by Martha Carr
“Go out there and take a walk. Go by yourself and head toward the river. Alphonso? Where are you? You’re done eating,” said George, ignoring Alphonso’s raised fork. “You head west, see if anyone tails you or if anything seems wrong. I will not lose this opportunity before I even get started. Take the tunnel and go out the back of the other building. Don’t let anyone see you leave here.”
There was more than one reason to have chosen this particular safe house.
The Greek revival townhouse across the street from the bar was built well over a hundred years ago but had never had a single resident. Originally, it was constructed as a secret entrance to a private subway tunnel for bigwigs from Tammany Hall who didn’t mind trudging down six stories to reach the private rail car.
Steam blew out of industrial steel shutters set in the windows for years till enough residents complained. Then the vents were moved closer to the roofline and the façade was rehabilitated while the windows were darkened, making it impossible to see inside. Anyone who walked up to the door and tried to peek in a crack would have seen a sterile room with a concrete floor and a steel door flush with the wall, at the other end. Eventually Tammany Hall was pulled apart as Management moved in to take over the political machine but without all of the theatrics that drew too much attention. The railcar was eventually forgotten and the property sat unused.
Olga had known all about the history and during the last downturn in the economy used her vast connections to acquire the building. That made it easier for her to connect an old prohibition tunnel to the stairwell leading down to the railcar and reestablish the line. The building had all sorts of potential hiding places and an exit or two that could not be seen.
The truth was, it always easier to hide in cities, even ones like New York City that had people crawling all over the streets no matter what time of day or night. So many faces made people want to look away and get on with their business. Towns and suburbs had a bit too much interest in strangers.
Olga stood up slowly, never fully straightening up and letting out a low grunt as she brushed a magenta lock out of her face. She crooked a finger at Charlie without actually looking in his direction.
“Follow me.”
Charlie didn’t like leaving Norman alone but he was even more concerned with pacifying George. He headed down the stairs, and into the basement.
“Push those aside,” she said, slapping a tall stack of heavy cardboard boxes with the outline of a liquor bottle above Cyrillic script. The stacked swayed gently as Charlie and Alphonso slowly moved the tower over and there was the sound of glass bottles clinking against each other.
“Don’t break the profits,” said Olga, frowning at them. He took note of the diamond stud earrings and wondered just how enamored she was of a workers’ paradise.
Behind the boxes was a low door. Charlie ducked down as he raised his hand to make sure he didn’t smack his forehead on anything unseen in the low light. Olga was already moving ahead of them with the flashlight as they worked their way through a tunnel shored up with old, large timbers.
They came out a newer metal door painted grey that opened onto a wide, open metal staircase that rose up another floor. Charlie looked over the side and couldn’t see how many floors it descended into a dark, wide opening. Old yellow bricks lined each wall around the staircase.
“What’s down there?” asked Alphonso, leaning over the side.
“None of your business,” barked Olga. “You two are headed this way,” she said, as she went up the stairs and unlocked yet another door. Charlie found himself standing in what he guessed was the back of the townhouse directly across the street. He had noticed the opaque windows and wondered about the convenient proximity to Sasha’s Bar.
Olga turned a deadbolt and opened the backdoor, holding it open as Charlie quickly exited. As Alphonso passed over the threshold Olga gave him a swift kick, eliciting an oomph from Alphonso. The door quietly shut as Alphonso muttered, “Bitch.” They moved down the alley away from the river.
Charlie let himself smile for a moment and turned east, whistling, ‘Let it Snow’, as he scanned both sides of the street. There was no one to be seen. He turned up Avenue C and walked to Houston, turned left and dug his hands into his pockets as a gust of wind hit him in the face. He wished he had thought to grab a jacket as he blinked back tears. He pulled out his hands and rubbed his face, stopping to let a car turn into a parking lot.
He crossed the street in front of a large, ornate building that read, ‘Hamilton Fish Park Center’ over the top and had small green flags hanging out front touting afterschool programs.
It was one of the generalized locations designated as a dead drop but he didn’t have time to write anything down and didn’t want to take such a risk out in the open. He chose to believe someone had seen his other message and things were already underway on the other side of the balance of powers. He didn’t have much of a choice.
Instead, he looked at the artwork and enjoyed the fresh air for just a moment, keeping an eye out for anything he would have to report.
Homemade pictures of snowflakes and hand-drawings of winter scenes were taped in each of the large windows at the bottom. Snow sprayed from a can decorated the edges of the window, creating a frame for all of the artwork.
Charlie smiled as he walked, taking in the drawing of a spindly Rudolph and another of a Christmas tree surrounded by wrapped presents. He had shoved everything he bought at Columbus Circle into the trunk of one of the cars, hoping he’d be able to retrieve it at some point and mail them off. One of the only perks to having his entire life an open book to both sides. It didn’t matter if they saw where he mailed them. They already knew all of the addresses. It was also the only way to be sure there were no holes in his story. So far, it was his only story.
He got the next to last window when he saw the drawing of a Santa wearing a chain around his waist with a gold and a silver key dangling from it. The Circle had found him and were in the area. Maybe George had been right and the woman was an operative. Too stupid a move, thought Charlie. I vote for the affair in the middle of the day.
He kept walking, passing the front of a small library further down the street and saw that the front door was slightly ajar, two straight chalk lines drawn just inside the door. He followed the sign inside the building, taking a glance back to see if Alphonso had doubled back. There was no sign of him.
He blew on his hands as he walked in, giving anyone who might be watching the impression he was coming in out of the cold for a moment. It wasn’t far from the truth.
Inside he quickly glanced around, noticed another set of small chalk marks and followed them into the nonfiction section to a set of small study rooms that lined the far back wall. They were neatly hidden by the tall stands of books directly in front of them, providing cover as Charlie slid into the one room that had an open door.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, caught off guard. Father Michael was waiting for him, sitting in an old oak lambing chair that resembled a wooden wingback chair. One of the small drawers was missing from underneath the seat.
“Wondering if you know more about what George Clemente plans to do next,” said Father Michael.
“You had to come in person?” whispered Charlie, his heart beating faster. “Clemente can spot you from well over a mile away and the outfit isn’t helping.”
“I’ve always got on the clerical shirt. It comes with the job description. Don’t waste time. Tell me what you know. Sit, sit,” he said. Charlie unfolded one of the wooden chairs propped against the far wall and sat down, bouncing back up again.
“There’s no time for me to sit down,” he said, trying to sound calm, but feeling like he was failing. This is unacceptable, he thought. Things were coming apart. “And I don’t know much. Norman Weiskopf arrived yesterday and is being held in a place called Sasha’s Bar over on Avenue B.”
“We are well aware of Olga Sokolov. Has George said why he kidnapped Norman We
iskopf?”
“He plans to use him as leverage. He thinks it will make Wallis Jones do his bidding.”
Father Michael slapped the flat wooden armrest. “What bidding?” he said, leaning forward.
“It’s propaganda. He thinks she can be used to recruit people. Clemente thinks there are people on both sides of the aisle, Management and Circle who are worn out after the war. A good enough reason to jump ship and come work for a new third party. He thinks enough will go to tip the scale. I don’t believe him. There’s got to be something more.”
Father Michael fell silent. A worried look came over his face as he furrowed his brow. “Thank you for your signal. It was received and so cleverly done but this is not his last stop. This is only his first resting place.”
“What makes you think that?”
“There was a reason the civil war ravaged more of certain parts of the country, than others. The east coast was largely left untouched. Did you not notice? New York is seen as the financial capital of the world but the real power behind the curtain has always been in the Midwest. The banks are left alone to play with the money of their customers but there is much that goes on where no one is really looking. If George Clemente is trying to destabilize with propaganda he will go where they can see him and his trolls in person.”
“If it’s that obvious why would he risk taking his valuable pawn there?” asked Charlie. “It doesn’t seem like the smart move.”
“At some point, George Clemente knows anyone can be tracked. It’s whether or not you can stay just ahead of them.” Father Michael winced at a thought. “If he has already started gathering any kind of force around him, once he is in the nest, it may not matter. No, that can’t be it. He’s waiting for something before he heads into the heartland,” he said, more to himself.
“And Wallis Jones?” asked Charlie, feeling the seconds tick by.
“I suspect he will draw her there. That explains why he needed Norman even more. He will be drawing her away from her support base, from protection, and out into the open. I fear, for Norman, she will do it. But there are still countermeasures we can take. Clemente is clever, even I will admit that but his ego always gets in the way. It will again. Stay close to him. Find out everything you can and let us know as soon as possible. Things have changed. We’ll need to know faster.”
“I have to go,” said Charlie. “There isn’t anything else. You know him better than I do. He doesn’t share details. I learn about directives five seconds before I have to carry them out. I’m supposed to be on one right now.”
“You may need to calm down,” said Father Michael. “After all, you are living just inches from the devil and he is very good at smelling fear. I’ve found it to be easier when I accept whatever fate has to offer. Then, there is nothing to detect. I want you to get a message to Norman when you can. Tell him Wallis and Ned are secured. All is well. Do your best to keep them here where we can watch them. Olga is a tricky one. She doesn’t really belong to any side. Never has. Her loyalty lies with the long-dead and they don’t care much anymore.”
Charlie turned to go but Father Michael caught him by the arm. “Do me a favor when you can. Leave these in his pocket,” he said, firmly pressing the white rose petals in Charlie’s palm.
Charlie took them but felt the anger rising in his throat. “What’s the point? This could only get me killed.”
“A million different things could get you killed, Charlie. You are disguised as an ally with no cover other than the life you’ve led. There’s nothing for you to return to after this, so finally killing off George Clemente is in your best interests. This will unnerve him, make him second guess himself, change up his plans and perhaps make a mistake. We need to know more of his plan. The fact that he was able to grab Norman Weiskopf as easily as he did and make it this far is not good news. And we still don’t know anything about what he plans to do next other than marketing. It’s not much to go on.”
“I have to go,” said Charlie, stuffing the petals into his pocket. “I respect all that you’ve done. I know about the Order. I was read in when I accepted this assignment,” he hesitated, not used to saying what he really thought. “But this is reckless,” he said, as he slipped out the door. He made his way through the library, quickly passing out of the door he came in at the front and kept moving toward the river, just blocks away. He needed to calm down and appear cold by the time he returned to the safe house.
He took a short jog, slowing down as he came up to a line of newer greystone apartment buildings that towered over the older more typical red brick building next door. He passed by the tall towers of clear plastic bags full of refuse from the residents that occupied two car lengths and went up one full story just at the corner of the building.
Just as he passed the tower of trash a hand grabbed his arm and twisted.
“What the fuck were you doing in that library?”
It was Alphonso, standing in the shadows of the trash pile, waiting for him.
“I saw you go in there,” he said.
“Which can only mean you didn’t cover any of the ground to the west,” said Charlie, pulling his arm away, making sure he sounded disgusted.
“This one’s not going to be about me, teacher’s pet,” said Alphonso, “You’re up to something. There was a chalk mark on the door. You were meeting someone.” He shoved Charlie back and as Charlie lost his balance, he reached out for the edges of the bags behind him, feeling something sharp like the edge of a metal can, poking him in the back. There was no time to do anything else.
He landed in the bags, not quite sitting down, as the tall bag behind him pushed against the building, and one small white rose petal fell from his pocket. He saw it fall and looked up in time to see Alphonso’s face take it all in.
“I knew it,” Alphonso whispered joyously. “Traitor,” he said, lunging forward, his hands reaching out to encircle Charlie’s throat.
Without even meaning to, Charlie let go of the rage he had been keeping buttoned up, deep inside of him, waiting for a more appropriate time.
He quickly lifted his knee, punching it into Alphonso’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He brought his hands down on Alphonso’s back, hearing a nice crack as one of his ribs neatly broke into two pieces. Alphonso let out a cry of pain and bit down hard on Charlie’s shoulder, pushing off to get enough distance.
He was wheezing hard as he swung, connecting with Charlie’s jaw, knocking his head back. Charlie used the bags to soften his fall and came back out, grabbing hold of Alphonso around the waist, throwing his weight against him, trying to get him to the ground.
He pressed a knee on top of Alphonso’s ribs, watching him grimace as he thought for just that moment what they would do to his mother, his father, and his sister if Alphonso made it back to the safe house. That made it easier to wrap his hands around his neck, pressing his thumbs into his windpipe, watching his face turn deeper shades of red and purple as he applied his weight against his chest.
Alphonso clawed at him, leaving a deep scratch on his arm as his eyes bulged out of their sockets and he looked at Charlie, rage filling his face.
Charlie saw him slipping away and leaned down closer to whisper, “This is for Wyoming,” as he pressed harder. He saw the look of surprise as the life faded from Alphonso’s eyes.
Charlie held on to him for a little longer, making sure he was dead before he let him fall back against the trash. He took some of the rose petals out of his pocket and threw them down on the dead body. That was a loud enough message, he thought, pulling down his sleeve to hide the scratch marks.
He quickly went through Alphonso’s pockets searching for anything that would identify the body and to find his phone. He pulled out the phone and removed the sim card, paying attention to his breathing, in, out, in, out, trying to calm himself down.
“What have you done?” screamed a woman, and Charlie looked up to see a round woman buried in layers of a winter coat and sweaters peering around the
edge of the bags. “Is he dead?”
Charlie ducked his head down, not wanting to give her the chance for a good description and pushed past her. He started running down Houston, cutting quickly down Avenue D, the wind in his face. He bent the sim card as he ran, throwing it into the yard behind a house.
He tried to think of an explanation for the bruising around his eye that was already swelling as he picked up the pace and turned down Third Avenue, now running as fast as he could, slowing down as he neared the Federal Building across the street, breathing hard, still moving.
He slowed to a walk as he approached the building not giving anyone who might be watching out of a nearby window a reason to remember him. He couldn’t afford to attract the police to the bar and risk Norman’s life. George wouldn’t go quietly and would find it easier to leave a few more dead bodies behind.
Olga was waiting for him when he tapped on the door.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked, looking at his face.
“There’s been a problem,” he said, sliding inside. “I may have been followed.”
“And you came back here?” she asked, angry. He was already too far inside for her to shove him back out the door. Besides, she knew that would have made George angrier. He was going to want explanations.
Olga led him back underground and across the street to the three-flat.
“What makes you think you were followed?” she asked, once they were back across the street. “What happened to the stupid one?”
“He got himself killed,” said Charlie, not offering anymore of an explanation.
“Not a surprise,” said Olga, clicking her tongue, as they went up the narrow stairs. She didn’t seem surprised at all.
Olga opened the door to the bar and motioned to George to come out to the hallway.
“What is it?” he asked as he got closer to the door.
“It’s this one,” she said. “He says there’s a problem.”