

“You have a guest in the hotel, Earl Pike?”

“Possibly. We have many guests. Wish I could help you, but—”

“Does he have a vehicle parked in your valet section?”

She showed him a lot more of her truly excellent teeth.

“I’d like to see your ID.”

Jimmy Rock pulled out his gold shield, held it up in front of him, not showing her his ID card, keeping it hidden as well from the people strolling into and out of the green marble foyer of the hotel.

The concierge contemplated his shield for a long moment, as if it were something her cat had coughed up onto the rug.

“We don’t normally—”

“Also, I need to know his room number.”

“Now that’s not possible, Detective.”

She hit the
not
hard enough to make it ring faintly, a kind of silvery ping. Her smile was still holding. Jimmy decided that he liked her; she had sand. He gave her his best smile, the one he liked to think of as boyish, charming. It wasn’t. Jimmy Rock watched her as she worked out the angles. It took her about thirty seconds.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

“Nothing critical. We’re just following up on an accident report. Mr. Pike showed up on our computers as registered in this hotel. He also owns a type of car we are interested in, in connection with a motor vehicle accident upstate. It’s nothing at all serious. You mind answering my questions?”

The woman sat back in her leather armchair and thought about the question. Then she smiled and stood up.

“Wait here one moment.”

She crossed the marble floor, heading for the main desk. Jimmy Rock watched her go, admiring the way she handled gravity. The foyer was decorated with thousands of tiny white pinpoint lights. Down the long glimmering hallway, a grand piano the size of a Lincoln Town Car was filling the lobby with some sort of concerto, although there was no one sitting in front of it. Maybe the ghost of George Gershwin.

Jimmy Rock lit up a cigarette and waited for the woman to get back. Three people in a crowd by the elevator were staring at him as if he’d just stuck a dead rat in his ear. He smiled and blew some smoke toward them. They huffed and glared back, and then the door to the elevator opened and they were gone. He grinned at the closing door and took another puff. Damn, it was good to be alive.

“This is a no-smoking environment,” said a voice.

He looked back. The concierge was considering him.

“Damn. Sorry.”

She picked up a heavy crystal plate and held it in front of him. He toyed with the idea of dropping a quarter into it and decided not to. He butted the cigarette. She set the plate down.

“The manager is on the phone to our lawyer right now, Detective. I’ll need a card if you have one.”

Jimmy handed her one of his cards. She took the card and read it, looked up at him again, smiled, and then put it in a leather folder on her desk. She pulled one of her own cards and handed it to him. It had a linen finish and her name was in raised gold letters:
MERCEDES GON-SALVA
.

Odd coincidence. He was here looking for a guy with a blue Mercedes-Benz, and that’s this woman’s first name. Maybe it was a sign they were destined to be lovers. Maybe it was a meaningless coincidence. His money was going on meaningless. Jimmy put the card in his breast pocket and patted it once. He gave her his best smile, saw the blank space on her ring finger, and considered his chances. Absolute zero, he decided.

“The man you’re inquiring about is registered with us as Mr. Earl V. Pike. He’s in room twenty-nine-ninety. He is one of our oldest and most valued clients. He’s in his quarters now. If you wish to speak with him, I can call up and see if he’ll be able to accommodate you.”

“I’d rather take a look at his vehicle first. Does he have one parked in your garage?”

“Yes. He does.”

“Do you know what kind it is?”

“No. The bellman would have the location.”

“Okay. Please don’t call Mr. Pike yet. All right?”

“I feel I should contact … fine, since this is a police matter, I’ll leave it with you. I’d like to remind you he’s a very valued client.”

Jimmy Rock was already moving away. He was at the door when she called him back.

“One more thing, Detective Rule. The manager—”

“What’s his name?”

“Mr. Siggerssonn.”

“Siggerssonn?”

“Yes, he’s Icelandic. Mr. Siggerssonn trusts there’ll be no disturbances in the hotel. I can reassure him, can I?”

“What’s his first name? Thor?”

“Gunnar.”

“Gunnar? What is he, like, one of those
GQ
models with the cheekbones, got a jawbone you could chip a tooth on, three-day beard? Icy-blue eyes? Whoa, I’m getting all shivery here.”

She was fighting it, but the laugh was winning.

“No, that doesn’t quite catch him. What may I tell him?”

“Miss Gonsalva, you can tell Mr. Gunnar Siggerssonn that we were never here. This was all a dream. You follow me?”

“I do. I will. And it was. Bye.”

The 511 unit was parked in a loading dock halfway up Forty-fourth Street toward Second Avenue. Casey Spandau was waiting behind the wheel. Nicky Cicero was in the backseat, wearing civilian clothes, a black leather jacket over a white tee, blue jeans, and black cowboy boots. He was wearing a Beretta nine-mill in a
shoulder holster. He looked tired and rumpled. He’d been on the case since last night. Sleep was low on his list right now but climbing fast.

Jimmy Rock got into the passenger seat and spoke over the back of the seat to the state cop. He never even looked at Casey.

She said nothing.

“Okay. Pike’s here. He has a car down in the valet section.”

“Should we go look?” asked Nicky.

“In a minute. Run by me again why you two came up with this guy? I’m getting a bad feeling about this one. The concierge talks about him like he’s Martin Luther King.”

Casey started to speak and then looked straight ahead. The concept of a complete resignation from the department was developing by the minute. Nicky waited for Casey to speak and then realized she was still not talking to the gold shield. This was getting ridiculous. It was unprofessional.

His answer was short and had an edge in it.

“Okay. We had eighty-three matches on the DMV list.”

“All Benz Six Hundreds?”

“Yeah. All registered in the five boroughs. We eliminated thirty-six right off because the color was listed incorrectly on the DMV files, either light blue or silver. That left us forty-seven possibles. Casey used some pull and got citywide auto to check out seventeen Mercedes-Benz Six Hundreds from Staten Island, the Bronx, and parts of Queens. They were all eliminated.”

“Why?”

“Either the car was clean, no marks of an accident, or the owners were able to provide proof that the vehicle wasn’t anywhere upstate last night or yesterday.”

“So that leaves you thirty.”

“That’s right. Fourteen of them are in Manhattan. Casey and I spent the afternoon running down all of them. It was a bitch.”

“And what did you get?”

“Mostly nothing. Nine of them were fleet vehicles, and they all checked out negative. Two had been sold to a dealer and were still on the lot. Citywide is still on the ones in Brooklyn.”