Chapter Eighteen
He’d studied the building carefully. Sometimes Wyst stayed there. He stayed there now. His texts, his calls made it clear he intended to stay there overnight. Enough time to organize the various arms of his wealth, no doubt, pack what he needed, wanted.
Then he’d fly away, or so he thought, on one of the company’s luxurious shuttles. As if distance would save him, as if he could close himself in a glamorous fortress anywhere in the world and stay alive.
But now he’d closed himself in the sumptuous penthouse, alone. Alone was best. With a security detail, of course, but they wouldn’t save him.
Today came reckoning.
Because he’d studied the building, as he’d studied the homes of the guilty, because he’d made all the necessary plans, he walked into the lobby—big, beautifully done—and took the glide to the mezzanine, where a man could have a drink at the fancy bar or meet friends for dinner.
Security was tight here, some of the best he’d encountered. Elevators and stairs to the residents’ floors accessible only by authorized swipe.
He’d managed to get his hands on one weeks before with the intent of cloning it. But the instant he began the process, it deactivated. Since it may have programmed a homer, he had to destroy it.
Very tight, very admirable security.
But there were ways, because he’d studied the building, and its infrastructure. He went into the men’s room, pleased to find it empty. He’d have waited otherwise.
With one jump, one fist, he dislodged the ceiling vent. With another jump, he was up and in.
Fleetingly he thought that when he’d been only Steve Redman, he’d have celebrated a standing jump like that on the basketball court in a pickup game.
Now he simply replaced the vent and began to crawl. He had the map in his mind, and followed it, silent as a shadow, until he reached a staff lounge.
Not empty.
He could have cleared the room, disabled the three people in it in a matter of seconds. Just seconds, really. But they were outside the equation. They were the innocent.
So he waited, listening to the chatter, the laughter, breathing in the scents of coffee—good coffee—of sugary drinks.
He thought of Ari’s love of cherry fizzies, and the sorrow weighed heavy.
And he waited with his sorrow until the room cleared.
He leaped down, put on his gloves, slipped out.
They’d have him on camera, he knew. Coming into the building, walking to the elevators now. They’d run facial recognition, but he suspected the police lieutenant already knew who he’d been.
He’d studied her, too.
It didn’t matter. He would bring Wyst to justice, then go directly to enact justice on Banner.
And he would leave New York, go to O’Brian, bring him to justice.
Then he would be done. Had to be, because his time was running out.
He felt it ticking away, faster, faster, as he used the strength he’d given himself to pry the elevator doors apart.
Enough, just enough to slip through. He couldn’t make the elevator run, but he didn’t need to.
He opened the maintenance grid, leaped up and in.
From there he traveled, on ledges, hand-over-hand by cables, always following the map in his head. He climbed up, and up, fifty-three floors up.
Now he had only to leap on the roof of the elevator at the end of his map.
It hadn’t taken long, not in the scheme of things. He imagined Wyst sitting in his office, having a scotch—well aged, unblended—while he finished weaving his web of plans.
There would be a droid, there would be security, and he’d need their locations.
After deactivating the elevator cam, he dropped down into the elevator, the suite’s private elevator. Though his hearing was acute—another benefit of his serum—he couldn’t see through walls or doors.
He took out his heat scanner. Only one, he saw. Only Wyst, and yes, in his office. Security outside then, and that was best. He had no desire to harm them.
He used Wyst’s code to shut down the house droid.
Then he pried the elevator open into the living area with its floor-to-ceiling windows, its muted gray walls and elegant furnishings.
He noticed a space where a painting must have hung. Obviously valuable enough Wyst wanted to take it with him.
There would be a safe somewhere, of course, and that would be cleaned out.
Wyst would die a very wealthy man.
He walked to the office, the double doors shut tight.
One vicious kick broke them open.
Wyst sat at the grand, glossy desk, glass in hand. And fear shot into his eyes like bullets.
The man who had been Steven Redman said, “Hello, Jacob.”
Eve stepped out on the sidewalk, scanned the street.
“Shit, shit, shit, need the car.”
“Just a couple minutes away. Security feed has Wyst leaving with the two bodyguards at fifteen-twenty-one.”
“Missed him, missed him by what, about forty minutes.”
“About. What was in that lab—what Dolbey said was in there, and boy, was she steamed—it’s enough right there. And you know we’ll find more. Banner-Wyst is going down.”
“It needs to, they need to, and I need to use that to get to Redman. Four people are dead, and whatever they did, whatever his mental state, he’s responsible. There’s the car.”
She watched it weave between a Rapid Cab and a mini, slide up to the curb.
Jenkinson and Reineke slid out.
“That’s one frosty ride,” Jenkinson said. “Looks like warm crap, but that’s one frosty ride.”
“We catch one and don’t get invited to the party?” Reineke shook his head. “Harsh.”
“Bullshit one, too. Guy runs into traffic, right after he robs a twenty-four/seven of about forty-six bucks. Which he won’t be spending in the morgue.”
“You want to party, Feeney’s in charge now. We’re heading to arrest Jacob Wyst.”
“Heard. The commander’s in a copter heading for Long Island to bag the other one.” Jenkinson rubbed his hands together. “Okay, partner. Let’s party.”
Eve got behind the wheel, felt the seat adjust from Jenkinson’s ass to hers. Yeah, it was one frosty ride.
“I’ll program the address.”
“I know where the building is, Peabody. It’s Nadine’s building.”
“That’s it, that’s why the address struck familiar. And that’s another Roarke building. So we take a frosty ride to a smooth path.”
Eve had a way they’d have a frosty ride downtown in the madness of New York rush hour.
She hit the lights and siren.
“Woo!” Peabody did jazz hands. “Going in hot.”
“Sometimes, Peabody. Just sometimes.”
“I’m feeling totally mag. We’re taking down a big, giant company that’s doing nasty things.
And we’re about to arrest one of the guys who goes swanning around the planet acting like a hero while he does the nasty things.
My family’s here, and tomorrow night we’re having the mother of all parties in the amazing home McNab and I share with abso-mag-o friends. ”
She blew out a breath as Eve all but two-wheeled it around a corner.
“And I sincerely believe that what we’re doing is going to stop Redman, and we’re going to find him, put him away where he can get help, can’t hurt anyone else, and tie up and close this entire weird, complicated, winding-around-and-in-on-itself-like-a-snake case in under a week.
“So, another woo. And as my great-grandmother Blossom likes to say: Don’t harsh my buzz.”
“You have a great-grandmother named Blossom who says that?”
“I do, and you’ll meet her tomorrow night. She’s ninety-eight and can outdance, outdrink, outargue all comers. I love her like crazy.
“Man, we’re really zooming here, and shit, I think that sedan’s coming right across the intersec— Whoa!”
Peabody grabbed the chicken stick with one hand, the Jesus bar with the other as Eve hit vertical, skimmed over the sedan that had decided lights and sirens ranked as a suggestion, not an order.
“Zooming,” Peabody managed. “Really zooming.”
“Redman moves fast, Peabody.”
“Yeah, right, yeah. Good, my stomach found its way back home. He can’t get to Wyst before we do.
Even if he’s figured out where Wyst is—not at work, not at home, and that’s been under two hours, right?
He’d have to get into a secured building, up to a secured suite, and past building security and Wyst’s personal security. ”
“He moves fast because he plans first. As far as we know, he’s got three left on his list. Banner, Wyst, O’Brian. If Banner hasn’t fled, and I don’t think he has, he thinks he’s safe, and wouldn’t know about the raid yet.”
But he soon would, she thought.
“If Redman didn’t beat us to him, Whitney will bring him in. We’ll bring in Wyst, unless. And when we do, we’ll try Abernathy at Interpol, see if he wants to cut through some of the tape to extradite O’Brian.”
She pulled up in front of the building. “Do the media conference in the morning, and use that to try to convince Redman to give it up.”
The doorman rushed over as Eve killed the sirens and jumped out.
He obviously knew the rules of the road. “Lieutenant Dallas, there’s obviously a problem. How can I help?”
“Jacob Wyst.”
“He and his two bodyguards came in about an hour ago, maybe seventy minutes. He hasn’t left.”
“Good. Watch my ride.”
“Absolutely.” And he hustled back to the door to hold it open.
She crossed the lobby. Cams, security. But, she thought, with the mezzanine level, people could go up for a drink, a meal, to one of the shops.
Elevators? Residents or their cleared guests only.
But, but, but.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” The woman at the desk, young, attractive, offered a smile a little nervous around the edges. “How can I help you?”
“Jacob Wyst.”
“Mr. Wyst came in, ah, about an hour ago, in the company of two men. He requested a DND on the suite for the rest of his stay.”
“Has anyone come in for him, asking about him?”
“No, sir.” The nerves spread a little more. “According to my instructions, sir is correct.”
“That’s right. I need you to clear us up, now. Do not alert him.”
“Right away.” The woman left the desk, hurried over to a bank of elevators. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask. Do you want to be cleared to the suite’s entrance, or by private elevator inside the suite?”
“Private.”
She held up a finger, walked around a corner to another elevator.