‘What is going on?’ I asked, my breath smoky in the cold.
‘Marino’s down in the unit.’ Wesley was dressed in a dark sweater and dark slacks, and I sensed something had happened.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ I quickly said.
He did not answer as he inserted his security card into a slot, opening a back door.
‘You and I need to talk,’ he said.
‘No.’ I knew what he meant. ‘I am too worried.’
‘Kay, I am not your enemy.’
‘You have seemed like it at times.’
We walked quickly and did not bother with the elevator.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I love you and don’t know what to do.’
‘I know.’ I was shaken. ‘I don’t know what to do, either. I keep wanting someone to tell me. But I don’t want this, Benton. I want what we’ve had and I don’t want it ever.’
For a while he did not speak.
‘Lucy got a hit on CAIN,’ he eventually said. ‘We’ve deployed HRT.’
‘Then she’s here,’ I said, relieved.
‘She’s in New York. We’re on our way there.’ He looked at his watch.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said as our feet sounded on stairs.
We moved swiftly down a long corridor where hostage negotiators spent their days when they weren’t abroad talking terrorists out of buildings and hijackers out of planes.
‘I don’t understand why she’s in New York,’ I said, unnerved. ‘Why does she need to be there?’
We walked into his office, where Marino was squatting by a tote bag. It was unzipped, and next to it on the carpet were a shaving kit and three loaded magazines for his Sig Sauer. He was looking for something else and glanced up at me.
He said to Wesley, ‘Can you believe it? I forgot my razor.’
‘They have them in New York,’ Wesley said, his mouth grim.
‘I’ve been in South Carolina,’ I said. ‘I talked to the Gaults.’
Marino stopped digging and stared up at me. Wesley sat behind his desk.
‘I hope they don’t know where their son is staying,’ he said oddly.
‘I have no indication that they do.’ I looked curiously at him.
‘Well, maybe it doesn’t matter.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I just don’t want anyone tipping him off.’
‘Lucy kept him on CAIN long enough for the call to be traced,’ I assumed.
Marino got up and sat in a chair. He said, ‘The squirrel’s got a crib right on Central Park.’
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘The Dakota.’
I thought of Christmas Eve when we were at the fountain in Cherry Hill. Gault could have been watching. He could have seen our lights from his room.
‘He can’t afford the Dakota,’ I said.
‘You remember his fake ID?’ Marino asked. ‘The Italian guy named Benelli?’
‘It’s his apartment?’
‘Yes,’ Wesley answered. ‘Mr. Benelli apparently is a flamboyant heir to a considerable family fortune.
Management has assumed the current occupant -Gault – is an Italian relative. At any rate, they don’t ask many questions there, and he’s been speaking with an accent. It also is very convenient because Mr. Benelli does not pay his rent. His father in Verona does.’
‘Why can’t you go into the Dakota and get Gault?’ I asked. ‘Why can’t HRT do that?’
‘We could, but I’d rather not. It’s too risky,’ Wesley said. ‘This isn’t war, Kay. We don’t want any casualties, and we are bound by law. There are people inside the Dakota who could get hurt. We don’t know where Benelli is. He could be in the room.’
‘Yeah, in a plastic bag in a steamer trunk,’ Marino said.
‘We know where Gault is and we have the building under surveillance. But Manhattan is not where I would have chosen to catch this guy. It’s too damn crowded. You get in an exchange of firepower – I don’t care how good you are – and someone’s going to get hit. Someone else is going to die. A woman, a man, a child who just happens to walk out at the wrong time.’
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I’m not disagreeing with you. Is Gault in the apartment now? And what about Carrie?’
Wesley said, ‘Neither has been sighted, and we have no reason to suspect Carrie travels with him.’