Fifth Ave 02 - Running of the Bulls (41 page)

"Not at all."

She sat in the chair next to Yates and lowered her purse so it rested in her lap.
 
She released the latch.
 
The bartender, missing nothing, moved her martini in front of her.
 
She touched glasses with Yates, who once again dropped his gaze to her legs.
 
"This is a nice surprise," he said.
 
"Nobody ever talks to me here."

"That's a curious thing to say.
 
Did you throw a drink in someone’s face?”

"No,” he said, smiling.
 
“But sometimes I'd like to.
 
I’m just old and worn out and not very popular anymore."

"Sometimes, being unpopular with the wrong crowd isn’t such a bad thing.
 
But if it bothers you, why come?"

"Lot's of reasons," he said.
 
"I live nearby.
 
I once had terrific times here, especially when my wife was alive.
 
And I still enjoy myself even if the mood has changed against me."

"Now you're creating a mystery."

He motioned for the bartender to bring two new drinks.
 
"Allow me to deepen it.
 
What I am is a man at the end of his life who's made his share of mistakes."

"Who hasn't?"

"They were public mistakes."

"I think you're probably more than that," she said.
 
"Look at this place."
 
Her words gave her an excuse to look around the room.
 
People were talking closely and loudly in an effort to be heard.
 
The room was near capacity, which was to her benefit.
 
At the far right of the bar, vodka and vermouth were shaking with ice.
 
Carmen noted that on this side of the bar, he was the only bartender on duty.
 

With distraction on her side, she reached her hand into her purse and grabbed the syringe.
 
And then, as always when she was about perform a kill, she felt the rush of anticipation shoot through her body.
 
"They don't just let anyone in."

He held out his hands as if in defeat.

She stuck out her bottom lip and took one of his hands in her own.
 
She came up behind him, the syringe at her side.
 
She looked down at his face and into his liquid blue eyes, and felt nothing when she saw hope, lust and embarrassment reflected back at her.
 

"And besides," she said, leaning in close so only she, he and the microphones could hear.
 
"You're Teddy Yates.
 
You could buy and sell all of these people.
 
We both know that just as we both know that Maximilian Wolfhagen would one day make you pay for sending him to prison.
 
Now, it's time to collect."

Yates’ brow furrowed and then, just as quickly, his eyes widened with recognition as he saw what was about to happen.
 

But Carmen was quick.
 
She leaned forward as if to kiss him on the neck, but instead, with her hair tumbling over and concealing her hand, she slipped the syringe into his carotid artery and pressed down hard so the contents mainlined into his heart.
 

It was over in seconds.
 
His eyes growing wider, Yates placed his hand over his neck and tried to speak.
 
But he couldn't.
 
His heart was seizing up.

Carmen backed away from him and positioned her body so his last few breaths were caught on camera.
 
She dropped the syringe into her purse, blew him a kiss and lowered her head slightly as she left him behind and moved through the enthusiastic crowd.
 

It didn't take long.
 

Behind her, she heard the crash of a chair hitting the ground, women screaming, men shouting for someone to call 911, and then she was on the stairs, hurrying past the singer who now was belting out something jazzy on the second level, and then she entered the first floor, where the crowd was tighter than before.
 

She slipped through it.
 
As she neared the door and the doorman she'd encountered earlier, she was completely composed.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

"Afraid so," she said.
 
"One drink limit.
 
My flight leaves first thing.
 
But it was nice to see Teddy even if he wasn't feeling well."
 
She moved past him and took the stairs.
 
"Good night."

He nodded at her and with that, she walked down the street toward Vincent, who was waiting for her in the van she could see at the end of the street.
 
She stepped into it and he pressed the gas.
 
“How long was I?” she asked.

“Just over twenty.”

She couldn’t still the disappointment that washed over her.
 
She had promised him fifteen and she'd blown it.

Spocatti turned the wheel and they started moving toward their next target.
 
Carmen stepped to the back of the van, where she changed into comfortable clothes and then checked the contents of a large satchel that was at the center of the van.
 
It was all there.
 
With an uneasiness that was alien to her, she moved back to the front passenger seat and sat down.
 

Everything was in place.

Spocatti broke the silence.
 
“Killing Yates wasn't easy," he said.
 
"But you pulled it off.
 
You did well."

She pulled her hair away from her face and knotted it into a ponytail.
 
"I'm worried about this next one," she said.

"I agree, but we need the distraction.”

“There are other ways to cause a distraction.”

“You’re just a woman going for a walk.
 
You’re too sharp for anyone to know what else you’re up to.
 
I know you’ll be discrete.”
 

She pulled hard on the knot, turned her hair up into a bun and reached down into the bag at her feet.
 
Inside was a cap with realistic blonde ponytail attached to it.
 
She put it on and checked herself in the visor's mirror.
 
"Powerful people live there.
 
There has to be some level of protection on that street that we’re not considering.
 
Are there cameras?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because, I've checked."
 
He turned to her.
 
"I'm putting neither of us in jeopardy for Wolfhagen, Carmen.
 
I could give a shit about him.
 
But just like you, I've been paid.
 
I've done my work and I've checked that street.
 
It's clean.
 
Now we stick to the plan.
 
Just walk at a regular pace.
 
When you bend, do it quickly.
 
I won’t be far behind.”

"I want that bonus, Vincent."

"We both do.
 
We'll get it."

The van weaved through traffic, Spocatti caught a string of green lights and started uptown toward East 75th Street.
 
He didn't say another word to Carmen and she felt she knew him well enough to know why.
 
What they were about to do next was critical not only because it would take out the one woman who delivered the trial's most damning testimony against Wolfhagen, but also because it would cause a massive, city-wide panic that would allow them to complete their night's work and finish this job for good.

But the downside was beyond comprehension and almost crippling for her to fathom, just as it had been when Spocatti first had the idea.
 
If they pulled this off--and given the planning and preparation that had gone into this particular job, there was no reason for her to believe it wouldn't go off--hundreds of innocent people could die and buildings would fall as a part of Manhattan was wiped off the face of New York City forever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

9:38 p.m.

While Carmen was busy putting stitches into Spocatti's arm and preparing to kill Ted Yates, Maggie Cain was preparing to talk to a dead man.

Marty handed her his cell, but kept his thumb pressed against the receiver so he couldn't be heard.
 
"I don't know what's going on here or if this person is who he says he is, but I need you to play it cool.
 
Either he's for real or we're being set up.
 
I've never heard his voice before.
 
You should know immediately whether it's him."

She shook her head at him.
 
"What are you talking about?"

He put a finger to his lips and lifted his thumb from the receiver. Maggie took the phone.
 
"Hello?" she said.

"Maggie, it's Mark."

A chill went through her--it couldn’t be him.
 
She looked up at Marty in denial, but in spite of the poor connection, she was almost certain it was Mark's voice.

"I need your help."

There was a crackling on the line, a buzz of interference.
 
She put a hand over her free ear and tried to focus on his voice in spite of the sudden racing of her heart.
 
She watched Marty grab a napkin and start to write on it.
 
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
 
Her world was drawing in on itself and then, in a flash, there was only the truth standing in front of her.
 
She stared at it for a moment and then walked into it.

"How can this be you?" she said.
 
"I went to your funeral.
 
I was with your parents when your body arrived from Spain.
 
I saw them lower your coffin into the ground and bury you."

"But you never saw
me
, Maggie."

That stopped her.
 
He was right--she hadn't seen him.
 
He arrived in a body bag.
 
Only his parents were allowed to physically see him.
 
"But your parents saw you," she said.
 
"Your parents would have told me if it wasn't you."

Marty pushed the napkin in front of her.
 
She looked down and read:
 
"Get him to reveal something only the two of you would know."

"My parents know what's happening.
 
They've known from the beginning.
 
Wolfhagen is killing everyone who testified against him.
 
When I was running in Pamplona, I was stabbed by an American.
 
He was dark.
 
Maybe of Italian or Spanish descent.
 
Before he stabbed me, he told me that Wolfhagen wanted to thank me for ruining his life."

Something was wrong.
 
His voice wasn't right.
 
It sounded like him--but there was something off about it.
 
Something raw.
 
"This isn't you.
 
This isn't Mark's voice."

"I've had several operations, one on my larynx.
  
I'm still healing, Maggie.
 
I'm in rough shape."

"Answer a question for me."