Live to Air

by Jeffrey L Diamond

  Ethan walked over to his desk and stared at the scotch, then picked up the tumbler and swilled it down all at once. Feeling better, he headed down the hall to help Sarah get ready to leave.

  CHAPTER 20

  AN HOUR LATER, ETHAN PUT Sarah and Luke into a Minuteman Taxi, handed the driver their suitcases, and quickly looked up and down the block. At first he didn’t see the Lincoln Navigator and thought that sending his family off to Ohio was foolhardy, a hasty reaction to a moment of stress. But then he found it hiding behind a delivery truck, sitting like a sentinel, the same two men in the front seat, watching. He motioned to Sarah to roll down the window. “It’s still on the corner near Madison Avenue.”

  “Where? I don’t see it?”

  “Behind the FedEx truck.”

  She looked out the back window and spotted the Lincoln. “What do we do now, Ethan?” she said pleadingly.

  “Stick to the plan. Take Luke and head to the airport. I’ll wait here until you’re out of sight and make sure they don’t follow you.”

  “And what if they do?”

  “I’ll call, and we’ll figure something out.” He leaned into the taxi and kissed her, then turned to Luke. “Take care of your mommy, little man.”

  “And what about you, Daddy? Those are bad men. Who’s gonna take care of you?” Luke said, his little face looking up, bewildered.

  “I’ll be fine, Lukey. Don’t worry.” He rubbed his mop of red hair and motioned to the driver to get going.

  “I love you, babe,” he said, forcing a smile.

  “I love you, too,” Sarah said as the taxi pulled away from the curb, sped down the block, and disappeared into the traffic on Fifth Avenue.

  Ethan sighed heavily and looked for the Lincoln. It hadn’t moved. Then he turned and slowly headed down Ninety-First Street, glancing over his shoulder every now and then, making sure the Navigator hadn’t inched out onto the street behind him. When he reached the middle of the block, he broke for the corner, sprinting as fast as he could—legs churning, arms pumping, hair blowing in the wind.

  At Fifth Avenue, he hailed a taxi, gave the driver the address for the Broadcast Center, and told him there was an extra fifty if he ran all the lights. The cabbie gunned the engine and peeled into traffic, weaving around slower-moving cars and trucks like a Formula One driver.

  Ethan checked the back window.

  The Navigator wasn’t there.

  When they reached the corner of Sixty-Sixth Street, he leaned forward and told the driver to take a quick right and head to the West Side through the transverse. The cabbie jerked the wheel and skidded through the intersection, nearly sideswiping a parked car. Hitting the accelerator, he raced across Central Park at sixty miles an hour, speeding past a group of pedestrians gawking from the sidewalk and making a quick left turn onto Columbus Avenue.

  Ethan searched again for the black Lincoln.

  Still no sign of it.

  When they reached Fifty-Seventh Street, he paid the driver and hopped out of the taxi. Where should I go? Where should I go? he thought. To the office? But what if they’re watching there, too? Gotta think. Gotta think. Maybe it’s better if I hide somewhere else till I figure things out. Heading uptown, he looked for a coffee shop, then ducked into the Time Warner Building, losing himself in the crowd of people milling about the shopping arcade. Still paranoid, he pushed into a Starbucks and searched the room.

  Nobody was following.

  The coast was clear.

  After ordering a Grande Mocha, he sat down at a table near the window and pulled out his iPhone. “Come on, come on, Mindy, pick up. We need to talk.” He waited impatiently and dialed the number again.

  “Ethan, you sound out of breath,” she said, finally answering. “What’s going on?”

  “I just had some more fun with my friends in the black Lincoln,” he said, alarmed. “They were outside my apartment building when I left for work.”

  “Did they come after you?”

  “I lost them in a taxi. Are you at the office?”

  “I’m stuck in traffic coming across Fifty-Seventh Street. I’m about two blocks from the Broadcast Center.”

  “Well, change of plans. Meet me at the Starbucks in the Time Warner Building instead.”

  “What are you doing there, Ethan?”

  “Buying some time,” he said, piqued. “How long will it take you to get here?”

  “I’ll get out and walk the rest of the way. I can be there in five minutes.”

  “Don’t walk. They might see you. Stay in the taxi. I don’t care how long it takes.”

  “But they don’t know who I am,” she said, sounding surprised by the fear in his voice.

  “We don’t know that,” he said, wondering if everybody on his team was being followed. “Just get here, Mindy. And check the Broadcast Center when you go by. See if there’s a black Lincoln parked out front. I wanna know if there’s more than one team of goons watching me.”

  He hung up the phone and glanced out the window.

  There was still no Navigator.

  Maybe he’d really lost them.

  • • • • •

  Fifteen minutes later, Ethan spotted Mindy walking into the Starbucks. She bought a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “Ethan, you look awful. They scared the shit out of you, didn’t they?”

  “Guess you could say that.”

  “Did you have a drink? I can smell alcohol on your breath.”

  “Just one,” he said, ashamed, before changing the subject. “Have you reached David yet?”

  “I talked to him a little while ago,” she said, worried he was about to bolt to McGlades to tie on a bender. “He’s placed calls to his sources in Washington. He should know about Kolkov and the black Lincolns sometime this morning.”

  “And what about Lloyd?”

  “We can’t find him.”

  “Well, David should keep trying.”

  “He will. He will, Ethan. But do you really think the Russian Mob is after you?” she said suspiciously.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s them,” he said, peeking out at the street again. “Was there a Navigator parked outside the Broadcast Center?”

  “A half block away. Two guys in the front seat, just like you said.”

  Ethan leaned back. “Shit, can’t be the same two guys. I’m sure they didn’t follow me.”

  “What are you gonna do, Ethan? Are you gonna tell the police?”

  “And tell them what? I think I’m being watched by some really bad guys who may work for the Russian Mob? They’ll laugh in my face.”

  “What about Paul?”

  “I can’t tell Paul either. I need proof before I go to him. He’ll just get pissed at me again.”

  “You’ve got to tell somebody,” she said.

  “No. I need to think it through first,” he said adamantly. “Sarah and Luke are safe. She’s going to her sister’s in Cleveland for a couple of days. I won’t have to worry about them once they’re out of the city.”

  “And what about you?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” he said, checking the time. “It’s almost eleven. Let’s head to the office. I wanna talk to David and see if he’s found out anything yet.”

  Then his cell phone suddenly beeped.

  • • • • •

  Sarah grabbed Luke’s hand as the Minuteman Taxi pulled away from their apartment and turned onto Fifth Avenue.

  “Mommy, where we going?” Luke said.

  “I told you, sweetheart. We’re going to visit your aunt Amanda and your cousin Jake in Cleveland. Won’t that be fun?”

  “I want Daddy to come.”

  “He can’t, Lukey. He’s gotta work. You know that. We’ll come home in a couple of days, and you’ll see him then.”

  “But I wanna see him now.”

  “Tell you what. We’ll call him as soon as we get there. Then you won’t miss him quite so much.” She pulled him closer and hugged
him, trying to console him.

  The limo headed up Madison Avenue and across Ninety-Sixth Street, making its way through bumper-to-bumper traffic to the FDR Drive. Sarah kept looking out the window, searching to make sure they weren’t being followed, apprehensive. When they stopped for a red light at First Avenue, she tapped the driver on the shoulder. “There isn’t anybody suspicious behind us, is there?”

  The driver looked at her through his rearview mirror. He was a Sikh and spoke with a heavy Indian accent. “There’s a black Lincoln about a block back, mum. He pulled in behind us when we made the turn off Ninetieth onto Madison Avenue. He’s been following us ever since.”

  “Is it the same car that was parked near my building?”

  “No, mum, a different one. An older model.”

  Sarah checked again and spotted the Lincoln partially hidden by a cement truck, then fumbled in her pocketbook and called Ethan on her cell phone.

  “Sarah, what’s wrong?” he said frantically.

  “Ethan, they’re right behind us,” she said, whispering into the telephone.

  “That’s impossible. I waited in front of our building until you were long gone before I left. The Lincoln never moved.”

  “The driver says it’s a different car. What should I do?”

  “Just stay calm, babe. Where are you?”

  “Stopped at a red light. We’re about to get onto the FDR Drive.”

  “Tell the driver to run the light,” he said timorously. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t get off the phone.”

  “I heard your husband, mum,” the driver said, still staring at her through his rearview mirror. “I’ll do the best I can.” He hit the accelerator, the tires spinning as the limo shot through the intersection and roared onto the highway. Within seconds, it was hauling along at seventy miles an hour, fishtailing as it swerved around cars jamming the thoroughfare, heading for the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge.

  Sarah turned and looked out the window. “They’re still behind us, Ethan. We’re not getting away.”

  “You’ve got plenty of time to lose them, Sarah. How’s Luke doing?”

  “He’s crying. He knows something’s wrong.”

  “Tell the driver to go faster.”

  The cabbie pushed harder on the gas pedal, hauling up the ramp to the bridge at almost eighty miles an hour. Leaning on the horn, he continued accelerating, bursting around slower-moving vehicles, driving like a maniac.

  “Are they still following you?” Ethan said.

  “I can still see them,” Sarah said, out of breath, “but they’re not quite as close as they were before.”

  “Are you on the bridge yet?” he said, urgency in his voice.

  “We just went through the tollbooth.”

  “And where’s the Lincoln?”

  “Stuck behind a line of cars.”

  The driver didn’t slow as he merged into traffic, the engine roaring as he put more distance between his limousine and the Navigator. Sarah draped her arm around Luke, clutching him closer, hanging on for dear life. “Ethan, the Lincoln’s boxed in between an eighteen-wheeler and a couple of cars. I think we’re gonna lose it.”

  “You gotta get to the exit ramp at La Guardia Airport before it catches up to you,” he said, now shouting into the phone. “If they don’t see you pulling off, they may think you’re headed to Kennedy. Then you’ll be home free.”

  “Driver, keep going, faster,” she said as she kissed Luke on top of his head, trying to mask her own fear. “Are you okay, Lukey?”

  He wiped a tear from his eye. “Who’s chasing us, Mommy? Is it the bad guys?”

  “Yes, little man, but we’re getting away.” She looked out the window, hoping she was right. “How much longer, driver?”

  “We’re almost at the exit ramp, mum,” he said.

  “Hurry. Please hurry.”

  The limo screamed into the airport, shooting down the labyrinth of approach roads, until it reached the Delta Airlines Terminal. Sarah barely waited for the driver to stop before scribbling her signature on a voucher and racing with Luke and their luggage into the building.

  “Sarah, where are you now?” Ethan said, sounding desperate.

  “In the terminal, Ethan. We lost them,” she said, panting. “I’m about to pick up our e-tickets. What the hell’s going on? Those guys scared the shit out of me and Luke.”

  “I don’t know, babe. I told you, I’m trying to figure it out.”

  “Well, figure it out soon. We’re not coming home until you do. We can’t,” she said, bursting into tears.

  “Pull yourself together, Sarah. For Luke’s sake, and whatever you do, don’t take your eyes off him.”

  “I’ll watch him,” she said, clutching his hand. “But I’m worried, Ethan. And I’m worried about you. Are you gonna be okay all by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine. Really. Now go through security and call me when you’re on the plane.”

  She wiped her eyes. “I love you, Ethan.”

  “I love you, too, babe.”

  “And please stay out of trouble. I want you in one piece when I get back.” She hung up the phone. “Let’s go, Luke. We gotta hurry.”

  Then she vanished into the throng of people as she passed through security and headed to the gate.

  CHAPTER 21

  ETHAN RUSHED OUT OF THE Starbucks, Mindy on his heels, still worrying about his family. The fog had burned off and the temperature had fallen into the upper sixties. But he was sweating profusely, his skin clammy, his clothes sticking to his body like an extra layer of skin. As he headed toward the Broadcast Center, his mind was a jumble of disconnected thoughts. “Come on, Ethan. Come on. Pull yourself together,” he muttered under his breath. “Think, man, think. You gotta figure out what to do.”

  When he stopped for the light at Fifty-Seventh Street, Mindy put her hand on his shoulder. “Ethan, talk to me. You haven’t uttered a word since you hung up with Sarah. Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine,” he said, staring straight ahead, vacantly. “They’re safe on the plane. Those guys can’t get them anymore.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mindy. Just rattled.”

  “Well, pull yourself together,” she said, shaking him. “This is totally out of control. You gotta tell Paul. Those guys are gonna hurt you or Sarah or maybe even Luke. You gotta do something.”

  He turned and faced her. “Look, there’s nothing we can do at the moment. Nothing. We need solid evidence before I tell Paul. All I have is a theory,” he said, more determined than ever to find answers before going to his boss. “Show me where you saw the Lincoln before you got to the Starbucks. Let’s start there.”

  Mindy peered down the block, trying to see around the waves of people jamming the sidewalk. “I don’t see it,” she said, pointing. “It was parked there on the north side of the street near Seventh Avenue. About a half block from the entrance to the Broadcast Center. It’s not there anymore.”

  Ethan strained into the distance, trying to pick out a black Lincoln. Then he spotted a Navigator—now on the south side of the street—its engine idling, exhaust billowing out of its tailpipe. A big, burly man with greasy black hair was sitting in the driver’s seat. Was it the same man he’d seen earlier in the day? The same man who’d stalked him back to his apartment? Or was it somebody else?

  “What do you think, Mindy? Is that the car you saw earlier?”

  “I don’t know, Ethan. They all look the same to me. Maybe it’s a different one? Lots of people drive Lincoln Navigators, right?” She looked around warily. “Where’s the second guy? There were two of them when I drove by before.”

  “There’s only one now. Let’s get a closer look,” Ethan said, taking off down the block, ignoring the new wave of fear rising in his gut.

  “Are you crazy, Ethan? You can’t go down there.”

  But Ethan was already approaching the Lincoln, glancing through the front window. The man staring back at him was grossl
y overweight with a bulbous red nose and crooked teeth. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and wraparound sunglasses, gold chains hanging around his neck and dangling from his wrists.

  “Is that the guy who’s been following you?” Mindy whispered anxiously.

  “No. It’s a different guy,” Ethan said, taking one last look before walking past the car and up to the front entrance of the Broadcast Center.

  Then the Navigator pulled into traffic.

  “Ethan, he’s coming after us,” Mindy said, trying to hurry him along.

  “Hold up, he’s not gonna do anything. There are too many people watching.” He stopped next to a security guard, never taking his eyes off the Lincoln as it cruised by and disappeared around the side of the building.

  Then he spotted the second guy.

  “Mindy, that’s him.”

  “Where?”

  Ethan pointed to a surly looking man leaning up against a parked car about a hundred feet away. “Over there. In the blue sports coat and denim jeans. He’s wearing a gray polo shirt and is smoking a cigarette. I think he’s packing a gun in a shoulder holster. I can see the bulge under his arm.”

  “Where? I don’t see him,” Mindy said, moving a step closer to Ethan.

  “He’s on this side of the bus stop. See? He’s staring at us,” Ethan said, now positive that whoever had ordered the surveillance knew everything about him and his family.

  “Are you sure that’s the guy?”

  “Positive. You don’t forget somebody who looks like that.”

  “Should we tell the security guard?”

  “No.”

  “Ethan, you have to,” she said lividly. “The guy’s here at the office threatening you. Just like he did this morning.”

  “I’m not telling anybody,” he said, emphasizing each word. “If I blow the whistle now, I risk spooking whoever’s watching me. Then I’ll never find out who they are, and I’ll never feel safe.”

  “Please, you’ve got to tell somebody,” she said, begging.

  “No. I need to know if it’s the Russians and whether they’re trying to stop me from doing my story. Come on; let’s go into the building where it’s safe.”

  • • • • •

  Anatoly Gennadi continued watching until he was sure they wouldn’t double back out of the building, then eased away from the car and strolled down to Eighth Avenue. Parked on the corner was the Lincoln Navigator. His partner, Mischa Polchak, was sitting in the driver’s seat, an Uzi submachine gun resting on the floor by his feet. He opened the passenger door and climbed in. “Pull around block and head back to television station,” Gennadi said. “Park close to front of building. I want to make sure Benson see me again when he leaves, even if we sit all day. Do you have clean burner?”