“She registered under the name of Lisa Kendrick, but she fits the description,” said George. “It’s her all right.”
“She’s either awfully good or awfully lucky,” said Al. “We’ve got to isolate her without any slipups. Heberling says she could blow the whole deal.”
They watched as Marissa climbed into a taxi and headed east.
Despite the traffic, Jake made his U-turn, then worked his way up to a position only two cars behind Marissa’s taxi.
“Look, lady, you got to tell me where you want to go,” said Manssa’s driver, eyeing her in his rearview mirror.
Marissa was twisted around, still watching the entrance to the
Essex House. No one had come out who appeared to be following her. Facing forward, she told the driver to go around the block. She was still trying to think of a safe way to get the serum.
The driver muttered something under his breath as he proceeded to turn right at the corner. Marissa looked at the Fifth Avenue entrance to the Plaza. There were loads of cars, and the little park in front of the hotel was crowded with people. Horse-drawn hansom cabs lined the curb, waiting for customers. There were even several mounted policemen with shiny blue and black helmets. Marissa felt encouraged. There was no way anybody could surprise her in such a setting.
As they came back down Fifty-ninth Street, Marissa told the driver that she wanted him to stop at the Plaza and wait while she ran inside.
“Lady, I think . .
“I’ll only be a moment,” said Marissa.
“There are plenty of cabs,” pointed out the driver. “Why don’t you get another?”
“I’ll add five dollars to the metered fare,” said Marissa, “and I promise I won’t be long.” Manissa treated the man to the largest smile she could muster under the circumstances.
The driver shrugged. His reservations seemed adequately covered by the five-dollar tip and the smile. He pulled up to the Plaza. The hotel doorman opened the door and Marissa got out.
She was extremely nervous, expecting the worst at any second. She watched as her cab pulled up about thirty feet from the entrance. Satisfied, she went inside.
As she’d hoped, the ornate lobby was busy. Without hesitating, Marissa crossed to a jewelry display window and pretended to be absorbed. Scanning the reflection in the glass, she checked the area for signs anyone was watching her. No one seemed to notice her at all.
Crossing the lobby again, she approached the concierge’s desk and waited, her heart pounding.
“May I see some identification?” asked the man, when Manissa requested the parcel.
Momentarily confused, Marissa said she didn’t have any with her. “Then your room key will be adequate,” said the man, trying to be helpful.
“But I haven’t checked in yet,” said Marissa.
The man smiled. “Why don’t you check in and then get your parcel. I hope you understand. We do have a responsibility.”
“Of course,” said Marissa, her confidence shaken. She obviously had not thought this out as carefully as she should have. Recognizing she had little choice, she walked to the registration desk.
Even that process was complicated when she said she didn’t want to use a credit card. The clerk made her go to the cashier to leave a sizable cash deposit before he would give her a room key. Finally, armed with the key, she got her Federal Express package.
Tearing open the parcel as she walked, Marissa lifted out the vial and glanced at it. It seemed authentic. She threw the wrapping in a trash can and pocketed the serum. So far so good.
Emerging from the revolving door, Marissa hesitated while her eyes adjusted to the midday glare. Her cab was still where she’d last seen it. The doorman asked if she wanted transportation, and Marissa smiled and shook her head.
She looked up and down Fifty-ninth Street. If anything, the traffic had increased. On the sidewalk hundreds of people rushed along as if they were all late for some important meeting. It was a scene of bright sun and purposeful bustle. Satisfied, Marissa descended the few steps to the street and ran the short distance to her cab.