Black Sand

by William Caunitz

  At five-forty that evening a black van with a dish antenna on its shiny roof was parked on Central Park South, across the street from the Plaza.

  “There they are,” Lucas said, pointing to the van and pushing the Jeep’s door open. He slipped around the end of a slow-moving, horse-drawn hansom cab and hurried over to the black van. When he got inside the department’s special project mobile unit Lucas was met by two detectives dressed in dungarees.

  “Lieutenant Lucas?” inquired the shorter of the two.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Covington, and this is Schwartz. Can I see your warrant, Lou?”

  Lucas handed him the search warrant.

  “Looks in order,” Covington said, taking down a number four ledger from the shelf and making a long entry that included the date the warrant was issued, the name of the authorizing magistrate, and any time limitations specified in the warrant. “You understand, Lou, that you cannot record privileged communications. If the subject’s lawyer or clergyman shows up, you must terminate.”

  “I understand.”

  “Sign here,” Covington said, handing him a Receipt for Equipment form.

  Schwartz picked up a suitcase from the floor and handed it to Lucas. “You know how to do the installation, Lou?”

  “I know how,” Lucas said.

  Room 400 was the twin of 402. The detectives entered quickly. Lucas tossed the suitcase on the sofa. Vassos closed the shades and switched on the lights. Lucas opened the suitcase and removed a high-speed drill.

  He inserted a bit into the chuck and looked around the suite, getting his bearings. The bedroom wall of room 400 was the living room wall of 402. He went into the bedroom, removed the lamp from the night table, and climbed up on it, turning to Vassos and saying, “Find out where she is.”

  Vassos: “Mobile One to Mobile Three, K.”

  Big Jay: “Standing by, K.”

  Vassos: “Subject’s location, K?”

  Big Jay: “Beauty parlor, K.”

  Standing on the night table, Lucas drilled a hole high up in the wall, pressing on the bit until he broke through the plaster on the other side. Vassos handed him the pinhole lens, an instrument above five inches long with an eighth of an inch lens at one end and telephone wires on the other. He took the jar of lubricant jelly from Vassos, greased the sides of the lens, and worked the instrument into the hole until it was about a sixteenth of an inch from the pinhole opening on the other side of the wall.

  Vassos handed him a black box, a metal container about the size of a package of one hundred-length cigarettes that contained the camera’s omnidirectional antenna. After he attached the lens wires to the box, Lucas got down off the table and went back into the living room.

  He removed the microwave-receiving video recorder from the suitcase and set it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He switched on the machine and watched as the interior of suite 402 appeared on the screen.

  Bubblebelly and Pussy Lyne strolled out of The Den, followed almost immediately by McKay and Patty Guts. It was after seven and the remaining sun gave no hint of the twilight soon to fall. McKay looked up and down Ninth Avenue, the others waiting silently and making a loose circle around him.

  His instincts told him that something was wrong. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the street; McKay couldn’t quite put his finger on what was out of place. Then he saw the van parked diagonally across the street, WARSHOW ELECTRIC COMPANY stenciled on its side panel. He lit a cigarette, and stared at the dark glass set in the van’s side. “Wait here,” he told the others and strolled off by himself, looking across at the stationary vehicle.

  “He’s made the van,” Ulanov announced.

  “Looks that way,” Gregory said, calmly taking two mini Uzis from the gun locker and handing one to his partner. The detectives clicked thirty-two round magazines into the guns’ housings, unfolded the metal stocks, and slid the selector switches to full automatic. “Keep your eyes peeled,” Ulanov said, spinning around on the stool and transmitting, “Mobile Four to Mobile One, K.”

  Lucas and Vassos were relaxing on the sofa when Ulanov’s transmission came over the network.

  Lucas sprang forward, grabbing up the walkie-talkie from the table. “Mobile One. Go, Mobile Four, K.”

  “They made us, K.”

  “You sure, K?”

  “Pretty sure, K. Wait. Our boy is walking away, K.”

  McKay strolled back past his men, stopping at the open-front pizza parlor. “Hey, Guiseppi, or whatever the fuck your name is, how long’s that van been parked there?”

  The pie maker stuck his head out, looking. He studied the van and made an open-palmed gesture: How should I know?

  “Terrific,” McKay growled. “I got a blind pizza maker protecting my rear. That’s terrific.” He ambled back to his men. “Bubblebelly, I want you and Pussy to get a few of the boys and make swiss cheese out of that van.”

  Bubblebelly and Pussy Lyne walked back inside the bar.

  Watching through the one-way glass, Gregory said, “I believe they’re planning a surprise for us.”

  Lucas: “Mobile Four, what is your condition, K?”

  Before Ulanov could radio his answer, Sergei Nashin’s voice burst upon the network speaking in Russian. “Comrade Ulanov, two of my associates and I are on the way, K.”

  “No unauthorized transmission,” Central radioed. “This is a restricted frequency. Stay off this frequency.”

  “Пococŭ moŭ xyŭ!” Nashin transmitted.

  “Such language,” Ulanov radioed in Russian.

  “No unauthorized transmissions,” Central blared.

  “Mobile One to Mobile Four, hightail it out of there, K.”

  “Ten-four, Mobile One.”

  Bubblebelly, Pussy Lyne, and three other men rushed out of the bar carrying shotguns hastily concealed in brown wrapping paper only to see the van driving off down Ninth Avenue.

  “You want we should get our cars and go after them, Denny?” Pussy Lyne asked.

  “Naw. Let ’em go. Me and Patty got something to do. You guys hang out until we get back.”

  Nashin: “Mobile Five to Mobile One, K.”

  Lucas: “Go Mobile Five, K.”

  Nashin: “We have McKay in view. Do you want us to stay with him, K?”

  Lucas: “Affirmative, K. You’re early.”

  Nashin: “We were bored, K.”

  Lucas: “Remember, Mobile Five, observe and report, nothing more, K.”

  Nashin: “Ten-four, y’all.”

  Denny McKay and Patty Guts waited in the West Fiftieth Street station for the E train.

  Hearing the thundering rumble coming from the tunnel, they stepped back from the edge of the platform and watched the train come to a squealing stop. The doors opened; passengers pushing their way out of the train collided with the hordes shoving into the train. Patty Guts made a hole in the crowd for McKay and himself.

  The door struggled closed; the train pulled out of the station. Twenty-one minutes later the E train stopped at the World Trade Center, and the two men joined in with the crowd flowing into the vast underground complex leading to the PATH trains and the twin towers.

  They entered one of the arcade’s open cafés and sat down, Patty Guts ordering cappuccino for both of them. McKay scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face or a pair of eyes that wouldn’t meet his.

  McKay gulped down his cappuccino and said to Patty Guts, “Wait here.” Leaving his bodyguard, McKay walked into the massive lobby of One World Trade Center and took the elevator up to the 107th floor. Stepping out into the Cellar in the Sky restaurant, he moved down the steps into the cocktail lounge and sat at the bar. He ordered a scotch on the rocks.

  Clinking ice cubes, he turned on his stool and examined the faces of people in the bar, pausing only once to look out through the glass wall at the panorama of the city far below. Satisfied that he had not been followed, he paid the tab and rode the elevator down to the first floor.

&nb
sp; Working his way to the front of the car so that he would be among the first to exit, McKay rushed out on the ground floor, turning to watch the faces of the other departing riders. He waited near the elevator bank for five more minutes before he walked over to Two World Trade Center, darted into the oversized elevator car, and rode up to the 107th floor, where he stepped out onto the open-air viewing platform.

  He moved slowly, momentarily absorbed by the breathtaking view. Then he spied a solitary man who was leaning forward on an ivory-handled cane. He was well dressed and wore a golden ring.

  McKay slowly approached and stood next to him. “The cops were watching my place in a surveillance van,” he whispered, gazing off into the distance.

  “Is that unusual? I would think that they would always be keeping an eye on people like you.”

  “Yeah, that’s true, but now, with all that’s going on, and in a van, I thought it might be something to be concerned about.”

  “Anything else out of the ordinary?”

  “A few minor things,” McKay said. “Someone left the door of my place open and my snake got out. The counter on the copying machine was unexplainably high. I figure one of my guys used it for something personal.”

  “We’ve been careful, Denny. I don’t think we have a problem. Still, it’s wise to look over your shoulder now and then.”

  Two men moved up and stood next to them. McKay and his friend stopped talking. One of the newcomers took out a cigarette and lighted it with a gold-trimmed butane lighter that concealed a modified Minox 16mm camera. The other newcomer pointed to something off in the distance and said something in Russian. The one with the butane lighter nodded his head in acknowledgment and said, “Da, Da.”

  Moving out of earshot of the two strangers, McKay said, “Whaddaya gonna do about our lady friend?”

  “I’m going to debrief her about what is happening in Greece and then I’m going to offer her Orhan’s job.”

  “Do you think she can handle it?”

  “Yes, I believe she can.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  He looked at McKay. “Yes, I am.”

  20

  Nina Pazza had returned to her room a few minutes past six. She undressed and padded into the bathroom and took a bath. Then she put her bathrobe on and moved into the bedroom. She set the clock for seven-thirty and fell asleep. When the alarm went off she got up and slipped out her robe, dropping it on the foot of the bed. She admired her naked, gleaming body in the full-length mirror, turning sideways to look at her buttocks and deriving satisfaction from the firmness of her thighs. She spread her legs and pinched her inner thigh. “Disgusting,” she said with an ironic grin. She went into the bathroom to wash her face and put on her makeup.

  “That lady has a great body,” Lucas observed, watching the video screen.

  “She certainly has,” Vassos agreed.

  Nina went back into the bedroom and stepped into fresh panties. She took a bra from the dresser and was hooking the front together when she had second thoughts. She removed her brassiere and returned it to the drawer. Standing erect in front of the mirror, she caressed her firm breasts, gently kneading her nipples. Moving to the closet, she reached inside and took out a white cotton jumpsuit.

  Lucas: “Mobile Three, your location, K?”

  Big Jay: “In the lobby, covering exits, K.”

  Lucas: “Mobile Four, your location, K?”

  Ulanov: “Parked across street, covering front entrance, K.”

  Lucas: “Mobile Two, your location, K?”

  Leone: “We followed subject back to bookstore, K.”

  Lucas: “Mobile Two, leave that location and respond back here. Cover CPS entrance of hotel, K.”

  Leone: “Ten-four.”

  Lucas: “Mobile Five, your location, K?”

  No response.

  Lucas: “Mobile Five, do you read this unit, K?”

  Static.

  “Perhaps they’re not in position to transmit,” Vassos said.

  “I hope it’s nothing more than that,” Lucas said, watching Nina get up out of her seat to answer a knock at the door.

  “How have you been, Nina?” he asked, giving her a perfunctory kiss on her cheek as he moved past her into the room. It was 9:03. He was always punctual.

  She made no response other than to throw herself on the sofa and sulk. She drew her arms tightly across her stomach and glared at the tall, sinewy man as he moved around checking the room out with almost excessive caution.

  “Damn!” Lucas exclaimed, watching Paul Mastri, the rare book dealer, lean his cane up against the side of the sofa and hand a gift-wrapped package to Nina.

  “A present,” Mastri said in a quiet, pleasant voice.

  She looked away, avoiding his eyes. “No, thank you.”

  He gently turned her face toward him. “Please.”

  She unceremoniously snatched the gift from his hand and ripped off the wrapping to discover a small oil painting.

  He sat down next to her. “A landscape by Il Grechetto. Signed and dated 1650.” He leaned close to her, scratching his upper lip with his finger. “You do know who Il Grechetto was, don’t you?”

  She slapped his face. “You bastard!”

  He grabbed her hand. “I thought you would like it, after all, Giovanni Castiglione was your mother’s favorite.”

  She threw the painting down on the cushion. “I hate you.” The tears came, and then the sobs, and she fell crying against her father’s chest, remaining there while he gently stroked her hair.

  Suddenly she recoiled from his caresses and ran crying into the bathroom. A few minutes passed before she returned, her makeup reapplied, hair combed. She lowered herself back down into her seat. “Why did you kill Orhan?” she demanded angrily.

  He sighed and dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. “Orhan suffered from a life-threatening malady: greed. He wanted me to sell our birthright and share the money with him.”

  “And the Aristarchus commentary? I thought Belmont was your friend; but you told your goons to steal it from him.”

  “Friend? That is a middle-class word that does not apply to people like us. The commentary helps authenticate Alexander’s Iliad. I’ve been collecting everything that has to do with the casket-copy since my father died. I had no intention of letting Belmont know I was interested in it. His big mouth would have blabbed it all over the art world.”

  “You trust him enough to do business with him.”

  “Business is one thing, our heritage is another.”

  “I want none of it.”

  He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Your grandfather spent his life and his fortune searching for the casket-copy. The world laughed at him. Well, I took up his search. I gave up my name, my own face, everything so that I could reclaim our birthright – and you dare to sit there and tell me you want none of it? I brought you into the family business because I thought you were intelligent enough to comprehend how important the casket-copy is to us. To me! Damn it, it’s mine. I earned it!”

  “Please,” she said, removing one of his hands.

  He opened his mouth to say something when he noticed a few whitish flakes on the floor. Mastri reached for his cane and rose slowly. Moving over to the wall, he knelt, examining the small mound of plaster on the dark red carpet. He stood, backing away from the wall. Using the tip of his cane as a pointer, he prodded the wall suspiciously.

  “What is it?” Nina asked, concern growing in her voice.

  Mastri’s features clouded with anger. “I think the Plaza has mice, my dear.” Suddenly he stuck the pinhole viciously with his cane.

  “He might try to escape through the connecting door. You take that, I’ll take the door to his room,” Lucas said, transmitting as he ran, “Mobile Two, Three, Four – ten eighty-five, forthwith.”

  “Three on the way,” Big Jay radioed as he and Christos made for the elevator.

  “Mobile Two,” Leone shouted into the mo
uthpiece, making for the stairs with Elisabeth.

  “Mobile Four coming,” Ulanov radioed as Gregory swerved the surveillance van across Fifth Avenue, down Fifty-eighth Street, and made a sharp right turn into Grand Army Plaza, followed by a hard left that made the van go partway up the hotel’s steps. As shocked guests watched, Gregory leaped down from the van and ran into the lobby, followed almost immediately by Ulanov, who had lingered only long enough to lock up the van.

  Lucas ran out into the corridor, his revolver drawn. With his back to the wall, he reached out and tried the doorknob of Nina Pazza’s room. It was locked. “Open up, Mastri. Police!” Lucas backed away and smashed his foot just above the knob. It did not give, so he kicked it again.

  At the same moment, Vassos threw open the connecting door of his room and tried Nina Pazza’s. It was locked. Drawing his automatic, he ran back into the room to gain momentum and hurled himself at the closed door. His body struck just as the door was jerked open from the inside, catapulting the policeman into the room. The cane sword smashed its way into his mouth, then went clean through to the brain. Both his eyes filled with blood; gasping, he blew a spray of blood through his nostrils and out his mouth. Through a crimson haze he saw Soula and Stephanos waving to him. He called out their names and ran to meet them.

  Paul Mastri rushed into the policemen’s room. Ignoring the video setup, he stood by the door, listening, waiting.

  Lucas finally crashed into Pazzi’s room, his weapon at the ready. An unexpected, numbing dread seized him; then a piercing howl exploded from his mouth when he saw Vassos. He stumbled over to his fallen friend, automatically feeling for a pulse; there was none.

  He stared in mute agony at Andreas’s body, at the head propped on the sword handle, the smeared blade sticking out of the back of his head, the blood pouring onto the carpet and pooling in a dark circle. He should have taken the connecting door, sent Andreas through the front. Slowly the cloud began to clear and he became aware of sounds behind him. He turned and saw Nina curled up on the sofa in a fetal position, wrenching sobs coming from her distorted mouth.