by Kira Peikoff
“Pulling up,” she muttered into it now, “with one minute to spare.”
“Good.” His voice sounded bizarrely close, as if he were inside her head. “Can you move your hair? It’s in front of your camera. Better, okay. Now you can get out.”
She paid in cash and the cab sped away. It felt like her heart was thumping loud enough for Galileo to hear. A crisp breeze rustled the trees as she stepped into Riverside Park. Its scents and sights and sounds assaulted her. The air smelled like decaying plants. Weeds shriveled in the soil where flowers had once bloomed. A canopy of partly bare branches reached to the sky, the last orange leaves of autumn clinging to life. Their more fragile brethren littered the ground in brown heaps.
A woman strolled by walking a shivering terrier in a cable-knit sweater. Another woman in a tracksuit jabbered into her cell phone as she power walked. Isabel was grateful for the presence of these strangers, however oblivious they were to her. After a few days at sea, her legs wobbled as she walked up the asphalt path toward the monument up ahead. Just off the park, a noisy highway supplied a constant hum of traffic. If she closed her eyes and listened, the whooshing cars sounded almost like ocean waves. Like home.
She clutched the ring box in her pocket as she approached the grand stone columns honoring the fallen warriors from the Civil War. The monument perched about a hundred feet tall on a cliff overlooking the Hudson River far below. Several rows of steps at its base led to a promenade, where three bronze cannons were mounted on concrete pedestals. In between each were wooden benches facing the river.
Some people were already hanging out there: A woman with a bundled-up baby in a stroller, a handsome middle-aged guy typing on an iPhone, an older rotund man smoking a cigar, and two skateboarders flipping tricks on the wide paved walkway.
She ambled past the benches to the cannon nearest the monument. Its mouth was about six inches across. She snuck a glance around to make sure no one was watching. But she couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that someone, somewhere, was.
“Now,” Galileo instructed in her ear.
She leaned up against the opening and emptied her pocket of the box. Then she squared her shoulders and walked away. There. It was done. Nobody had attacked her. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“Good,” came his voice. “Now go sit on a bench. Look casual.”
She obeyed. It was 5:07 P.M. For half an hour, she waited. The people in the vicinity came and went. She pulled her jacket tight against the biting wind and watched the arc of the sun sinking into the river. It was only getting colder and darker. She wasn’t sure how much longer she wanted to sit there, exposed, as the park’s patrons emptied out.
And then, when she was starting to fidget, a skinny guy who couldn’t have been older than eighteen marched up to the cannon, snatched the ring box, and walked away. Isabel was on her feet running after him before she had time to think.
“Hey!” she called.
The guy turned around. He was tall and bony, with a beautiful coffee complexion and guileless brown eyes. “Yeah?”
“What are you doing?” Galileo demanded in her ear. “You’re not supposed to get involved.”
She ignored him. She couldn’t face returning to the ship, to passive confinement, without more information than she started with. Not when her own life hung in the balance. Plus, the kid’s youthfulness emboldened her.
“Do you know what’s in there?” she asked, pointing to the box in his hand.
“A ring, I guess. Why, what’s it to you?”
She matched his nonchalant tone. “Just curious.” Then she lowered her voice. “My friends sometimes use that spot to, you know, trade stuff. I thought only we used it.”
He flashed her an amused grin. “That’s your drug drop?”
She smiled coyly. Whatever you want to think, dude.
He raised his palms. “Well, I don’t know nothin’ about that. I’m just doing my job.”
“Oh?” She racked her brain for a cool follow-up that wouldn’t sound too interested. But while she stood there, he turned to leave.
“Hang on,” she called. In a desperate rush, she whipped out most of the wad of cash Galileo had given her in case of emergency, leaving a few bills behind in her pocket just in case. The kid stopped and stared.
She counted out two hundred bucks in twenties. His eyes fixed on the crisp green bills. She fanned them out for maximum effect.
“Humor me,” she said. “Who do you work for?”
“No one really. I just picked up this gig on TaskRabbit.”
“Oh.” She tried not to show her disappointment. That site allowed anyone to assign one-off errands to anyone else. “Well, can you show me the ad?”
“Um, sure.” He pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his jeans pocket. She held it up in full view of her camera. It was a printout from the TaskRabbit website.
Task: Pick up a ring at the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, 88th and Riverside, inside the northernmost cannon at 5:30 P.M. sharp on Nov. 15. Deliver promptly to 255 Canal Street.
Payment: A woman waiting at the delivery address will pay $100 cash.
Estimated Total Time: Less than one hour
Additional Comments: Don’t bother stealing the ring. It’s fake.
Isabel stared, flabbergasted, at the last two words. If Robbie Merriman had seen through their bribe all along, he probably suspected some kind of tracking device, too. So why did he agree to take the stupid ring? Why have it brought to Chinatown? There was nothing in it for him. And most unsettling of all: why demand that she drop it off?
A sickened feeling pummeled her. She was definitely being watched. But by whom? A few scattered people were nearby, sitting on benches or walking past. A young couple holding hands. A little boy and his dad. No one seemed remotely aware of her.
She handed the boy back the paper, along with the cash, and smoothed her features into an indifferent expression.
“Thanks,” he said. He stuffed the wad into his pocket, baffled but pleased.
“Thank you. I was just headed downtown myself. Hey, there’s a cab.” She waved down an empty taxi rolling down Riverside Drive. “You can hitch a ride if you like. I’m passing Canal on my way to, ah, Tribeca.”
Thank God for the city map posted in the back of her first cab. She’d studied it on her way up to orient herself to Manhattan.
The taxi pulled over. She got inside without turning to see if the kid followed, as though his coming along were inconsequential.
He hopped in beside her. “You sure?”
“No biggie.” She crossed her arms over her jacket in case he noticed the little camera eye and got spooked. Sorry, Galileo.
“All right. I hate the subway at rush hour.”
“Who doesn’t?” she said like she rode it every day. The cab jerked ahead and sped onto the West Side Highway headed south.
“What are you doing?” Galileo screeched in her ear. “You don’t need to chase this down. We have the GPS going!”
She pushed her long black locks over her ear so the device was obscured.
“Isabel, come back,” he said. “Your job’s done. This isn’t part of the plan.”
It wasn’t like she could argue with him in front of the boy. She couldn’t explain her repulsion toward being on the ship now, given all the anxious reverence surrounding Chris. She couldn’t explain her fury over Dr. Quinn’s wrongful death and her frustration that Galileo had dismissed her suspicions. And she couldn’t explain her rattled faith in his leadership, now that he’d proven himself capable of such a mistake.
If she could talk, she might admit that she felt more alone than ever. That she longed for her intrepid crew in lockstep behind her, but in their absence, she was forced to depend on herself. And so she was taking a risk, going against the plan, to learn anything that could lead back to her killer. Because out in the wild, you had to do whatever it took to survive.
“Come back,” Galileo repeated. “Y
ou’re safer here.”
Am I? she wanted to retort. With a murderer on board?
But all she could do was clear her throat in defiance.
When the cab pulled up to 255 Canal Street twenty minutes later, the kid repeated his thanks and jumped out onto the busy sidewalk. Once he disappeared behind a glass storefront, Isabel paid the driver, got out, and slipped into the crowd. The sky was mostly dark now, but the streets of Chinatown were thriving. Cramped hole-in-the-wall stores lined the block, jammed with cheap handbags, sunglasses, and cologne bottles. Some items were stuffed under black plastic bags, attended by shady men who hissed designer names as she passed. The air reeked of cigarettes and cheap perfume.
When she snuck into the store the kid had gone into, she was surprised to see how long and narrow the interior was. It was a world unto itself: a jewelry store—or ten. Separate glass counters glinting with gold and silver stretched back at least thirty feet. Each counter appeared to be its own independent business. The Asian owners called back and forth to one another, conversing in a language she couldn’t comprehend. Herds of customers shuffled from one station to the next, examining the selections of bracelets, earrings, necklaces, and rings.
Near the back, Isabel spotted the kid. He was talking to a curvy young woman about her own age who was wearing a tight red blouse. Not exactly a criminal look. Isabel inched her way closer to them, pretending to be interested in the jewelry. Within a minute, the kid was walking back out the door. He didn’t notice her hunched over one counter studying a pair of gold hoops.
But the mysterious woman stayed where she was. Isabel saw that she was saying something to an Asian man at a workstation littered with metal tools. He seemed to be some kind of repairman. Isabel made her way closer, thankful for the first time for her heightened sensory awareness. She stopped at the adjacent counter and asked to try on a silver necklace, all the while listening and stealing sidelong glances over her shoulder. The woman didn’t appear to notice her.
She was holding up the ring for the Chinese man to see. Its sparkling fake ruby matched her shirt.
“It’s not real, right?” she asked.
The man took the ring and examined it with a special eyeglass, then shook his head. “Costume.”
The woman didn’t miss a beat. “How much to engrave a date?”
“Twenty dollar.”
“Then do July six, 1957. Here, I’ll write it down.”
She scribbled something on a scrap of paper.
What in the world could that mean? This was getting more and more confusing. In Isabel’s ear, Galileo kept telling her to be careful. “Don’t get involved . . . just come back . . . the GPS is running . . .”
But, she wanted to respond, look what I just learned. Your GPS would never have picked up this much detail.
“Okay, I do now,” the Chinese man said, plucking the ring from the woman’s French-manicured fingers. His own nails were lined with black grime. “Ten minute.”
“I’ll wait,” she said.
Isabel waited, too. She dawdled, trying on various bracelets and necklaces, no doubt frustrating the proprietor who was catering to her. Every piece reminded her of her mom. She was all right, Isabel knew. They spoke over Galileo’s satellite phone every few nights. But she was worried and isolated with Andy in the safe house back in Key West. Their lives, too, had been monumentally disrupted. Isabel yearned for the moment she could tell them her killer was caught. But who knew how long that might take—if ever?
Then a carved wooden jewelry box caught her eye. It was in the shape of a hardcover book laying flat. Horizontal drawers pulled out from its spine. It was perfect for her mother, a voracious reader who sold books for a living.
She haggled the cost from $50 down to $35. Galileo could arrange to send it to her. Isabel was sure it would bring a smile to her face.
Just as she took the plastic bag, she saw out of the corner of her eye that the Chinese man was handing back the newly engraved ring.
“In a new box,” the woman instructed. Her tone was oddly firm.
Isabel picked up its subtext right away. The investor suspected that the original box was embedded with GPS, not the ring itself. But still, why did he want it at all? What had happened on July 6, 1957? Nothing made sense.
The woman pocketed the new box, paid in cash, and strode out of the store. Isabel hurried out in her wake, elbowing through the crowd that clogged the sidewalk.
“Isabel!” Galileo shouted in her ear. “You don’t have to do this!”
Up ahead, the woman was disappearing down into a subway station. Isabel followed her down the steps despite not having any idea where she might end up. Galileo’s repeated pleas cut out as soon as she got underground. A metallic gray train was waiting in the station.
The woman breezed through the turnstile and hopped on board. Isabel tried to run after her but the turnstile jammed into her stomach. No MetroCard, no ride. She watched helplessly as the doors slid closed and the train accelerated.
A streak of red flashed by before vanishing into the blackness of the tunnel.
When Isabel returned to the ship, Captain the dog was the only one to greet her. Everyone else was busy working. The dog jumped up and licked her leg excitedly, then led her down the stairs to Quinn’s lab, where she found Galileo, Richard, and Chris. While Richard was sitting for another blood draw, he and Galileo were glued to a computer screen. She braced herself for an argument as she walked in.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I wanted to get as much information as I could.”
Galileo waved her defensiveness away. “I get it,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Richard was confined to a chair with Chris’s needle deep in his inner elbow. Both men chimed hello. She mustered a smile, hardly able to make eye contact with Chris. When her gaze settled on Richard instead, he tightened his lips in subtle acknowledgment of her disgust.
“Check this out,” Galileo said, gesturing to the laptop on the counter. Next to it was his black satellite phone.
She rushed to get a better look at the screen. A map of upper Manhattan showed a glowing red GPS dot.
“The ruby’s been stopped there for a while,” he said.
“Where is that?”
“Two-fourteen West 104th Street. Some residential building with a dozen apartments. But that’s as specific as the GPS gets.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Someone’s going to have to go there and investigate. So far none of this is adding up. Why take the ring in the first place if he knew it was fake?”
Isabel sunk her fingers into her hair. “And why have me drop it off? Then get that random date engraved?”
“There must be a reason.” Richard winced as Chris extracted the needle from his arm. “If I know one thing about Robbie, he never messes around. He’s one cunning son of a bitch.”
An hour of discussing possible explanations went by before the satellite phone rang. It shrieked a high-pitched note that sounded like a wail. Isabel saw that its flashing display read No Caller ID. When Galileo answered, his face became grave. He pressed speaker.
“I said, is Richard Barnett there?” a familiar voice growled. “Hello?”
Isabel gaped at the phone. How did he get this number? But then she remembered. Robbie Merriman had promised to call to confirm the transaction. And the transaction was a fraud.
“Hello, Robbie,” Richard said, astonishingly casual. “What can I do for you?”
“You have no idea what game you’re playing, do you?”
Isabel, Chris, and Galileo stared at Richard. This time he was on his own. There was no script. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out.
“I didn’t think so,” the voice went on. “Allow me to fill you in. I entertained your little stunt so that your stupid bitch client would come to New York, so I could set eyes on her myself. Now I know she’s alive. But she was dead. Impossible, isn’t it?”
Galileo made
a cutting motion across his throat. Isabel noticed that Chris clamped his fingers tighter around the tube that contained Richard’s blood.
“How do you explain it?” the voice demanded.
“Maybe,” Richard suggested, “it was a miracle. Divine intervention?”
A snort came over the line. “Christ, spare me.”
“Then I don’t know.”
“Well, I plan to find out. I am an investor after all, and I know a pot of gold when I see one. And only one person who can tell me how to get to it.”
Isabel felt a boulder of dread barrel through her. She glanced helplessly at Galileo, but he was fixated on the phone.
“Lucky Isabel”—the sound of her name was a sneer—“is going to meet some friends of mine in the projects tomorrow. Tell her to go to 1844 Lex in East Harlem at midnight, apartment four. She better be alone, no cameras, no weapons, no trackers, nothing. She will be checked. If she has anything on her or calls the police, it’s over. My friends will be expecting a credible explanation. If she cooperates, she’ll be let go unharmed. We’ll call it even.”
“Even?” Richard’s nostrils flared in rage.
“She did rip me off. And you tried to. Thanks for the ring, by the way. I think it’ll actually come in handy.”
Isabel was shaking her head so hard her neck hurt. He can’t make me, she mouthed. Surely Galileo would agree to just push out to sea and leave New York behind forever. Then she’d move her family somewhere far away and forget all about her desire for justice.
“You’re crazy,” Richard said. “She’ll never do that.”
“Oh no? I’d think twice if I were her.”
“Why’s that?”
“You think I don’t know about her brother? Or should I say cousin?” He pretended to seem hurt. “I hate when you underestimate me, Richard. You know I always do my research.”