All disclaimers in chapters one and five. (Reviews will only make the next part come out more quickly.)
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Six
Grand Empire Insurance
4:55 p.m.
"Sign and date, sign and date, sign and date," Roger Bender murmured as he signed the report and the two copies on his desk, gleefully date-stamping the last one. "Ta-da! Done on time!"
Grinning with pride, he put the pen and the date stamper away and began gathering his things. It was a rare occasion when he finished up any report before the deadline, and a miracle that he'd done so after having come into work late. But leaving it to his secretary had not been an option; he really didn't trust her to handle it. Not with Spence so completely on edge with the SEC investigation.
Well, Spence could go to hell. Roger began whistling in spite of himself as he finished packing up his briefcase, pausing to grab his suit jacket and keys. As he turned towards the door, he nearly dropped his jacket mid-whistle.
Spence was standing in the doorway. He still looked frazzled, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye that hadn't been there for a while. "Heading home, Bender? Don't you owe me a report?"
Roger regained his composure faster than usual; he was prepared for this situation. He smoothly retrieved the three copies from his desk. "Oh, this one? It's all done."
"Are you sure?" Spence asked, taking a copy and flipping through it, searching for any errors he could spot on the fly. "Proofed? Copied? Dated? You referenced everything this time?"
"Every word," Roger said proudly. "Look, Craig, I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to pick up my wife--"
Spence was reading through the report, surprised and pleased. "This is excellent."
Roger hesitated. "Really?"
"Indeed it is," Spence said. "And since you've done such a good job with this report, I think you might want to have a go at editing this draft Ross gave me for tomorrow morning." He produced a huge stack of paper seemingly from thin air. "I'd do it myself, but it's a real mess, and I think it should be handled by an old pro."
Roger was stunned as the report was shoved into his hands. "But - but - but--"
"I knew you'd feel that way," Spence replied, patting him on the shoulder. "Take one for the team, Bender." He started off down the hall, turning back to add, "Your wife will just have to take a taxi."
Roger watched him go, then trudged back into his office, throwing his jacket back on the chair. "Bastard."
*****
Salzburg and Rogeilla Real Estate
5:05 p.m.
Janet jumped in surprise as the phone rang, nearly knocking her now-empty coffee mug off of the desk. She'd been so engrossed in trying to get some last-minute paperwork done that the sudden intrusion startled her. At least there was no one here to see her; Bill and Carla had both left early. And Lisa hadn't shown up at all, a fact that had been bothering Janet all day.
She composed herself and picked up the receiver on the third ring. "Salzburg and Rogeilla."
"Janet, thank God you're still there. It's Lisa."
"Lisa!" Janet exclaimed, doubly glad that she was the only one in the office. "Where on earth have you been? I tried you at home, but--"
"I'm fine, Janet," Lisa interrupted. "Listen, I'm going to be out for a few days. I've, uh, got a family emergency."
"Family emergency? Lisa, there was a SWAT team on your front lawn last night!"
"How did you know about that?"
"I had to give Roger a ride," Janet replied, hesitating as the double entendre hit her. "In my car, that is. Where are you?"
Lisa paused. "I can't tell you, but I'm okay and Heather's with me. If you see Roger, tell him not to worry, all right?"
"All right," Janet agreed reluctantly. "But can't you tell me--"
But Lisa had already hung up.
*****
Penn Station
5:10 p.m.
Lisa hurried back to the line at the ticket booth, where Heather was holding their place. She got back just in time to make it to the booth, pulling out the money that Michael had given her. "Two for the 5:30 to Boston," she said, hoping to God that they could get on the train.
The ticket agent took a look at the disheveled pair, then the wad of cash Lisa was counting out. "You're in luck," he informed them. "We still have several seats available."
Heather punched the air triumphantly. "Yes!"
Lisa sighed in relief as she counted out the money, smiling at her daughter's antics.
*****
Special Agent #2 had been listening intently to phone conversations for a few hours. His body language gave no indication that he was listening to anything important, since he remained in the same relaxed position that he'd been in since he first put the headphones on. But his eyes flicked back and forth intently, narrowing in suspicion.
No one noticed his agitation, and no one noticed his haste to delete the recording from the tape. They were all too busy with other matters, and since the phone taps hadn't yielded any information so far, didn't have surveillance as a high priority. It was fortunate that they had thought to put a tap on the real estate office's phone.
He got up, asked one of the agents to take his place, and slipped out of the van. He had a few calls to make.
*****
Outside Grand Central Station
5:30 p.m.
"We're all set up," Special Agent #1 informed Morris, who looked around at the scattering of police cars and the unmarked cars in the area. The black FBI van was parked on the other side of the street from the station entrance. "We've got choppers in the air and plainclothes agents inside. Bomb squad's on alert and we have a HAZMAT team standing by."
"Good," Morris said as they walked over to the FBI van. "No chance of blocking off traffic?"
"Here? Now? Are you kidding?"
"Wishful thinking. What about the money?"
The back of the van opened up, and they stepped inside. One of the agents handed Morris a metal suitcase. "$15 million in bearer bonds," the agent said as Morris cast a perfunctory glance inside and shut it again, shaking off the peculiar sense of deja vu he was getting.
He turned back to his right-hand man. "Can we spare any men to check out Leflin Incorporated?"
Special Agent #1 nodded. "Special Agent #2 is looking into it. Unfortunately, the terrorist threat is our main concern right now."
Morris shook his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say they timed this."
*****
Penn Station
"Hey, this is pretty nice," Heather observed, examining the empty compartment that she and Lisa had all to themselves. "We didn't do too badly, did we?"
Lisa leaned back in her seat. "I don't know. I can't help feeling that I'm missing something."
"Relax, Mom," Heather assured her. "We got seats at the last minute at a good price. We're on a train out of town and we've got plenty of cash left."
"That's what bothers me."
Heather sighed as the train began to move. "Knock it off, Mom. I'm supposed to be the pessimist here."
*****
Leflin Incorporated
5:45 p.m.
The phone on Bernard Leflin Jr's desk rang. With an irritated sigh, he checked the number on the display and flicked on the speaker. "Go ahead."
"We just received a lead on one of the traces," a male voice responded. Lydia didn't recognize the voice, but she had a feeling she knew who it was anyway. "Mrs. Wiseman called her office a little over half an hour ago. We traced the call to Penn Station."
"And you waited that long to call me?"
"Long enough to find out where she was headed," the voice replied quickly. "She bought two tickets for a 5:30 train to Boston. Amtrak, train number 563."
Leflin nodded, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he took the number down. "Very good." He straightened up. "Don't trouble yourself with retrieval. We'll handle it here. Stay with the competition and keep me posted."
"Yes, sir." The man on the other end hung up.
Lydia raised an eyebrow. "'The competition?'"
"Appropriate, actually," Leflin replied coolly, standing up. "Get the car ready," he told the others. "We're all going on a train ride."
"You're dragging me along?" Lydia asked. "Bernie, have you lost your mind?"
He smiled. "Walters is convinced I can't trust you. Of course, I can't trust him, but recent events have spun too far out of my control to trust anyone at this point. Besides, what else should I do with you?"
Her purse was sitting on the table outside the office. "You could let me make a stop in the ladies' room."
"Fair enough." He gestured for her to lead him out.
As she walked into the hall, she stopped and reached for her purse, only to have the gorilla guarding it grab her wrist. "You don't need that."
"Oh yes, I do," she replied, pulling her hand free. "I've got a bit of a *problem* I need to attend to." At his blank stare, she sighed. "Do I need to spell it out for you? Or would you like to go in there and search for it yourself?"
The big man paled and thrust the bag towards her, holding it away from him as though it were a live cobra. The other security guards chuckled as Lydia took the purse and started rummaging through it. As she shifted things around, she caught hold of her cellphone, slipping it into a small makeup bag. Having done that, she pulled the bag out of the purse. "Here it is."
"Wonderful," Leflin said uncomfortably. He turned to one of the other guards. "Escort her to the ladies' room, if you please."
*****
Outside Grand Central Station
5:49 p.m.
Michael stayed in the center of the rush-hour crowds, moving along with the flow of human traffic as he approached the entrance to Grand Central Station, staying on the other side of the street. He could see a few police cars, but he was sure there were plenty of unmarked vehicles in the area. That black van on the corner looked particularly suspicious.
Maybe a different route would be a good idea.
*****
Leflin Incorporated
The two security guards stood outside the ladies' restroom, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
"Are you done yet, Dr. Ross?" one of them shouted.
"Just five more minutes!" Lydia called back, fumbling with the cellphone. _Now if I could just remember that number..._
*****
Outside Grand Central Station
5:50 p.m.
If there was one thing Dr. Theodore Morris hated, it was waiting. He paced back and forth in the small space behind the van in frustration.
"He's not coming," the bald agent said.
Waiting was bad enough, but waiting with a complete pessimist was worse. "How do you figure that?" Morris growled.
His second-in-command was unfazed by Morris' foul mood. "It's ten of six. If he was coming, he'd be here by now."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Morris turned his attention to the traffic, watching car after car slowly pass by. There was the occasional speed demon, but traffic was typical for rush hour. A large green van passed in front of the station, taking its time and blocking Morris' view of the entrance.
The entrance to the station was clear of people. In the next second, as the van passed by, someone appeared in front of the entrance. Michael Wiseman stood there, looking right at him and waiting. Morris started slightly, impressed. He hadn't even seen the man approach. Well, at least that showed that he had indeed paid attention to his training.
"Sir!" a voice barked through Morris' headset, startling him. "Wiseman was just seen--"
"I know," Morris snapped. "Hold your positions. I'm going out to meet him." He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his cellphone and a small black box. "Not coming?"
Special Agent #1 shrugged. "So I was wrong."
Morris took the suitcase of money from a nearby FBI agent, tossing the cellphone to Special Agent #1. "Make yourself useful. Take my calls."
With that, he turned and started for the crosswalk, heading across the street. For once, things were going according to plan.
*****
As soon as Dr. Morris spotted him, Michael knew there was no turning back. The tall scientist ducked back behind the black van and appeared a few seconds later with a metal briefcase in one hand. He chucked a small black object at Special Agent #1, who looked utterly nonplussed as he caught it. Michael forced himself not to smile, almost wishing he could hear what the Doc had said. Then again, it felt better to have some distance between himself and the Doc for the time being.
Michael shifted his weight, unable and unwilling to relax. The Doc seemed to be taking forever. He glanced down the street, gauging the distance between himself and the unmarked van he'd literally vaulted over a few minutes ago. If he made a break for it now, he might just make it.
But, he knew, it was too late for that. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as Dr. Morris came up to him. The Doc was keeping a little more distance than usual between them. Seeing the cut on Morris' lip, Michael realized why.
The two men stared at each other for a few seconds. "It's about time," Morris said flatly. "Didn't think you'd come."
"Yeah, well, you know me," Michael sighed. "I'm a sucker for punishment." Morris looked at him oddly, but did not reply. "How's the lip?"
"Healing," Morris answered. "How's the wife?"
Michael set his jaw. "She doesn't know anything, Doc. You've got to believe me."
"Give me one good reason to trust you now."
"I came back, didn't I?"
The tall scientist said nothing for several seconds, but the barely perceptible nod and the slight softening in his eyes was all the response that was needed.
*****
Dr. Morris had only made it halfway across the street when his cellphone rang. It took Special Agent #1 a moment or two to realize that the ringing was coming from his suit pocket. He retrieved the phone and turned it on. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end before a familiar voice spoke. "Who is this?"
Special Agent #1 sighed. Talk about lousy timing. "I'd tell you my name, but you don't like referring to people by numbers."
"Very funny. Where's Dr. Morris?"
"He's otherwise occupied. Told me to hold the phone," Special Agent #1 replied curtly. "Where the hell have you been?"
*****
"Fifteen million dollars in bearer bonds," Morris said, handing the suitcase to Michael. "Don't lose it."
He opened the small black box in his free hand. Michael took the transmitter and receiver without a word, putting them respectively under his shirt and in his ear.
Morris reached into his pocket and retrieved a small plastic bag. Inside was a key. "The locker number is 1469," he informed Michael. "You go in, head straight for the locker, and open it up. There are several plainclothes agents watching the lockers in case anything happens."
"Yeah, like a bomb blowing up in my face," Michael muttered.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
*****
"I don't have time to explain, but I think I found your mole," Lydia said. "I saw a couple of Leflin's people paying off your number-two man. Slicked-back black hair, six foot one - ring any bells?"
The bald agent blinked. "Special Agent #2?" he asked, incredulous.
"Talk about your uncreative codenames. But if that's the man I just described, yes."
"Impossible," the agent said scornfully.
Lydia forced herself to keep her voice down despite her irritation. "How else would Leflin have been able to keep your team off of the Wisemans' scent so easily? Pay a man on the inside to take charge of the search, spread false reports, ignore a few details. It happens."
Special Agent #1 inhaled deeply, trying to get his thoughts in order. "You're positive about this."
"I'd stake my career on it."
Nodding, Dr. Morris' right-hand man lowered the phone and glanced over to where another group of suits were positioned behind a police car. The man in question was not among them. His gaze traveled over to the fringe of the crowd before he spotted a familiar figure talking quietly into a cellphone. Special Agent #1 narrowed his eyes. "All right. Call back in ten minutes."
"I'll try, but - oh, hell. Got to go!" With that, she hung up abruptly.
*****
Michael didn't smile, pocketing the key and looking up again. "Were you really going to put it back in? That's all?"
"You should know the answer to that by now."
"You sound like my sixth-grade math teacher, Doc."
Morris checked his watch. "5:52 p.m. If I were you, I'd be heading into the station right now."
Michael glanced over at the entrance apprehensively. "Guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He took a deep breath and turned away, pausing for a moment before he finally started down into the station.
The Doc watched him go. "Actually, Mr. Wiseman," he murmured, "you did."
*****
Lydia managed to shove the cellphone back into the small makeup bag as the guards entered the bathroom. "Do you mind?" she snapped at them as they practically dragged her into the hallway. "Bernie, your father must have told you about respecting others' privacy."
"We don't have time for privacy, I'm afraid," Leflin replied. He had his cellphone pressed to his ear, listening to someone on the other end. For a moment, Lydia was afraid he might have tuned in to her recent conversation. "He did? Damn. We'll take care of it. See if you can't arrange a diversion after the fact. I'm implementing Plan C." With that, he hung up the phone.
Lydia sighed. "Do I even want to know what Plan C is?"
He folded his cellphone and put it in his breast pocket. "Trust has failed, so I'm going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."
*****
Grand Central Station
5:55 p.m.
At least they'd given him change for the turnstile this time. The note hadn't said anything about the subway, but it was always good to be prepared.
Michael stayed with the flow of traffic, looking around the station. Where were the lockers again?
"Mr. Wiseman." The Doc's voice in his ear nearly made him jump in surprise. "Have you found the locker yet?"
"I'm getting there, Doc," Michael muttered, shoving through the streams of people who all happened to be going in the opposite direction before he finally broke free and approached the lockers. "Okay. 1067... 1338... 1425... uh-oh."
"What do you mean, 'uh-oh?' Is there something wrong with the locker?"
To be honest, locker number 1469 was fine. It was the one above it that he was worried about. More specifically, Michael was worried about the man built like a tank trying to shove a huge bag into locker number 1468. He had to be seven feet tall at least, Michael realized, and he was pissed off. Not only that, he was blocking the locker Michael had to get to.
"Mr. Wiseman, answer me! Do we have a problem?"
"Oh, yeah," Michael replied. "About three hundred pounds' worth."
*****
Special Agent #2 hit the "End" key on the cellphone, privately pleased with himself. Before he could put the phone away, however, a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him against the side of one of the vans. He blinked, dazed, staring into the face of his superior. "Sir, what--"
"Who were you talking to?" Special Agent #1 demanded. Two more members of Morris' team were also present and glaring at their traitorous comrade coldly.
"No one," Special Agent #2 protested.
The cellphone was snatched from his hand. "No one?" the bald agent echoed, punching up a series of keystrokes that brought up a calling history. "This doesn't look like 'no one.' It doesn't even look like an authorized call."
"I was calling for backup--"
"Backup? From Leflin Incorporated?"
When the color drained from the other agent's face, Special Agent #1's suspicions were confirmed. He grabbed the dark-haired agent by the collar, pinning him against the van. "All right. Where are they?"
*****
Grand Central Station
"Excuse me," Michael said for the third time. "Could you move for a second?"
The giant blocking his way had ignored the first two attempts, but this time he glanced over at Michael. "Move me yourself."
Michael considered that, then shrugged and grabbed the other man's arm. The burly man turned, but before he could retaliate, Michael had already flipped him over his shoulder onto the concrete. He lay there, blinking up in confusion at Michael. "Sorry," Michael apologized, not entirely contrite.
The man said nothing, staring for a few seconds at the man who was half his size, then taking into account the distance he'd been thrown. He jumped to his feet, turned, and ran for it.
"Hey, you forgot your bag!" Michael called after him, but the man was still running. He shrugged and turned back to locker number 1469. Not surprisingly, the key fit in the lock. "All right, Doc, the key fits."
"It's one minute til six, Mr. Wiseman. Go ahead."
"I was afraid you were gonna say that."
Michael stared at the locker for a second before turning the key in the lock. He took a deep breath and held it, squeezing his eyes shut and steeling himself for the worst as he opened the door.
Nothing happened. Michael opened his eyes. The locker was empty - except for a folded piece of paper. Exhaling in relief, Michael took the paper and unfolded it. "There's a note, Doc."
"That's all? Read it."
He scanned the contents. "Says to take the 6:05 up to 145th and look for a purple tie-dyed shirt."
"145th Street," Morris repeated. "We'll see if we can't get a couple of teams up to Lenox. I'll stay in contact with you til then."
"What? That's it? Can't you get some plainclothes agents on the car with me?"
"We'll try, but I doubt it," Morris said. "It's almost six o'clock. You had better get moving, Mr. Wiseman."
*****
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Six
Grand Empire Insurance
4:55 p.m.
"Sign and date, sign and date, sign and date," Roger Bender murmured as he signed the report and the two copies on his desk, gleefully date-stamping the last one. "Ta-da! Done on time!"
Grinning with pride, he put the pen and the date stamper away and began gathering his things. It was a rare occasion when he finished up any report before the deadline, and a miracle that he'd done so after having come into work late. But leaving it to his secretary had not been an option; he really didn't trust her to handle it. Not with Spence so completely on edge with the SEC investigation.
Well, Spence could go to hell. Roger began whistling in spite of himself as he finished packing up his briefcase, pausing to grab his suit jacket and keys. As he turned towards the door, he nearly dropped his jacket mid-whistle.
Spence was standing in the doorway. He still looked frazzled, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye that hadn't been there for a while. "Heading home, Bender? Don't you owe me a report?"
Roger regained his composure faster than usual; he was prepared for this situation. He smoothly retrieved the three copies from his desk. "Oh, this one? It's all done."
"Are you sure?" Spence asked, taking a copy and flipping through it, searching for any errors he could spot on the fly. "Proofed? Copied? Dated? You referenced everything this time?"
"Every word," Roger said proudly. "Look, Craig, I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to pick up my wife--"
Spence was reading through the report, surprised and pleased. "This is excellent."
Roger hesitated. "Really?"
"Indeed it is," Spence said. "And since you've done such a good job with this report, I think you might want to have a go at editing this draft Ross gave me for tomorrow morning." He produced a huge stack of paper seemingly from thin air. "I'd do it myself, but it's a real mess, and I think it should be handled by an old pro."
Roger was stunned as the report was shoved into his hands. "But - but - but--"
"I knew you'd feel that way," Spence replied, patting him on the shoulder. "Take one for the team, Bender." He started off down the hall, turning back to add, "Your wife will just have to take a taxi."
Roger watched him go, then trudged back into his office, throwing his jacket back on the chair. "Bastard."
*****
Salzburg and Rogeilla Real Estate
5:05 p.m.
Janet jumped in surprise as the phone rang, nearly knocking her now-empty coffee mug off of the desk. She'd been so engrossed in trying to get some last-minute paperwork done that the sudden intrusion startled her. At least there was no one here to see her; Bill and Carla had both left early. And Lisa hadn't shown up at all, a fact that had been bothering Janet all day.
She composed herself and picked up the receiver on the third ring. "Salzburg and Rogeilla."
"Janet, thank God you're still there. It's Lisa."
"Lisa!" Janet exclaimed, doubly glad that she was the only one in the office. "Where on earth have you been? I tried you at home, but--"
"I'm fine, Janet," Lisa interrupted. "Listen, I'm going to be out for a few days. I've, uh, got a family emergency."
"Family emergency? Lisa, there was a SWAT team on your front lawn last night!"
"How did you know about that?"
"I had to give Roger a ride," Janet replied, hesitating as the double entendre hit her. "In my car, that is. Where are you?"
Lisa paused. "I can't tell you, but I'm okay and Heather's with me. If you see Roger, tell him not to worry, all right?"
"All right," Janet agreed reluctantly. "But can't you tell me--"
But Lisa had already hung up.
*****
Penn Station
5:10 p.m.
Lisa hurried back to the line at the ticket booth, where Heather was holding their place. She got back just in time to make it to the booth, pulling out the money that Michael had given her. "Two for the 5:30 to Boston," she said, hoping to God that they could get on the train.
The ticket agent took a look at the disheveled pair, then the wad of cash Lisa was counting out. "You're in luck," he informed them. "We still have several seats available."
Heather punched the air triumphantly. "Yes!"
Lisa sighed in relief as she counted out the money, smiling at her daughter's antics.
*****
Special Agent #2 had been listening intently to phone conversations for a few hours. His body language gave no indication that he was listening to anything important, since he remained in the same relaxed position that he'd been in since he first put the headphones on. But his eyes flicked back and forth intently, narrowing in suspicion.
No one noticed his agitation, and no one noticed his haste to delete the recording from the tape. They were all too busy with other matters, and since the phone taps hadn't yielded any information so far, didn't have surveillance as a high priority. It was fortunate that they had thought to put a tap on the real estate office's phone.
He got up, asked one of the agents to take his place, and slipped out of the van. He had a few calls to make.
*****
Outside Grand Central Station
5:30 p.m.
"We're all set up," Special Agent #1 informed Morris, who looked around at the scattering of police cars and the unmarked cars in the area. The black FBI van was parked on the other side of the street from the station entrance. "We've got choppers in the air and plainclothes agents inside. Bomb squad's on alert and we have a HAZMAT team standing by."
"Good," Morris said as they walked over to the FBI van. "No chance of blocking off traffic?"
"Here? Now? Are you kidding?"
"Wishful thinking. What about the money?"
The back of the van opened up, and they stepped inside. One of the agents handed Morris a metal suitcase. "$15 million in bearer bonds," the agent said as Morris cast a perfunctory glance inside and shut it again, shaking off the peculiar sense of deja vu he was getting.
He turned back to his right-hand man. "Can we spare any men to check out Leflin Incorporated?"
Special Agent #1 nodded. "Special Agent #2 is looking into it. Unfortunately, the terrorist threat is our main concern right now."
Morris shook his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say they timed this."
*****
Penn Station
"Hey, this is pretty nice," Heather observed, examining the empty compartment that she and Lisa had all to themselves. "We didn't do too badly, did we?"
Lisa leaned back in her seat. "I don't know. I can't help feeling that I'm missing something."
"Relax, Mom," Heather assured her. "We got seats at the last minute at a good price. We're on a train out of town and we've got plenty of cash left."
"That's what bothers me."
Heather sighed as the train began to move. "Knock it off, Mom. I'm supposed to be the pessimist here."
*****
Leflin Incorporated
5:45 p.m.
The phone on Bernard Leflin Jr's desk rang. With an irritated sigh, he checked the number on the display and flicked on the speaker. "Go ahead."
"We just received a lead on one of the traces," a male voice responded. Lydia didn't recognize the voice, but she had a feeling she knew who it was anyway. "Mrs. Wiseman called her office a little over half an hour ago. We traced the call to Penn Station."
"And you waited that long to call me?"
"Long enough to find out where she was headed," the voice replied quickly. "She bought two tickets for a 5:30 train to Boston. Amtrak, train number 563."
Leflin nodded, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he took the number down. "Very good." He straightened up. "Don't trouble yourself with retrieval. We'll handle it here. Stay with the competition and keep me posted."
"Yes, sir." The man on the other end hung up.
Lydia raised an eyebrow. "'The competition?'"
"Appropriate, actually," Leflin replied coolly, standing up. "Get the car ready," he told the others. "We're all going on a train ride."
"You're dragging me along?" Lydia asked. "Bernie, have you lost your mind?"
He smiled. "Walters is convinced I can't trust you. Of course, I can't trust him, but recent events have spun too far out of my control to trust anyone at this point. Besides, what else should I do with you?"
Her purse was sitting on the table outside the office. "You could let me make a stop in the ladies' room."
"Fair enough." He gestured for her to lead him out.
As she walked into the hall, she stopped and reached for her purse, only to have the gorilla guarding it grab her wrist. "You don't need that."
"Oh yes, I do," she replied, pulling her hand free. "I've got a bit of a *problem* I need to attend to." At his blank stare, she sighed. "Do I need to spell it out for you? Or would you like to go in there and search for it yourself?"
The big man paled and thrust the bag towards her, holding it away from him as though it were a live cobra. The other security guards chuckled as Lydia took the purse and started rummaging through it. As she shifted things around, she caught hold of her cellphone, slipping it into a small makeup bag. Having done that, she pulled the bag out of the purse. "Here it is."
"Wonderful," Leflin said uncomfortably. He turned to one of the other guards. "Escort her to the ladies' room, if you please."
*****
Outside Grand Central Station
5:49 p.m.
Michael stayed in the center of the rush-hour crowds, moving along with the flow of human traffic as he approached the entrance to Grand Central Station, staying on the other side of the street. He could see a few police cars, but he was sure there were plenty of unmarked vehicles in the area. That black van on the corner looked particularly suspicious.
Maybe a different route would be a good idea.
*****
Leflin Incorporated
The two security guards stood outside the ladies' restroom, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
"Are you done yet, Dr. Ross?" one of them shouted.
"Just five more minutes!" Lydia called back, fumbling with the cellphone. _Now if I could just remember that number..._
*****
Outside Grand Central Station
5:50 p.m.
If there was one thing Dr. Theodore Morris hated, it was waiting. He paced back and forth in the small space behind the van in frustration.
"He's not coming," the bald agent said.
Waiting was bad enough, but waiting with a complete pessimist was worse. "How do you figure that?" Morris growled.
His second-in-command was unfazed by Morris' foul mood. "It's ten of six. If he was coming, he'd be here by now."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Morris turned his attention to the traffic, watching car after car slowly pass by. There was the occasional speed demon, but traffic was typical for rush hour. A large green van passed in front of the station, taking its time and blocking Morris' view of the entrance.
The entrance to the station was clear of people. In the next second, as the van passed by, someone appeared in front of the entrance. Michael Wiseman stood there, looking right at him and waiting. Morris started slightly, impressed. He hadn't even seen the man approach. Well, at least that showed that he had indeed paid attention to his training.
"Sir!" a voice barked through Morris' headset, startling him. "Wiseman was just seen--"
"I know," Morris snapped. "Hold your positions. I'm going out to meet him." He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his cellphone and a small black box. "Not coming?"
Special Agent #1 shrugged. "So I was wrong."
Morris took the suitcase of money from a nearby FBI agent, tossing the cellphone to Special Agent #1. "Make yourself useful. Take my calls."
With that, he turned and started for the crosswalk, heading across the street. For once, things were going according to plan.
*****
As soon as Dr. Morris spotted him, Michael knew there was no turning back. The tall scientist ducked back behind the black van and appeared a few seconds later with a metal briefcase in one hand. He chucked a small black object at Special Agent #1, who looked utterly nonplussed as he caught it. Michael forced himself not to smile, almost wishing he could hear what the Doc had said. Then again, it felt better to have some distance between himself and the Doc for the time being.
Michael shifted his weight, unable and unwilling to relax. The Doc seemed to be taking forever. He glanced down the street, gauging the distance between himself and the unmarked van he'd literally vaulted over a few minutes ago. If he made a break for it now, he might just make it.
But, he knew, it was too late for that. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as Dr. Morris came up to him. The Doc was keeping a little more distance than usual between them. Seeing the cut on Morris' lip, Michael realized why.
The two men stared at each other for a few seconds. "It's about time," Morris said flatly. "Didn't think you'd come."
"Yeah, well, you know me," Michael sighed. "I'm a sucker for punishment." Morris looked at him oddly, but did not reply. "How's the lip?"
"Healing," Morris answered. "How's the wife?"
Michael set his jaw. "She doesn't know anything, Doc. You've got to believe me."
"Give me one good reason to trust you now."
"I came back, didn't I?"
The tall scientist said nothing for several seconds, but the barely perceptible nod and the slight softening in his eyes was all the response that was needed.
*****
Dr. Morris had only made it halfway across the street when his cellphone rang. It took Special Agent #1 a moment or two to realize that the ringing was coming from his suit pocket. He retrieved the phone and turned it on. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end before a familiar voice spoke. "Who is this?"
Special Agent #1 sighed. Talk about lousy timing. "I'd tell you my name, but you don't like referring to people by numbers."
"Very funny. Where's Dr. Morris?"
"He's otherwise occupied. Told me to hold the phone," Special Agent #1 replied curtly. "Where the hell have you been?"
*****
"Fifteen million dollars in bearer bonds," Morris said, handing the suitcase to Michael. "Don't lose it."
He opened the small black box in his free hand. Michael took the transmitter and receiver without a word, putting them respectively under his shirt and in his ear.
Morris reached into his pocket and retrieved a small plastic bag. Inside was a key. "The locker number is 1469," he informed Michael. "You go in, head straight for the locker, and open it up. There are several plainclothes agents watching the lockers in case anything happens."
"Yeah, like a bomb blowing up in my face," Michael muttered.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
*****
"I don't have time to explain, but I think I found your mole," Lydia said. "I saw a couple of Leflin's people paying off your number-two man. Slicked-back black hair, six foot one - ring any bells?"
The bald agent blinked. "Special Agent #2?" he asked, incredulous.
"Talk about your uncreative codenames. But if that's the man I just described, yes."
"Impossible," the agent said scornfully.
Lydia forced herself to keep her voice down despite her irritation. "How else would Leflin have been able to keep your team off of the Wisemans' scent so easily? Pay a man on the inside to take charge of the search, spread false reports, ignore a few details. It happens."
Special Agent #1 inhaled deeply, trying to get his thoughts in order. "You're positive about this."
"I'd stake my career on it."
Nodding, Dr. Morris' right-hand man lowered the phone and glanced over to where another group of suits were positioned behind a police car. The man in question was not among them. His gaze traveled over to the fringe of the crowd before he spotted a familiar figure talking quietly into a cellphone. Special Agent #1 narrowed his eyes. "All right. Call back in ten minutes."
"I'll try, but - oh, hell. Got to go!" With that, she hung up abruptly.
*****
Michael didn't smile, pocketing the key and looking up again. "Were you really going to put it back in? That's all?"
"You should know the answer to that by now."
"You sound like my sixth-grade math teacher, Doc."
Morris checked his watch. "5:52 p.m. If I were you, I'd be heading into the station right now."
Michael glanced over at the entrance apprehensively. "Guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He took a deep breath and turned away, pausing for a moment before he finally started down into the station.
The Doc watched him go. "Actually, Mr. Wiseman," he murmured, "you did."
*****
Lydia managed to shove the cellphone back into the small makeup bag as the guards entered the bathroom. "Do you mind?" she snapped at them as they practically dragged her into the hallway. "Bernie, your father must have told you about respecting others' privacy."
"We don't have time for privacy, I'm afraid," Leflin replied. He had his cellphone pressed to his ear, listening to someone on the other end. For a moment, Lydia was afraid he might have tuned in to her recent conversation. "He did? Damn. We'll take care of it. See if you can't arrange a diversion after the fact. I'm implementing Plan C." With that, he hung up the phone.
Lydia sighed. "Do I even want to know what Plan C is?"
He folded his cellphone and put it in his breast pocket. "Trust has failed, so I'm going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."
*****
Grand Central Station
5:55 p.m.
At least they'd given him change for the turnstile this time. The note hadn't said anything about the subway, but it was always good to be prepared.
Michael stayed with the flow of traffic, looking around the station. Where were the lockers again?
"Mr. Wiseman." The Doc's voice in his ear nearly made him jump in surprise. "Have you found the locker yet?"
"I'm getting there, Doc," Michael muttered, shoving through the streams of people who all happened to be going in the opposite direction before he finally broke free and approached the lockers. "Okay. 1067... 1338... 1425... uh-oh."
"What do you mean, 'uh-oh?' Is there something wrong with the locker?"
To be honest, locker number 1469 was fine. It was the one above it that he was worried about. More specifically, Michael was worried about the man built like a tank trying to shove a huge bag into locker number 1468. He had to be seven feet tall at least, Michael realized, and he was pissed off. Not only that, he was blocking the locker Michael had to get to.
"Mr. Wiseman, answer me! Do we have a problem?"
"Oh, yeah," Michael replied. "About three hundred pounds' worth."
*****
Special Agent #2 hit the "End" key on the cellphone, privately pleased with himself. Before he could put the phone away, however, a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him against the side of one of the vans. He blinked, dazed, staring into the face of his superior. "Sir, what--"
"Who were you talking to?" Special Agent #1 demanded. Two more members of Morris' team were also present and glaring at their traitorous comrade coldly.
"No one," Special Agent #2 protested.
The cellphone was snatched from his hand. "No one?" the bald agent echoed, punching up a series of keystrokes that brought up a calling history. "This doesn't look like 'no one.' It doesn't even look like an authorized call."
"I was calling for backup--"
"Backup? From Leflin Incorporated?"
When the color drained from the other agent's face, Special Agent #1's suspicions were confirmed. He grabbed the dark-haired agent by the collar, pinning him against the van. "All right. Where are they?"
*****
Grand Central Station
"Excuse me," Michael said for the third time. "Could you move for a second?"
The giant blocking his way had ignored the first two attempts, but this time he glanced over at Michael. "Move me yourself."
Michael considered that, then shrugged and grabbed the other man's arm. The burly man turned, but before he could retaliate, Michael had already flipped him over his shoulder onto the concrete. He lay there, blinking up in confusion at Michael. "Sorry," Michael apologized, not entirely contrite.
The man said nothing, staring for a few seconds at the man who was half his size, then taking into account the distance he'd been thrown. He jumped to his feet, turned, and ran for it.
"Hey, you forgot your bag!" Michael called after him, but the man was still running. He shrugged and turned back to locker number 1469. Not surprisingly, the key fit in the lock. "All right, Doc, the key fits."
"It's one minute til six, Mr. Wiseman. Go ahead."
"I was afraid you were gonna say that."
Michael stared at the locker for a second before turning the key in the lock. He took a deep breath and held it, squeezing his eyes shut and steeling himself for the worst as he opened the door.
Nothing happened. Michael opened his eyes. The locker was empty - except for a folded piece of paper. Exhaling in relief, Michael took the paper and unfolded it. "There's a note, Doc."
"That's all? Read it."
He scanned the contents. "Says to take the 6:05 up to 145th and look for a purple tie-dyed shirt."
"145th Street," Morris repeated. "We'll see if we can't get a couple of teams up to Lenox. I'll stay in contact with you til then."
"What? That's it? Can't you get some plainclothes agents on the car with me?"
"We'll try, but I doubt it," Morris said. "It's almost six o'clock. You had better get moving, Mr. Wiseman."
*****