Couples
Chapter 120
As the last guests depart from the loft, Jack lowers his scope and pulls an iPad from his pack. After verifying his fingerprint and entering several codes, a flow of data appears on the screen. Reasoning where Azra is most likely to turn up, he runs search functions for translate and translator. Now that's interesting. One translator was handling a group that spoke Urdu, Pashto, Russian, Ukrainian, and English. That couldn't be much more in Azra's wheelhouse.
The session took place in a facility Jack's never heard of. Given how thoroughly Azra dropped from sight, that's not surprising either. The agency involved isn't on any government roster, not even the unofficial ones. But by running more analytics, he manages to come up with GPS coordinates. Wow! It's on Canal Street, reachable from almost every subway in town.
Jack pulls up an aerial view, a current one, not the carefully redacted image available on Google Earth. Still, nothing pops. The area is occupied by storefronts and stalls of questionable merchants who hawk even more questionable goods. He switches to infrared.
There's more heat rising from the region than there should be, much more heat. The only thing Jack can figure is that the facility is underground. With the conjunction of subterranean train routes, many businesses have been located on lower city levels. That includes cut-rate outlets, among other things.
Jack recalls one that was uptown when Richard was a baby. It had an eternal "Going out of Business" sign and sold giant stuffed animals, the kind displayed but seldom won, in midways of fairs and carnivals. There was a whimsical owl that he would have loved to buy for his son. But of course, at the time, it wasn't safe to be anywhere near the child.
With that memory in mind, he wonders who or what took over other abandoned underground edifices. It doesn't really matter what branch of covert intelligence is involved, as long as Azra is safe – and he can find her. And that just became easier. He can set up surveillance at the nearest subway entrance to the heat source. With any luck, sooner or later, Azra will emerge. He hopes he'll still be able to recognize her.
Leaving her family after Thanksgiving dinner doesn't bother Christine much. Most of it is gathered around the T.V. to watch football. She's never been fond of or even understood why anyone would play or watch the game. The professional players make a lot of money, of course, but for a relatively short span of their lives. And during that time, they wreck various body parts. Unfortunately, they also make themselves vulnerable to brain injury. But the fans seem to enjoy watching them pummel each other. She supposes that they're not much different than ancient Romans at the Colosseum. Too bad the human race hasn't changed much in thousands of years. Bloodlust seems as popular as ever – at least in some cases.
Most of the people she's worked with don't have time to sit on their butts on weekends staring at a screen and shoving spicy wings and nachos into their mouths. They're too busy making the food. If it hadn't been for the feast her family just consumed, she'd be making sure they have ample snacks before she takes off.
As it is, she's going to feed people with a much more pressing need. No doubt, Auchincloss and Madison have been in a kitchen at the Bowery since early morning. The least Christine can do is lighten the load a little. The mission is only a subway ride away. And the train probably won't even be crowded. Many New Yorkers will be falling into a post-turkey haze or glued to the tube.
While Madison is going strong, Christine can see the day is beginning to wear on Auchincloss. And she imagines that things went late at Pot Pie Palace last night. As the entrepreneur-chef, he would have been the last one out. He's expertly dicing the ingredients for a fresh batch of stuffing, a chore that would typically fall to a sous chef. She ties on an apron. "Can I help with that?"
"Chef Azaria! Madison said you were coming, but I was beginning to doubt that you'd show up. This prep is right in your lane. If you handle it, I can work on carving the birds."
Despite the gruffness of his response, Christine believes she detects the hint of a smile ghosting his lips as she takes his place.
The line of hungry people looking for any meal, let alone a Thanksgiving feast, seems unending, even as the sun sinks well below the horizon and the evening chill sets in. In addition to the food, the mission is doing its best to provide jackets and warm socks to those who don't have them. Finally, the crowd thins, and the volunteers begin cleaning up.
Christine watches as Auchincloss carefully preserves the few leftovers. "I can do that if you want to go home, Chef. I hope I'm not out of line, but you do look a little tired."
"I'm fine," Auchincloss insists. "We should finish together. I want to talk to you afterward."
Christine's gut tightens. "Yes, Chef."
Madison wipes down the last surface. "Do you need anything else, Chef?"
"No, you're finished," Auchincloss responds. "Go enjoy that new room the Immigrants' Fund found for you."
Madison grins. "No worries, then. Cheers!" He pulls off his apron and waves as he leaves the kitchen.
Christine looks around. Everything is spic and span and set to feed the regular clients the next morning. "You said you wanted to talk to me, Chef."
Auchincloss clears his throat. "Um, yes. You've been doing an excellent job, and you show great promise in the kitchen."
"Thank you, Chef."
"Christine, when we're not working, you can call me Benedict, or Ben, if you like."
Her mouth falls open in confusion. "OK, um, Ben. I'm pleased that I can work up to your standards. I'm learning a lot from you and from Madison too. I'm really glad you brought him in. But is there something else you wanted to tell me?"
Auchincloss clears his throat again. "Uh, I was wondering if you would like to be my partner on Kitchen Klash."
Her jaw drops completely. "The competition on the Food Channel?"
"That's right. Participants can bring the sous chef of their choice, and I was hoping you'd agree to support me."
"I'm honored, Chef – Ben. But wouldn't you be better off bringing Madison? He has much more experience. And you admired his work in competition before," Christine recalls.
"Madison needs to keep a low profile until we finish straightening out his immigration status. But that aside, he has his style, and I have mine. Your work fits perfectly with mine. I believe we can make a winning team."
"What about Imagination Patch and Pot Pie Palace? Can we both be away from the job that long?" Christine wonders.
"The competition is on January 2. Mr. Castle suggested that Imagination Patch could close that day or open late. Many of our customers will be wasted from the parties the night before or from the stress of the holiday. And I can do what I like with Pot Pie Palace. I don't think the pies would be much of a hangover cure.
"The Cookery Stadium is in midtown. We won't have to go very far. We can fit in the competition. The real issue will be preparation. We'll have to turn out three signature dishes in an hour. We'll need to decide what recipes we'll use, what ingredients and equipment we'll need, and have everything lined up and ready to go."
"How about practicing?" Christine inquires.
"We'll have to do plenty of that too," Auchincloss admits. "We'll be spending a lot of time together. The few off-hours we usually have will be filled. Are you willing to make that kind of commitment?"
"To put our work in front of the world? Hell yes, I'm in!" Christine exclaims, sticking out her hand.
Auchincloss shakes it a moment longer than necessary. "Excellent!"