Part 14 The Resurrection of Samuel J. Speedman
THE RESURRECTION OF SAMUEL J. SPEEDMAN
Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognises genius.
– Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
The Valley of Fear
If the Unperson had, at some point, left Uri or Vasha to make sure I didn’t resurface from the newly poured concrete, they were long gone now.
(I mean, I would’ve left, too. Who would imagine anyone tunnelling out of their concrete tomb for nearly twenty-two hours using a butane lighter, sulfuric acid and some rusted pieces of steel?)
I had no phone, no money, no nothing on my person.
I found a hose and washed my face and hands.
Then I hurried out of the construction site and hailed a cab.
The driver gave me an odd look. My clothes were still covered in dust.
‘Where to?’ he said.
‘Jane Street in the West Village, please. And I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
Jane Street, West Village
31 December, 2225 hours
When I arrived at Leaf’s place in the West Village about an hour later, Heidi and Audrey hugged me in surprise, joy and relief. (I got Heidi to pay for the cab.)
‘Where have you been?’ Audrey said, eyeing the grey dust all over me.
‘We thought you were dead,’ Heidi said. ‘God, look at you. What happened?’
‘The bad guys caught me at Winnie Tan’s place yesterday, drugged me with Duramorph and then buried me alive in concrete. But I got out.’
‘They did what? Then you did what?’
‘They also took my backpack with my laptop in it and my phone, and now I need a computer. Heidi, have you got your laptop here?’
‘Sure.’ She grabbed it from a nearby table and handed it to me.
‘We have to keep moving.’ My mind was in overdrive and I was speaking fast as I began typing. ‘Heidi, grab your gun. Audrey, can I borrow yours?’
‘On it.’ Heidi hurried into another room.
‘Of course,’ Audrey said. ‘Sam, what are you doing?’ she added as she handed me her FBI-issued pistol. I jammed it into the back of my waistband.
‘Can you walk?’ I said. ‘I need you to come with us.’
‘I’ll help in any way I can. Where are we going?’ She was still wearing Leaf’s pyjamas.
‘Aristo King is hosting a memorial party and foundation fundraiser tonight in honour of his son, Ajax, at Winnie Tan’s apartment in the Steinway Tower. I’m guessing some FBI folks were invited, like your boss, Longmuir.’
Audrey nodded bitterly. ‘Yeah, King wanted to give them special thank-you awards. My bosses couldn’t RSVP fast enough.’
‘Good. That’s actually helpful,’ I said as I typed.
‘What? Why? Sam, slow down. I don’t understand a word you’re saying.’
‘Because we’re going to that party now, to finish this. Winnie Tan’s going to be out in the open tonight and I don’t know if we’ll get another chance at this. But there’ll be major security, which is why I need you and your FBI badge to get us in.’
‘Sam—’
‘Trust me, Audrey. Get dressed and I’ll tell you on the way.’
As Audrey got changed, I ate two bananas and chugged down a bottle of water, all while I punched in my log-in details on an app on Heidi’s laptop: Apple’s ‘Find My’ app.
And I saw it.
A small location icon.
Pulsing.
I noted the address.
Interesting that they went there, I thought. Maybe they don’t trust Winnie anymore. Hmmm.
I checked the time.
11:05 p.m.
Audrey returned from the guestroom—moving a little gingerly—now dressed in her suit and with her hair quickly brushed.
‘We have to go,’ I said.
‘Sam . . .’ Audrey said. ‘You’re covered in dust and grime.’
‘No time,’ I said.
I hustled Audrey and Heidi out of the townhouse to the street where we hailed a cab.
‘Where to?’ the cabbie asked.
‘The Steinway Tower on 57th Street, please,’ I said. ‘But we need to make one stop on the way.’
STEINWAY TOWER
Steinway Tower
West 57th Street, Manhattan
31 December, 2335 hours
Even with all the street closures in effect for New Year’s Eve, we made good time going to Billionaires’ Row on 57th Street.
It was almost midnight and I guessed most folks were either at parties or at home, leaving the streets pretty clear.
We made our stop at a 24-hour Walgreens pharmacy: I raced in and made a quick purchase.
Then we continued on our way.
As we did, I told Audrey and Heidi about Winnie Tan hiring Modern Alchemical Solutions and its owner, the Unperson, to arrange everything on December 21st in order to set up Yasmina Ivanova and win Aristo King back. I also told them about the deaths of Monty Woods and the two Russians.
‘Looks like Winnie’s plan worked,’ Audrey said, ‘given that Aristo’s now hosting his party/fundraiser at her place.’
‘Yup.’
Heidi frowned. ‘That dude said his name was Unperson? That’s so creepy.’
‘He’s a creepy guy. Smart, too.’
As we drove, I used Heidi’s laptop and her phone’s hotspot to check something else online: my emails.
I scanned my inbox.
And suddenly one email caught my attention.
It had been sent yesterday afternoon—at 3:31 p.m.—during the hours when I’d been out cold, thanks to the Duramorph. It had come with an attachment.
I noted the sender.
Then I opened the attachment, read it and frowned. ‘Hmmm.’
‘What is it?’ Audrey said.
‘The final piece of the puzzle,’ I said.
I showed it to her and Heidi.
‘Goddamn . . .’ Audrey said.
‘No fucking way . . .’ Heidi said.
I just shook my head. ‘What a shame.’
Our cab pulled to a halt outside the street entrance to the Steinway Tower.
Like 59West, the Steinway is a colossal yet ultra-thin tower filled with mega-expensive apartments.
Also like 59West, it has a unique feature: it rises in ever--narrowing steps called ‘feathered setbacks’ which means that some of its superhigh apartments have balconies.
There were eight guards at the entrance: three private security guys, three NYPD cops and two FBI agents.
I’d expected this, given the guests who would be at Aristo King’s party: rich friends, maybe a politician or two, and at least one FBI deputy director.
Audrey led with her FBI badge.
‘We have to get up to that party,’ she declared.
The two agents answered by drawing their service pistols and aiming them at me.
‘Step away, Agent Mills. We were given specific orders to keep an eye out for him—’
So much for my plan.
Then it got worse.
For, right then, another FBI agent came storming out of the lobby, his eyes blazing with fury.
Special Agent Trey Hooper.
I didn’t need this.
Getting stopped by the other agents was one thing, but this was personal and I needed to get into that party.
Hooper glowered at the sight of me.
‘Trey, listen—’ Audrey began.
‘No, Audrey. Are you all right?’
‘We have to get up to that—’
‘And you.’ He stepped in front of me, scanning me up and down with distaste.
We couldn’t have looked more different.
Him, in his FBI suit, handsome and well groomed.
Me, in my dirty grey Patagonia fleece jacket and jeans, with concrete dust on my throat and my glasses and in my messy hair.
‘Listen, Hooper. I know you don’t like me but we have to get up to that party now—’
‘You . . .’ he said again, ‘. . . you saved my life in Chinatown. Threw me over that counter a second before that robot cart blew up. I owe you and I hate that I do. Where do you have to get to?’
I’m not often surprised, but that surprised me.
Trey Hooper wasn’t a total douchebag. (He was still a pretty big douchebag, given everything he’d done to Audrey, but not a total one.)
A minute later, we were zooming up to the 77th floor in one of the Steinway Tower’s high-speed elevators.
Me, Audrey, Heidi and Trey Hooper.
As the elevator rose, my face set.
Time check.
11:45 p.m.
‘Heidi, you ready?’ I said.
‘Ready to rock, little man.’
‘Let’s do this.’
The elevator arrived and its doors opened.
We stepped out into an expansive apartment high above the city . . .
. . . to find all the guests standing with their backs to us, facing the living area to the north, all clutching champagne flutes.
A speech was underway.
Aristo King was giving it.
‘. . . I remember when he was a boy, Ajax just loved going to our vacation home in Hawaii. He said Kūki‘o was his favourite place in the whole world . . .’
King stood with his back to an enormous picture window that overlooked Central Park (with the thin shadow of 59West partially blocking the view).
Winnie Tan stood proudly at his side, listening solemnly.
(I also noticed Merritt Garrett, Aristo King’s head of security, standing nearby with Mia Kimura, King’s executive assistant and occasional booty call.)
Six large-screen TVs were arrayed around the living room, all of them showing a montage of photos of King’s recently deceased son, Ajax.
A shot of Ajax as a smiling boy in Hawaii made the crowd of wealthy guests sigh as one.
‘Heidi.’
‘Give me a few seconds.’ Heidi tapped away on her laptop.
‘Hey! What are you doing here?’ Deputy Director Gavin Longmuir hustled up to us, his face going red.
‘Sir.’ Hooper stepped in front of me. ‘I got this.’
Heidi hit a final button on her laptop, seizing control of the wi-fi-connected video system . . .
. . . and it happened.
As Aristo King continued speaking—‘what Ajax lacked in studiousness, he more than made up for with partying’—the montage of photos on all the television screens suddenly changed . . .
. . . to a video recording . . .
. . . of Winnie Tan . . .
. . . looking almost directly at the camera, saying angrily, ‘Why have you come here? To try to blackmail me with some sex tapes?’
My voice answered her.
‘No, I—’
‘You think I’m some doe-eyed billionaire’s ex-wife who’s going to be cowed by a sleazy private detective?’
It was the recording I’d made at Winnie Tan’s place the previous day.
Using a camera-equipped pen I’d taken from the Tech Detect’s offices that had poked inconspicuously out of the left shoulder pocket of my Patagonia jacket, filming my entire encounter with Winnie Tan.
The crowd of guests started murmuring, confused but also interested.
My voice: ‘After you reconnected with Aristo King, did you want him back?’
At the front of the room, Winnie Tan whirled. ‘What’s going on? Who’s doing this!’
But beside her, even Aristo King was now staring at the TV screens, watching and listening.
The Winnie on the TV filled the screen, her face twisted with fury.