Part 11 Questions
QUESTIONS
It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
As I got dressed, I thought about next steps.
Despite the Unperson’s (that was what I was calling the proprietor of Modern Alchemical Solutions now) explicit warning to stop my investigations, I figured I should go to Chinatown to look into that address on Doyers Street.
Before that, though, I called Monty Woods from the landline phone. Knowing that the Unperson had watched him leave 60 Hudson Street, I wanted to make sure Monty had got home safe.
‘Heya, Sam,’ he answered chirpily. ‘Sleep all right?’
‘Just making sure you’re still alive,’ I said.
‘Up and at it. Gonna tackle that corrupted paragraph of text today.’
I was glad he was okay.
I wanted to tell him about everything I’d learned from my own decryptions of the plaintext—and that I had even spoken to our quarry—but I didn’t dare do that over the phone.
So, I just said, ‘Be careful, Monty. Keep an eye out for anyone following you. And let me know if you crack that corrupted plaintext.’
‘Will do. Hey, it’s good you called,’ he said. ‘Someone’s looking for you but you’re not answering your phone.’
‘Who’s looking for me?’
‘Aristo King.’
‘Aristo King is trying to get in touch with me?’ I said.
‘Well, he didn’t call me himself. He got his new head of security to do it: our fellow detective, Merritt Garrett. Garrett called me twenty minutes ago. He said his boss wants to meet with you.’
Monty gave me Garrett’s number and I called it from the landline.
‘Sam Speedman!’ Merritt Garrett exclaimed. ‘Thanks for calling me back, pal. The big man wants to meet with you today.’
‘Aristo King?’
‘The one and only. How’s 10:45 work?’
This was both unexpected and intriguing.
Why would Aristo King want to meet me? Was he worried about my investigations, too?
I had another reason for concern. ‘You and King aren’t helping the FBI find me, are you?’
‘I can assure you, we aren’t,’ Garrett said.
‘Then, sure, okay,’ I said. ‘Where should I go?’
Garrett chuckled. ‘Sam, you gotta get used to working with a billionaire. Ari will send his helicopter to bring you to him. Are you in Manhattan?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool. I’ll get the chopper to meet you at the heliport down by the ferry terminal at ten.’
An hour later, I left 60 Hudson Street via its main street entrance.
It was cold.
Light snow fell.
I was cautious, tense, alert.
I used the main entrance because I knew there would be people around, coming and going in downtown New York City.
(Like many of the other older buildings in New York City, 60 Hudson Street has no underground garage, so there was no vehicle exit to use.)
If the Unperson was waiting outside to kill me, he’d have to do it here, with lots of witnesses around.
As I stepped out on the sidewalk, I scanned all the New Yorkers hurrying by in their overcoats and scarves, heads bent, AirPods in their ears, going about their day.
December 29th was a Tuesday, but also the Tuesday between Christmas and New Year, so the crowds were lighter than usual.
No-one was watching me.
I scanned the light poles and awnings across the street, searching for any kind of security camera aimed in my direction.
The Unperson had known that Monty had left last night and that I hadn’t, which meant he was watching the entrance, somehow.
He’d also probably watched Monty Woods for some time before he’d chosen him to participate on December 21st.
I couldn’t imagine he’d been standing out in the cold by himself.
A camera was more likely.
And, I mean, who would notice it if a small battery-operated CCTV camera had been mounted on a pole or awning across from the entrance to 60 Hudson Street?
The New Yorkers continued to hustle past me, oblivious.
I exhaled.
I was safe.
The heliport—official name: the Downtown Skyport—was located at the southern tip of Manhattan, ten minutes away on foot.
I started walking—
When I saw it.
Rolling along behind a man in a suit, bouncing on its four little rubber wheels.
A robot delivery cart.
Coming toward me, fifteen yards away.
‘Look out!’ I yelled as I pulled the man in the suit behind one of the columns of 60 Hudson Street’s entrance and turned my head away from the blast.
But no blast came.
The robot ambled by, to make its delivery somewhere.
‘Yo, what the actual fuck, asshole?’ The executive shoved me away. ‘You crazy or somethin’?’
He stalked off, brushing his suit and shaking his head.
I took a deep breath.
Regathered myself.
This was all clearly getting to me.
I headed for the heliport.
NEW YORK TO NEW JERSEY
Downtown Skyport
29 December, 1000 hours
The Downtown Skyport is basically just a dock that juts out from the bottom of Manhattan Island into the bay.
The waters of New York Harbor splashed hard against its piers, blown by the stiff December wind.
Waiting for me at the Skyport was the sleekest helicopter I’d ever seen.
It was a Bell 525 ‘Relentless’ model, the best helicopter money can buy.
Powerful and fast, it could carry sixteen passengers in absolute comfort and had a range of 600 miles. This one was painted gunmetal grey.
A pilot stood beside it, dressed in a white shirt with epaulettes, a peaked hat and Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses.
He was in his mid-fifties and had a grey bushy moustache and a big friendly smile.
‘Dr Speedman?’ he called over the wind.
‘That’s me.’
‘Irv Murphy, but everybody calls me Murph.’ He shook my hand firmly. ‘We got a nice quick flight today, forty minutes, tops.’
‘Call me Sam. Where exactly are we going, Murph?’
‘To Mr King’s drone base down in New Jersey, out by the Sandy Hook peninsula. It’s an old artillery range south of the national park.’
He caught me looking uncertainly at the choppy waters and the bracing wind.
‘You flown in a chopper before?’ he asked.
‘A few times, yeah, but to be honest, they make me nervous.’
(I figured it wasn’t necessary to tell him about my chopper lessons and my recent—if brief—chopper flight atop 59West on December 21st.)
‘Bit windy today, but don’t you worry, son, you’ll be safe with me, I promise,’ Murph said. ‘I’ve been flying choppers for thirty years and this 525 is the best dang bird I’ve ever flown. Flies smoother than silk, she does. Jump aboard.’
Within moments, we were flying low over the bay, passing the Statue of Liberty as we headed south, out toward the Sandy Hook peninsula and the Atlantic Ocean.
I sat up front with Murph, wearing a headset.
He’d offered me a (huge leather) seat in the back, but I didn’t like the idea of sitting by myself in a space that could hold fifteen more people while Murph was up front, also by himself, flying the chopper.
Irv Murphy was a very nice man.
He was married with two daughters and was an ex-Navy pilot.
He was also very chatty, which we detectives like.
‘How long have you worked for Mr King?’ I asked.
‘Seven years now. Good gig, pays well, too. Mr King likes hiring ex-military types, as a thank you for our service. Stand-up guy, he is.’
‘Do you know his wife?’
‘Which one?’ Murph laughed.
‘The latest one, Yasmina. Full disclosure, I’m working for her, which is why I think Mr King wants to see me.’
Murph nodded. ‘Yeah, I heard about what she did, paying somebody to kill all those people in the tower. Gotta say, it surprised me. She seemed okay. A bit brusque, maybe, but she was always polite to me and the other staff—asking after my family and all that—not like the middle wife, Shelby. Man, she treated us like dirt. Don’t think she ever said a word to me beyond “Let’s go. I’m in a hurry.”’
‘Hmmm,’ I said.
As we reached the coast, we flew south down the length of the Sandy Hook peninsula.
The peninsula was a super-long sand dune-covered barrier spit that protected New York Bay from the Atlantic.
It was dotted with old grey gun emplacements—thick and sturdy concrete structures known as ‘batteries’—that had been built before World War II for coastal defence. But advances in weaponry had made them obsolete almost as soon as they were finished.
Now the whole peninsula was an enormous national park called the Gateway National Recreation Area, with broad beaches, camping grounds and biking and hiking trails that were open to the public.
‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘have you ever had to do an autorotation landing?’ Given Murph’s considerable experience as a chopper pilot, I figured it was possible he’d done one.
‘Yeah, once. In the service.’
‘Do they really work?’
‘Yeah, they work, but not from any kind of height. I did mine from four hundred feet after my engine stalled. It was a hard landing on muddy ground, but my crew and passengers walked away from it. The key is to get your nose up and your rotor blades level as you start to fall, then it works, kind of. That said, I wouldn’t want to do it again. ’
I nodded.
I still didn’t like flying in choppers.
We continued on, zooming low over the sandy peninsula.
After a time, we came to its landward end, a broad green area that was a mix of thick forest and swamps.
Beyond a wall of trees, I saw a vast open grassy plain with an absolutely gigantic hangar in one corner.
Attached to the hangar was an observation tower of some kind. It looked like an air traffic control tower. The huge grassy area was pockmarked with mounds, bunkers and bowl-shaped depressions.
‘Here we are,’ Murph said. ‘The old 218 proving ground and artillery range. Back in the day, that big ole hangar once housed a zeppelin, like the Hindenberg. Now, Mr King uses it to house his attack drones.’
Murph keyed his radio. ‘Spiderhawk Base, this is Kingdom One. I’m a mile out and inbound with Mr King’s guest, Dr Speedman.’
‘Copy that, Kingdom One,’ a voice replied over the radio. ‘The boss is here waiting for you. Base, out.’
Murph clicked off the radio.
‘Sheesh, you must be special,’ he said. ‘The boss is waiting for you and he don’t wait for anyone.’
We began our descent, sweeping in low over the field toward the massive hangar.
As we came closer to it, I saw a huge sign on the hangar’s front face.
It read ‘spiderhawk systems’.