Part 2 A Test #3
‘Juno Everhart from Chicago.’ She gave me a curt professional nod. I hoped I could introduce Heidi to her later.
Fourth came a tall, good-looking dude in his late 50s. He had a tanned, wrinkled face, sharp blue eyes and flowing brown hair. He wore a navy blazer, a white t-shirt, Wrangler jeans, a big belt buckle and cowboy boots. He was more ‘cowboy’ than I was and I’d lived my whole life in Texas.
‘Merritt Garrett, also from New York, and finally . . .’
He indicated me.
‘. . . Samuel Speedman from Houston.’
Standing in a loose semicircle, we all looked at each other, uncertain what exactly this ‘test’ was, what it would require us to do, and—to be honest—whether it might make us compete against each other.
It was 11:53.
Since I’d arrived last and we had a few minutes, I felt I had a little catching up to do.
I nodded at the items on the bed.
‘That’s Mr King’s watch?’
‘Yes,’ Trey Hooper said. ‘Custom-made Richard Mille. A one-of-a-kind made for Mr King.’
‘And his blood?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do we know yet how he was taken?’ I asked. ‘I mean, it must be pretty hard to kidnap the world’s richest man.’
Hooper said, ‘According to Mrs King, Mr King was staying here last night with his two youngest children. His assistant, Ms Kimura, raised the alarm when Mr King didn’t answer the call bell or his phone when she arrived at 6:35 a.m. This was most unusual.
She used her keycard to get inside and found all this. Then she called us.’
I nodded. I also recalled that Mrs King hadn’t been staying in the glorious penthouse with her husband. That was noteworthy.
‘What about King’s bodyguard?’ I asked. ‘King must’ve had one with him at all times, including while he slept.’
‘Also missing,’ Trey Hooper said.
‘Signs of forced entry?’
‘None.’
That told me something. I filed it away in the back of my mind.
‘The voice on the drone says four of his kids have been taken. Not all of them?’
‘The two oldest children live in London and Paris. They’re safe and accounted for. The other four, however, are indeed all missing: Ajax and Cassandra—who also live in this building—and the two very young ones, Alexei and Katya, who, as I just said, were staying here with Mr King.’
I frowned. The kidnapping of young children often didn’t end well. The experience was also pretty darn terrifying for them.
‘The two kids who were staying here, they had bodyguards as well?’
‘Yes. Their bodyguards are also missing.’
‘And a nanny?’
‘Gone, too.’
I pointed at the bed. ‘The phone is King’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you opened it?’
‘Not yet, no.’ It was the female private detective who had spoken: Juno Everhart.
I threw a questioning look at the Tech Detect. All of us could unlock a regular phone; if anyone could unlock one with extra security, it was him.
He said, ‘We were waiting till you got here and for what’s going to happen at noon. Didn’t want to trigger any kind of booby trap.’
I peered at the chess piece: the black king.
‘And this?’
(I actually knew what it was, but I wanted to see what everybody else knew.)
‘It’s a calling card,’ Merritt Garrett said.
‘From a man known as the Grandmaster. Russian criminal fixer. Mostly kidnapping and extortion, sometimes murder for hire. Suspected links to the Russian mafia led by Roman Oberov out at Brighton Beach and also, according to some, Russian foreign intelligence. He’s smart. Got a flair for the theatrical.’
I turned to Special Agent Hooper. ‘Does the FBI have a file on this Grandmaster guy?’
‘No, this is the first we’ve heard of him.’
The Tech Detect said, ‘I know him.’
Juno Everhart said, ‘Me, too.’
Xiao said, ‘I, as well. My interaction with him involved clients who wanted to keep the matter quiet.’
‘Mine, too,’ Garrett said.
(Mine had, as well, I thought.)
‘And the great big military attack drone?’ I asked. ‘It’s from King’s company?’
Trey Hooper said, ‘Yeah, it is. Glad we have you geniuses around.’
I nodded at the long mirror above the bookcase.
‘And has anyone checked behind this secret two-way mirror?’
Everyone turned to face the broad mirror.
‘Two-way what—’ Hooper spun.
‘The secret what—’ Longmuir said.
I said, ‘I touched it on the way in. A regular mirror has a gap between your finger and its reflection. A two-way mirror doesn’t. This mirror doesn’t.’
‘I—well—we . . .’ Hooper stammered.
At that moment, the Tech Detect’s Apple watch buzzed.
‘It’s noon . . .’ he said.
No sooner had he spoken than the distorted voice on the drone clicked off.
And another message began.
It was the same voice, clear and cultured.
‘Hello, everyone. Thank you all for coming. You’ll find Mr King’s youngest boy and his henchman under Alexander’s henchman and Hudson’s enthusiastic drop patter. You have until 12:05 to find them. Then I kill them.’
Click.
Nothing.
There was a brief pause among the group.
Then everyone spoke at once.
‘We only have five minutes?’ Director Longmuir gasped.
‘Who’s Alexander?’ Agent Hooper said. ‘Is that the kid’s name?’
‘No,’ Merritt Garrett said quickly. ‘King’s youngest son is named Alexei.’
‘It’s a riddle . . .’ I said softly.
‘Who the hell’s “his henchman?”’ Director Longmuir asked. ‘He said King’s youngest boy and his henchman.’
‘All of King’s children have their own personal bodyguards,’ Audrey said. ‘Maybe that’s what he meant.’
The others were talking over each other.
‘And Alexander’s henchman?’ Juno Everhart said. ‘A reference to Alexander the Great, maybe? To his companion? What was his name?’
‘Hephaestion,’ said the Chinese detective, Xiao.
‘And what about the reference to the Hudson?’ Hooper said. ‘Do we need to check the river?’
I remained silent, thinking.
Audrey turned to me. ‘What do you think?’
I bit my lip. ‘He only gave us five minutes, so that means they must be close. Somewhere we can get to quickly. Somewhere inside this three-storey condo.’
Hooper overheard me and raised his voice over the chatter of the group: ‘Remember, he only gave us five minutes, people, so that means the boy and his bodyguard have to be nearby, somewhere in this building!’
After noting how quickly he’d stolen my idea, I looked at my Casio watch.
It ticked over to 12:01.
Four minutes left.
The Tech Detect had his laptop out.
He read from it. ‘Okay, Hephaestion was Alexander’s childhood friend, general and suspected male lover.’
Audrey turned to me. ‘Didn’t you say that one of the paintings back near the elevator was of Alexander the Great?’
‘Yes, it showed him visiting the Tomb of Achilles, but I don’t think that’s—’
Hooper heard that, too, and was already hurrying for the door.
‘Let’s check that painting!’ Hooper said. ‘Maybe there’s something behind it!’
He dashed from the room, followed by his boss, the Tech Detect, Juno Everhart and Xiao.
I lingered in the bedroom.
Merritt Garrett did, too.
‘Sam?’ Audrey said. ‘Should we go with them?’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘They’re wrong. It’s not that kind of clue.’
I checked my watch again.
12:01 became 12:02.
Three minutes.
‘Alexander. And Hudson,’ I said, thinking aloud.
Merritt Garrett said, ‘He said, “Hudson’s enthusiastic drop patter”. Patter is, like, speech; talking rapidly. I don’t think Hudson is a reference to the river. I think it might be a reference to a person, a person who spoke excitedly about something.’
‘This is a targeted riddle,’ I said. ‘The kidnapper wants to show he’s smarter than we are, so he must’ve given us a chance to solve it. We’ve seen the answer somewhere.’
‘Like the Alexander the Great painting?’ Audrey said. ‘Or is there some other piece of art that refers to a different Alexander?’
I spun, looked at her.
And realised.
‘Audrey, you’re a genius.’
‘I am?’
‘It’s not a painting. It’s one of King’s other collectibles that we saw on the way in here.
The first Superman comic. Action Comics No.
1. “Alexander” isn’t Alexander the Great.
It’s a Superman character, Superman’s arch nemesis: Alexander “Lex” Luthor.
In the 1978 movie, Lex Luthor’s henchman was . . . oh, no . . .’
‘What?’ Audrey said. ‘Who was Lex Luthor’s henchman?’
I checked the time.
12:03.
We had two minutes.
‘Lex Luthor’s chief henchman was named Otis,’ I said. ‘The elevators. The kid and his bodyguard are hanging under one of the Otis elevators in this building!’
I bolted out of the bedroom.
‘But which elevator?!’ Audrey yelled as we burst out of the bedroom. ‘This building has four elevators and we only have two minutes to check them!’
Merritt Garrett hurried behind us, trying to keep up.
Heidi and Bill took off after us, clearly confused.
‘Sam—?’ Heidi began.
‘I’ll tell you later, just stay close to us,’ I called as I ran.
We came at a full sprint to the vestibule, where all the other detectives and FBI agents were gathered around the painting of Alexander the Great at Achilles’ tomb.
They’d pulled the painting off the wall and were examining the bare wall behind it.
I had eyes only for the private elevator beyond them.
It was still stopped on this floor, its doors open, empty.
‘You! Sir!’ I pointed at the building’s stocky superintendent in his clean white coveralls. I figured his name was Lenny, given the embroidered patch on his pocket. ‘With us! Now! Please!’
He hurried after us.
I kept running, sweeping down the spiralling staircase that led to the middle floor below.
‘The second clue tells us which elevator!’ I called back to my companions. ‘Mr Garrett was half right: Hudson isn’t the river, he’s a person . . . only he’s not a real person!’
‘Not a real person? Stop talking in riddles, Sam!’ Audrey said, dashing down the stairs after me.
As I hit the middle level of the apartment, I said, ‘Hudson’s a fictional character who engaged in rapid, excited speech. Patter. Only our Hudson’s patter was enthusiastic drop patter.’
It had all clicked in my mind as soon as I’d said the word ‘elevators’.
‘The Alien movies,’ I said as I raced to the elevator doors on this middle level.
‘Aristo King names his rockets after the spaceships in the Alien movies. Hudson isn’t a real person, he’s the character from Aliens . . .’