by Kathryn Wise
“Amir, that’s my mother’s maiden name. Her name! Why would you do that to me?” The rush of memories flooded in. “Damn it. I wish you wouldn’t have done that,” she said, speaking low and controlled.
“Rachel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. My intention was good. We’ve joined forces, right? I want to save my friend Syed. And you…you want to find the people who murdered your parents.”
Rachel’s temper flared, but she knew he was right. The signs had been there from the beginning. This wasn’t just another assignment. This was about her. It was about dealing with the past and facing whatever it was she was meant to face through the experience.
“Amir, understand me. I have to stay focused. My stomach is in knots right now. I mean, you’re probably right. I know I need to deal with some things. But know this, Amir. You’ve crossed a line. You better not betray me. If you betray me, it won’t be good.”
Amir’s eyes looked pained at her words. “Rachel, we’re in this together. You can trust me.”
“I want to, Amir. But that’s easier said than done. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“I’m sorry.” Amir finished loading the cart. “I really do understand. Remember, I loved them too.” He stopped and turned to look at her. “I’ll just have to prove to you that I’m trustworthy.” He nodded. “Now, you must go soon. Let’s head up to the new room.”
Rachel huffed, managed a tiny smile and left the room. She was agitated, the anger pushing the adrenaline into her arms and legs. “I need to do a room check.”
She walked slowly, making every effort to be present to what she was doing, a technique she sometimes used to regain her composure. The en suite, the bedroom, closet, and drawers were all clear. She went back out to the living area and realized she’d forgotten something.
“Oh, dang it. I forgot the kitchen. I’m out of time. Amir, could you…?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take care of it. We should go now…it’s getting late.”
The hallway was quiet, the elevator car empty. Amir inserted a second security card into a slot on the control panel and pressed the button for the 28th floor. The car began its ascent. Rachel wondered if they’d make it to the room. Stranger things had happened in the past two days.
The car stopped, the doors opened, and it looked like a normal hotel hallway. Amir pulled the luggage cart out and proceeded down the hall to a room situated on an outside-facing corner of the building, the spot typically reserved for larger suites. He held the door open, motioning for Rachel to step inside. The suite was more like a large apartment, the sight line from the door extending straight through to an incredible view of the city with an excellent perspective on the Empire State Building.
“Oh my gosh. This is gorgeous!”
“Yes, it’s one of our luxury executive suites. It’s quite a bit larger than the suite you were in, and there’s added security in place that prohibits unauthorized people from gaining access to the floor. You’ll be safe here.”
Rachel wanted to stay, wishing her meeting with Grayson could be held in her new digs.
It’s like a beautiful hideaway in the sky.
“I’m going to go back down to the other room and retrieve the groceries. Here’s your key and your security card. I don’t expect you to be here when I get back, so I’ll say farewell for now,” Amir said. He looked hopeful she might forgive him.
“I don’t know what to say, Amir. Thank you. I’d like to take a quick look around before I go,” Rachel said.
“Of course. I’ll be on my way now. Have a very productive afternoon,” Amir said before pulling the door halfway closed, and then stopping.
“Rachel, I’m really sorry I upset you. I hope you will forgive me,” he said, searching her face for a hopeful sign.
“Amir, I need some time. I forgive you, but I need some time. Don’t worry, it will be okay,” Rachel said. Amir nodded, closed his eyes for a moment, and then left, closing the door behind him.
The room shone brilliantly in tasteful luxury. Always a sucker for the finer things, she felt right at home. The clock’s hands were at 2:20 pm. She had five minutes to decide what to do with her precious cargo. The unpacking of her suitcases would have to wait.
Chapter Nine
To Tribeca
The suite seemed to have no end, drawing her eye across grand spaces to cozy sitting areas peeking from behind corners, beckoning for her company. Beyond an opulent living room adjacent to a full chef’s kitchen, she discovered a second bedroom and a small office. The place was bigger than most Manhattan apartments, at least the ones she could afford.
The luxury of the master bedroom overwhelmed her as she entered. Walking directly to the closet, Rachel wanted to see what sort of hotel safe it might contain. At this point she didn’t have many options for securing her laptop and research materials. Inside the closet door, hidden behind several plush hotel robes, she discovered an oversized safe. It was high-end, equipped with fingerprint and retina scanning in addition to a dynamic combination that could be set to a unique code of up to 8 digits.
This will do for now.
Rachel grabbed the garment bag off the bellman’s cart and folded it in half before setting it on the middle shelf of the safe. In her other room she’d hidden the key case “in plain sight” behind the drapery tieback medallion, but she wasn’t yet familiar enough with this room to know where to hide it. She would have to either carry it with her or leave it in the safe. To hide it in the other room, she had attached the key case to a magnet and then stuck it to the back of the metal drapery medallion. The case still had the magnet attached to it, which would allow her to place it on the inside ceiling of the safe. Even if someone broke into her suite while she was gone, they might not find it. Might not.
Without enough time to thoroughly investigate the room, she wasn’t comfortable taking a chance. She’d have to carry the key case on her person. Rachel grabbed her bag, pulling her weapon out to do a quick safety check and then put it back. At least she was armed if anything came up. Rachel took her jacket off and slipped the case into the interior pocket. She hung the bag across her body and put her jacket back on over it. She checked the mirror.
Nope. Not too catawampus. Access to weapon? Check.
The hallway was quiet. The floor seemed eerily empty and still for a low vacancy hotel. The carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps and the walls absorbed the hardly audible sound of her own breathing. An ambient light coming from no discernible source illuminated her path as she walked toward the bank of elevators. It was weird, but she wasn’t afraid, although the idea of entering the elevator alone was a little off-putting. Who knew where the elevator might take her this time?
It doesn’t matter. I’m not racing down 28 flights of stairs just to get all sweaty.
The doors opened without a sound. If she hadn’t been paying attention to the lights above the doors, she wouldn’t have noticed the elevator’s arrival. She slid the security card Amir had given her into the slot and pushed the Main Floor button. The elevator didn’t move. She tried again, but still no movement. Just as she tried a third time, the doors opened and the din of the lobby came pouring in.
Okay. That’s weird.
Rachel exited the elevator and walked past the concierge podium, glancing over to see if Amir was working the stand. No; it was someone else. She could see Charles standing just outside the front doors, waiting beside a Lincoln Town Car. Obviously he was busy with another guest, so she waited.
“Ms. Wheaton. Good afternoon,” Charles called out. He opened the passenger door and motioned for her to come over.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t able to find a cab for you. Hopefully this will do,” Charles said. He stood there, looking a little goofy, grinning a bit too wide.
“Charles, really. You’re pretty funny. And very good at your job!” Rachel said. “Really, this wasn’t necessary. A cab would have been just fine.”
“Yes, I have no doubt you wou
ld have been fine with a cab, but I felt compelled to find a good driver; someone I know and trust,” Charles said.
“Oh…I see. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I understand why you did what you did. Charles. Charles Bannister. You’re a good egg,” Rachel said as she got into the car.
“Thank you, Ms. Wheaton. The feeling is mutual. The driver’s name is Peter. He’s a very good and reliable man. And he’s my son.” Charles shut the door and stepped back. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Wheaton.”
Rachel waved goodbye and settled back into the soft leather passenger seat. The young man looked up at her in the rearview mirror and smiled.
“Hello, Peter. My name is Patricia. It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Wheaton. My father told me about you,” the driver said.
“Oh really. What, pray-tell, did he say?”
“That you’re smart, you have courage, and you do very important work. And that I need to make sure you get to your destination safe and sound,” the driver said.
“Well, your father’s a good man. And I very much like your plan.”
Chapter Ten
None
“How beautiful this dappled, soft hour of light, and yet heartbreaking. Grey at the temples, the hour of None is melancholy, a time to ponder things we thought would always be with us. The loss of our plans, our parents, our pains have eroded confidence in the ability to conquer time. …We crave contact with something transcendent at this time of day precisely because temporal things are dissolving into shadow.”3
The skies were overcast, a sticky humidity promising to do a real number on her hair. The breeze came up a few times, prompting Peter to crack his window, inviting in a gust or two of cool air. It felt good, awakening her to a stirring anticipation. She was looking forward to putting together the plan with Grayson’s help. They had a lot to talk about.
“I estimate the trip at about 30 minutes. We’ll take 2nd Avenue most of the way there and then cut over to Broadway at East 9th. It’s the fastest route this time of day. A cab would probably get you there faster; these cabbies have their way of navigating through the congestion. I used to be a cabbie, you know. Met a lot of interesting people…” Peter said.
“Is that right? I bet you did. I’ve met some interesting people here too. And that’s just since yesterday morning.” Rachel didn’t mind the chit chat. It kept her from going too far afield in her thoughts.
“Wow, that was fast. Freakishly fast! I should drive you more often! We’re almost there, Ms. Wheaton. Reade is just a few blocks ahead. Incredible time. Looks like we’ll pull up to the building right at 3 pm.”
“Thank you, Peter. I appreciate it.” The whole “time” thing was clearly beyond her, but seemed to be working in her favor.
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Wheaton. I’ll be waiting outside to take you back when you’re ready to return to The Kimberly.”
Rachel wasn’t so sure having Peter wait for her was a good idea. It could be a long planning session, and then dinner to follow. “Peter, I’d hate for you to have to wait for me. I don’t know how long I’ll be. How about this? I have your father’s cell phone number. I can text him when I’m ready to leave. How’s that?”
“As you wish, Ms. Wheaton. And thank you,” Peter said.
The car pulled up in front of the building, and as it came to a stop, a sudden and unexpected wave of dread washed over her. Then, a profound grief. She looked at the streets around them and then up at the buildings.
Where’s it coming from?
She searched the area for someone in distress, or an incident in progress, remnants of a fire…something.
“Peter, do you sense something strange…I mean, do you feel something in the air?” Rachel asked.
“I always feel it when I’m down here,” Peter said, glancing up at her in the rearview mirror. He was quiet for a moment. “My dad told me that you’re very perceptive. I think it might be…”
“Might be what? What is it?”
And then she saw it.
The skyline of missing towers.
“We’re a few blocks from the 911 Memorial Site,” Peter said.
“Oh.” Something welled up inside, while something else gave way. She felt herself close up. Peter got out of the car and came around to open Rachel’s door. It was as if he knew she wasn’t quite herself, taking some extra time to walk with her into the lobby and then stay while they waited for Grayson to come down and meet them. Grayson stepped off the elevator less than a minute after the doorman’s call to his apartment.
As soon as she saw Grayson’s face, Rachel came back to herself. Smiling broadly, she made the introduction. “Mr. Raphael, this is Peter. He drove me over from the hotel. He’s actually Charles’ son.”
“Really! Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter,” Grayson said, shaking Peter’s hand.
“Nice to meet you too, sir. A great pleasure. I’m a huge fan of Virtual Life. Well, I’ll be going now. Ms. Wheaton, please text my father when you’re ready and I’ll be here in a jiffy.”
“I will, Peter. Thank you so much,” Rachel said, following him outside with Grayson behind her. Peter jogged the last few feet to the car, got inside, and drove away, leaving Rachel and Grayson standing outside gazing in silence at the skyline. After a long minute, Grayson took her by the elbow, signaling it was time to go.
“I know. It’s difficult the first few times you see it, but eventually you realize it’s part of who we are. Come on…we’ve got work to do,” Grayson said.
She walked quickly to get inside and escape the chill of the air. The lobby was warm with natural wood beams accented in stainless steel, creating an eclectic feel of modern homeyness. That, and the fact that it was at least 15 degrees warmer inside, was comforting. The elevator arrived within seconds of Grayson’s call, and the two sped their way to the 20th floor. The doors opened to a dimly lit, yet elegant corridor.
“Wow, this place is really nice. It’s so new…of course,” Rachel said.
“It was built in 2012. It’s a nice building…nice people. Very friendly. They’re different now. I don’t know why I know that. They have a unique demeanor about them. One that tells a story.”
Stepping inside Grayson’s apartment was like finding herself on the bright road to heaven’s gate. The natural light held a commanding presence. It was no wonder: the apartment’s windows spanned the entire breadth of each outside wall, stopping only at one corner where a beautiful wood pillar had been built, serving double duty as a frame for the windows and a support for a large hand-crafted table. The table had obviously been set as their working space for the afternoon. At one end was a tray set of hot tea and coffee along with a fresh fruit plate and water crackers.
“This is lovely. What a nice space to work in,” Rachel said.
She was doing the best she could. She’d grieved for months after 911, obsessing over the details of the crimes leading up to the terrible acts, mourning for the victims, and battling against the temptation to become fearful, or worse yet, lose hope. Her country, the one that had been so good to her when she had had no one else, suffered a traumatic wounding that day. Ever since, it had moved further into hiding, confused and no longer sure of itself.
Rachel missed how things had been before 9/11. Even though she was placed in the foster system after her parents’ murder, she had to take care of herself. It was difficult digging out of the system without any family support, but she managed with the help of employers willing to give her a chance, school administrators who saw potential, and the training and experience she received in the service. She was alone, but she’d been helped along by a cloud of witnesses cheering for her as she cleared each hurdle.
That collective optimism had eroded since 9/11. She didn’t notice it at first, but now it was obvious. Trust didn’t come as easily as it once did. And it wasn’t just that. She felt a free-floating anger in the air. The old world, the world she’d been able to trust and rel
y upon for her very survival, had disappeared.
“You seem a little somber.”
“Yes. ‘Somber’ is a good word. I’ll be alright.”
“It’s tough to see, I know. But is there something else?” Grayson asked.
“No…no. There’s nothing else. It hit me pretty hard. I still carry a tender wound about the whole thing. It changed my view of the world. I like my old world better.”
“I know. Me too,” Grayson said, looking pretty somber himself. “Forgive my poor manners. Please come in and sit down. I’ve set up-”
“Yes, I see that. It’s lovely,” Rachel said as she took one of the chairs at the table. “What about you? Is there something else for you? I noticed you seemed distant…kind of sad…earlier today in the meeting. Is everything alright?” Rachel asked.
Grayson’s face went flush, his eyes glassy. He sat down across from her.
Rachel realized she may have overstepped. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Please. Just tell me to back off if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re not prying. There is something,” Grayson whispered. He took a few breaths, unable to speak. “It’s my mother. Something happened to her a few years ago, and I’m afraid she’s getting worse.”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry. Is she ill? How can I help?” Rachel asked.
“Oh no, it’s not a health issue. I wish it were that simple.” Grayson wasn’t able to speak for a few moments.
“My mother lost her way. You might say that she’s gone to the other side.”
“What do you mean 'other side'?”
Grayson looked as if he wanted her to read his mind instead of him having to speak it out. His brow was furrowed and his jaw looked tight. Whatever he was about to say, she needed to absorb it, and for his sake, absorb it well.