No socks, belt, earrings, necklaces, rings, or any other accessories. As far as Uri could tell she was wearing three, possibly four, articles of clothing, excluding the backpack with her honey-brown hair splayed over it. Whether it was three or four depended on whether or not she was wearing panties.
Uri kept up with women’s fashion--he had to--and knew that this season ninety-nine out of a hundred women in New York would’ve worn high heels with those jeans, whores all of them. Not sweet Lisa. She had on a pair of well-worn penny loafers. Class.
She sat down between Uri and McAlister and in a well-practiced move she tucked her bag between her feet on the floor beneath the bar stool where she’d feel if it moved.
The bartender was immediately on her, and it was obvious she hadn’t considered a drink this early in the morning.
“A . . . Bloody Mary,” she said, answering his question. “Spicy.”
She was settled in now and looked left at Uri. He’d made a point to lower the paper he was reading so that she could see his face. He did not want to draw attention to himself by making her think he was McAlister.
She quickly looked to the right, toward the other man, McAlister in his disguise.
She took a long, hard look.
Her head stayed turned a long time, and Uri knew she was wondering if there was any possible way the man sitting on her right could be McAlister. Of course Uri knew it was, but the black hair and goatee were fooling Lisa. People could be so easily tricked.
After the fullness and complexity of the Tibet disguises, Uri was disappointed to be back in the United States. He felt naked posing as a slightly inebriated Wall Street investment banker. He wore a blue suit, white Brook Brothers shirt, loose tie, and disheveled hair. He used a Wall Street Journal as a prop so that McAlister and Lisa would think he was busy reading. In reality, he had no interest in reading anything other than material on the hunting practices of predatory spiders.
Lisa’s Bloody Mary was delivered. She took a sip and then Uri heard her whisper, “Thomas. Is that you?”
McAlister turned, smiled and raised his glasses so she could see his eyes.
Once she knew it was him she lunged at him, hugging him tightly. She was lithe and strong, and Uri saw her latissimus dorsi muscles flex as she squeezed McAlister.
McAlister’s face was buried in her hair, leaving Uri free to watch from behind. As she extended her arms and leaned over, her shirt rose and her already low-cut jeans were forced down. True to her minimalism, Uri saw that it was unlikely she was wearing panties.
She was exquisite, and blood roared through his eyes, momentarily dizzying him. He took three long, cleansing breaths and cleared his mind. He still dreamed of killing McAlister, but his negative feelings toward Lisa were subsiding.
The embrace ended, and Uri lowered the edge of the newspaper to steal a glance at Thomas’ neck. He hoped to see his jugular vein, but he was disappointed when Lisa’s hair obstructed his view.
At first, Uri didn’t think he was going to be able to hear them. Lisa was sniffling, obviously crying, and whispering. Once she settled down, he found that if he turned slightly, he could hear perfectly. McAlister was asking her if she thought she’d been followed, and she was assuring him she hadn’t.
Prior to her walking into PJ Clarke’s today, Uri had felt Lisa was completely expendable. Her only function was to delay Thomas’ search for the Blue Beryl.
He imagined firmly inserting the stainless steel spikes into Lisa’s neck. He bent the tip of the paper down to see if he could get a glimpse of her neck, but again, her hair got in the way.
He’d chop that hair with a straight razor and stuff it into her mouth.
It was then that Uri got his big idea. Tie both Lisa and Thomas down, side by side, and kill them both at the same time. He’d make them watch, just like a web with multiple flies. The fly that gets eaten last has to watch all of the others go first. He envisioned a fly with Thomas’ face and began to get a slight erection.
Stop! he told himself. Lisa was beginning to query McAlister and he must hear it.
He heard her say, “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“I’ll give you the condensed version.” The Clone listened as McAlister told Lisa how they’d visited Dr. Li, and how he’d died in a fire later that day. He told her about getting away from O’Brian, and about the excavations near the Potala. Uri knew it all; he’d been there every step of the way.
Then McAlister described parts Uri had not been aware of. He told Lisa about the symbol they’d found on the breastplate and knife, and how he and Dr. Bertram believed that Ming Wu had switched breast plates with Hai Cai and killed him using his own knife, making it look like the dead man was Wu and not Hai Cai.
McAlister explained that Dr. Bertram, using an international database, had tracked down three possible descendants, and that the most likely one had a primary residence here in New York.
Uri was impressed by McAlister’s detective work, and an anxious fire ignited in his belly.
McAlister was closer than he’d suspected. The trail that had led McAlister to New York was hot. The climax might come sooner than expected. His lips formed a restrained smile and blood poured into his penis. It was throbbing now and he decided that soon, when McAlister and Lisa were done talking, maybe if they ordered another round, he’d hurry to the restroom to masturbate.
Should he or shouldn’t he? Certainly he needed the release, and it would help him concentrate. But if he waited, waited until he plunged the spikes into McAlister’s and Lisa’s necks, wouldn’t the pleasure be that much more intense? Plus, what if McAlister got up and walked out while he was in the bathroom?
Lisa’s question jarred him back to reality. “So you think you’re that close, Thomas? The Blue Beryl might be right here in New York?”
“It might. There’s a reasonably good chance that Nuan Cai, who lives here, may have it--or at least know something about its history and its possible whereabouts. Not that he’d tell us.”
“Voluntarily, you mean.”
Thomas smiled at Lisa. “Yes. Right. Not voluntarily.”
Uri feigned reading while Thomas reviewed his plans with Lisa. “The next thing I need to do is find out who Nuan Cai is and, if possible, get a look inside his house.”
“When do you plan to do that?”
“You and I are going to walk by it right now. I need to take a picture of it. Later today I’m meeting with someone I think can help me get into it.”
“The thief you told me about?”
“Yes, Ethan. You’re welcome to attend.”
“Where are you meeting him?”
“At a club. In a private room.”
Lisa nodded but said nothing.
Uri considered a quick trip to the bathroom until he heard McAlister say, “Let’s get going. We’ve got a few blocks to walk.”
“Thirty.”
They got up and readied to leave.
“Oh, how do you like my disguise?”
“I had no idea it was you.”
“Good. Hopefully the NYPD won’t know either.”
“I love it. Right now I’m the only person in the world that knows precisely where Dr. Thomas McAlister is located. And you’re right where you should be--in my arms.”
Uri felt a tinge of jealousy as Lisa hugged McAlister.
The Clone waited his usual thirty seconds and then followed, the three of them headed north towards 63rd Street.
Chapter 37
McAlister had had no trouble getting back into the country with his fake identification papers and simple disguise. Ethan had explained that name, social security number, passport number and nationality were the triggers. New facial recognition software gave too many false positives to be trusted, because facial hair and age changed the visual circumference of the face, often tricking the software.
McAlister had desperately missed Lisa and wanted to stay close. Walking by the Cai residence and meeting with Ethan later were perfec
t opportunities to spend a little time with her. It was likely that soon he would start the operation to steal the book, and Lisa could be no part of that.
As they walked Lisa laced her fingers between McAlister’s. The morning air smelled fresh and Lisa’s hand was warm and firm and secure. A Chopin riff he couldn’t place skipped through Thomas’ head.
Lisa had been to visit Taylor and told McAlister his condition was unchanged. He was still isolated, but none of the antibiotics had helped, and it was questionable whether or not the antivirals were helping either.
“Hey!” Lisa suddenly interrupted. “62nd Street already.”
McAlister became serious as they turned left onto the street to which Bertram had traced Hai Cai’s ancestor, Nuan Cai
“Let’s have a look.”
“It’s number 12. 12 West 62nd Street,” McAlister said softly.
They walked slowly down the street, one of the few in Manhattan still covered in red pavers. After days of fleeing, searching, digging in catacombs and piecing together data, McAlister would soon be standing in front of the residence of the person he was reasonably sure possessed the Blue Beryl--or at least might know what happened to it.
Doubts whisked through his mind. At a number of points along the way he’d made important decisions based on supposition, assumptions and sometimes plain old intuition. All of it led to 12 West 62nd Street--right back to New York where it all started. If this address did not yield fruit, in all likelihood the hunt would end.
“It’s just up there.” Lisa pointed across the street.
The street was narrow and lined with large, mature elm trees likely dating back to the 1800s. Huge copper street lamps were interspersed between the trees, unevenly installed because the trees were there first. McAlister noted they were not far from the tavern where George Washington had called it quits and gone back to Mount Vernon.
It was a block of very old, solidly built, four-story brownstones. McAlister supposed they were probably some of the earliest built on the island of Manhattan.
“Let’s cross,” Lisa said, starting toward the street and gently pulling his hand.
He instantly pulled her back. “No, no. Just keep walking, but more slowly. Let’s just amble. Pretend we’re star-crossed lovers.”
Lisa gripped his hand more tightly, slid her other hand around his arm and purred into his shoulder. She didn’t need to pretend.
Thomas spotted number 12. It was impossible to miss it. Set in between two classic 19th-century brownstones was a completely modern four-story concrete structure.
It had a completely flat façade with no distinguishing detail whatsoever. It was devoid of any architectural embellishment and it didn’t even have gutters running down from the roof. The architect had made no concessions to pure modernism except for twelve black framed windows--three per floor.
McAlister quickly noticed that all the windows had bars across them. Between the two old brownstones it looked like a large, perfectly rectangular bad joke. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the neighbors’ reactions once they had seen what was being built on their street.
There were floodlights affixed to the trees in front of the house. Additionally, there was an iron gate on the door, a call box with a camera, and two large lights fastened to the concrete above the door..
“It’s so modern,” Lisa whispered.
“There’s one in every neighborhood.”
“Looks dark inside.”
“Too dark. I’m pretty sure those are false windows. The curtains are only there to make them look real. Act like you’re looking for something inside your purse.”
McAlister stopped and turned to face Lisa. He saw someone approaching over his shoulder from the same direction they’d just come from.
Looking back at the house, McAlister scanned it for cameras, intercoms or any other signs of security. He scrutinized the house one floor at a time. The person who was approaching was coming closer. Thomas glanced over Lisa’s shoulder and saw that it was a man, but he was obscured by the shadow of an elm tree and McAlister couldn’t see him well.
McAlister looked back toward the house, and up to the top floor, and when he did, he felt his throat constrict and it became impossible to take a deep breath. What he saw shocked him and he almost fell backward. Impossible. What he saw was impossible.
Chapter 38
Russia’s military Special Forces, their equivalent of the United States’ ultra-elite and secret Delta Force, was called Spetznaz. Uri Andropov had been a member for six years. As opposed to Delta Force, where soldiers became experts in many areas, Spetznaz soldiers were assigned specialties based on their natural proclivities.
Because of his carnival background and ability to change his appearance, Uri’s specialties were urban concealment, infiltration, observation and assassination.
When following someone in a confined place and they turn back toward you, or stop, a spy has to keep walking as if he hadn’t any interest at all.
Not wanting to lose McAlister, Uri had rounded the corner onto 62nd too quickly. When he saw McAlister and Lisa had stopped, it was too late to duck behind a tree or into a shadowy door well. He instinctively knew that most residences on this street would have dogs or security. So he kept walking at the same pace down the street directly toward McAlister. There was nothing else he could do.
McAlister was looking across the street, and Lisa seemed to be digging for something in her handbag. Uri wanted to know what McAlister was looking at, but didn’t want to turn his head. He forced his eyes as far right as they would go and saw a house, a modern house, much newer than the others on the street.
As he neared McAlister and Lisa, he heard muffled whispers. Uri pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and put his head down. He wanted them to see as little of his face as possible. McAlister had been face to face with him in Tibet. Uri had been in full indigenous disguise, including brown contact lenses, but McAlister was wily and Uri didn’t want to take any chances.
As he approached, McAlister remained focused on the house. He was almost past them, without so much as a glance, when McAlister suddenly stepped backward and they collided.
Uri was knocked sideways into a short wrought-iron fence that surrounded the entryway to the house they were standing in front of. Not ready for the collision, Uri had been relaxed and McAlister’s elbow had hit him just below his solar plexus, causing him to lose his breath.
McAlister’s heft surprised him. He dropped to one knee, surprised at how much trouble he was having gathering a breath. He knew he’d be fine in about twenty seconds, but this had never happened to him before. Had McAlister done it on purpose?
A moment after it happened, McAlister was saying, “I’m so sorry. Let me help you up.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, really,” Uri said with a perfect American accent.
Thomas was holding his left arm and now Lisa joined and took his right. Her grasp was strong and firm.
“Please forgive me. I was looking up and I lost my balance.” McAlister said.
Lisa looked at McAlister. Just before he’d stepped backward, it had sounded like he was choking.
The Clone got to his feet and was brushing his pants as he said, “Please, really, I’m fine, just fine. Accidents happen. I’m running late and I must go.”
He looked up and saw McAlister studying him intensely. There was an awkward pause, and McAlister said, “I know you from somewhere.”
The Clone quickly said, “No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before in my life, and I have a very good memory.”
“But weren’t you just at PJ Clarke’s?” McAlister asked.
“Yes, yes I was. I was there by myself reading the paper.” The Clone held up the newspaper he’d been carrying. “I often go there to relax when I’ve had a stressful morning.”
McAlister, still looking at Uri’s face, slowly said, “That must be it. We were just there and you look familiar. I’m terribly sorry about running into you like th
at. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, yes I’m fine, but must go. Have a good day.”
Uri walked to the corner, crossed the street and headed north on Madison.
That had been a disaster. Not only had McAlister remembered him from PJ Clarke’s, but there was also the chance that he might begin to suspect he’d seen Uri even earlier, somewhere else--like Tibet.
Now Uri would need to create completely unrecognizable disguises that would fool even the most observant prey.
As he walked, he pressed the tender area over his ribs where McAlister had run into him. It had been a perfect blindside. The man was bigger and heavier than he looked. His hands were bigger than Uri thought they would be. He had a slightly wiry look, but when you got up close to him he was deceptively muscular, and quite quick.
He must not underestimate McAlister in a fight.
More importantly, now he desperately needed to find out what McAlister had been staring at.
Chapter 39
“I know that man from somewhere,” Thomas whispered.
“Yeah, PJ Clarke’s. He was sitting behind me. He even said so.”
“No. Somewhere else. He’s familiar. I can’t place it, but when he looked me in the eye, I knew it.”
“You don’t think he was on this street by coincidence, then?”
“No, I don’t. Especially not since he was coming from the same restaurant as us. I don’t believe that was a coincidence. But why would he be following me? There’s no way anyone could know what I’m doing here.” Dr. Li’s burning tent flashed across McAlister’s mind.
“Could he be working for that guy you told me about--the FBI agent with the vendetta against you?”
“Anything is possible, but I doubt it. No one has been following Bertram or me. At least I don’t think they have.”
Book of Cures (A Thomas McAlister Adventure 2) Page 16