Night Fall

by Nelson DeMille

  We ordered room service, and it arrived at eight. We sat down at the dining table, lights low, candles lit, and soft music coming out of the speakers.

  Despite all this, neither of us was trying to seduce the other, which was probably a relief for both of us. I mean, she was very good-looking, but there’s a time and place for everything. For me, that time had passed since my marriage; for her, that time was just beginning. Also, Kate was due to arrive here about 5 P.M. the next day.

  We had wine with dinner, and she got a little tipsy, and started telling me about Mark, and a little about her two-year affair with Bud. She said, “Even when I decided to be naughty, I did it with a man who I knew I’d never fall in love with. Safe sex. Safe husband. Safe marriage. Safe neighborhood. Safe vacations. Safe friends.”

  “There’s really nothing wrong with that.”

  She shrugged.

  Later, she confided to me, “I had one brief affair since Bud. Three years ago. It lasted about two months.”

  I didn’t want the details, and she didn’t offer any.

  I’d ordered steak, not because I wanted steak, but because I wanted a steak knife. Jill excused herself at one point and went into her bedroom, and I put the steak knife in my room.

  At about 10 P.M., I excused myself with the explanation of jet lag and too much rich food and wine, which I wasn’t used to in Yemen.

  She stood, and we shook hands. Then, I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “You’re a trouper. This will all end well.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Thanks again for the shirt. Good night.”

  “Good night,” she replied.

  I checked my cell phone for messages, but there weren’t any. I left a wake-up call for 6:45, then I watched the news for a while, then popped in the videotape of A Man and a Woman. I fast-forwarded through the beach blanket scenes, and played the last few minutes in slow motion from where I could see the glow on the horizon, followed by the light rising into air. I tried to be skeptical and to give it another interpretation, but the camera didn’t lie. I played it backwards, to see if that would reveal something that could be interpreted differently—but frontwards, backwards, slow motion, normal speed, it was what it seemed to be: a missile, with a fiery tail and a smoke plume, rising toward the lights of an aircraft. It was the small zigzag of the light and smoke right before the explosion that convinced me, if I needed more convincing—the fucking missile corrected its course, locked on, and hit its target. Mystery solved.

  I took the tape out of the video player and put it under the mattress, and put the steak knife on my night table.

  I fell into a restless sleep and kept replaying the videotape in my dreams, except it was me on the beach, not Bud, and it was Kate, not Jill, standing naked next to me, saying, “I told you it was a missile. Can you see it?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  My wake-up call came at 6:45, and I rolled out of bed, reached under the mattress, pulled out A Man and a Woman, and stared at it awhile.

  I looked out the window toward Central Park. I’m not a Monday person, and the weather outside didn’t improve my mood; it was cloudy and raining, something I hadn’t seen in forty days in Yemen. Not that I wanted to be back in Yemen.

  After I showered, I got dressed in my increasingly comfortable tan slacks, and put on the pink shirt. If I saw Ted Nash today, and if he made a comment about the shirt, I’d have to kill him.

  Aside from that, today was going to be what’s called a Big Day. Today, I’d speak to Nash, and if he’d gotten his act together with Washington, we’d meet with the appropriate parties present. I had to think about who should be at that meeting, where it should be held, and if I should bring one of the videotapes. I’m not much of a meeting person, but I was looking forward to this one.

  Most important, this was a big day because Kate was coming home.

  I thought about the airport greeting committee, which could possibly include men with different agendas regarding who should take Kate into a waiting car. It could get very sticky, but Dom was good at going psychotic when anyone fucked with him. And Kate, as I’d found out, was no slouch, either, when it came to getting her way.

  By now she was airborne, and maybe I should have e-mailed or called her last night, alerting her to a possible situation at the airport. But if she was under the eye—and she probably was after my meeting with Nash—then neither her e-mail nor her phones would be secure.

  I checked myself out in the full-length mirror. The pink really did bring out my tan.

  I went into the living room, and Jill was sitting at the dining table wearing a white Plaza robe, having coffee, and reading the New York Times. I said, “Good morning.”

  She looked up. “Good morning.” She added, “That shirt looks good on you.”

  “It’s going to become one of my favorites. Did you sleep well?”

  “No.”

  I sat at the table, poured myself coffee, and said, “Yesterday was a stressful day for you.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  I sipped my coffee and looked at her over the brim of my cup. She seemed relaxed, but I thought the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. I asked her, “Have you had second thoughts about any of this?”

  “No. In fact, I feel more strongly that I did the right thing.”

  “There’s no question that you did.”

  She insisted that I needed breakfast, and we looked at the room service menu. Jill said she was going to have the healthy heart breakfast and suggested I have the same.

  We chatted, read the papers, and watched Today with Katie and Matt.

  Breakfast came, and the healthy heart meal gave me acid.

  After breakfast, Jill wanted to take a walk and wanted me to join her, but I said, “I need to stay here. I may have to go to a meeting. And you may need to join me. Call me every hour, and check your cell phone every half hour.”

  “All right . . . what kind of meeting?”

  “The kind you should have had five years ago.”

  She nodded.

  I said, “You won’t have to say anything. You just need to be there. I’ll do the talking.”

  She replied, “I can speak for myself.”

  I smiled at her. “I’m sure you can.”

  She went into her bedroom, got dressed, then came back into the living room. She asked me, “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

  I needed my Glock, but I said, “I’m running low on toothpaste.” I wasn’t, but she needed to do something. “Crest. And see if you can find another copy of A Man and a Woman. Also, don’t forget to call up to the room before you come back to the Plaza.” I took a pen from the desk and wrote Dom Fanelli’s cell phone number on my business card and gave it to her. I said, “If you can’t get me on the phone, or if you sense a problem, call Detective Fanelli at that number. He’ll tell you what to do.”

  She looked at me and asked, “Is this your army of angels?”

  I wouldn’t actually describe Dom Fanelli as an angel, but I replied, “Yes.” I added, “He’s your guardian angel if something happens to me.”

  She said, “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “No. Have a good day.”

  She wished me a good day and left.

  Maybe I should have kept her here, where it was marginally safer than out there. But I’ve baby-sat enough witnesses to know that they can start to become resentful, even hostile, if they’re kept cooped up too long. Also, in this case, it would be more difficult for Nash to snatch both of us if we were separated.

  I checked my cell phone, but there were no messages from Ted Nash, or anyone.

  I called my home answering machine, and there were a few messages, but none of them from Nash.

  I called Dom Fanelli’s cell phone, and he answered. I asked, “How are you making out with the VIP airport escort?”

  “I think I have it lined up. I had to call in all kinds of favors, make up a
ton of bullshit, and promise the fucking world. I’ve got two uniforms and one borrowed PD. I’m going to meet them on the street at three, and we should be at the gate before Kate’s flight lands.”

  “Sounds good. Here’s another thought—if the Feds are there waiting for her, they may decide to meet her before Passport Control. You need to get in there and avoid that possibility.”

  “I’ll try . . . I know some Port Authority cops . . . I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You have to do it. Also, don’t get on the scene too early, or you’ll tip your hand, and they’ll call up the reinforcements, and you’ll get into a pissing match that you may lose. It’s got to be like a snatch job. In and out before they can react.”

  “You’re making a hard job harder.”

  “You can do it. Unless they’ve got a Federal warrant for her, she’ll voluntarily go with you, who she knows.”

  He laughed. “Yeah? She hates me.”

  “She loves you. Okay, if one of her bosses is there, it could get even stickier.” And, I thought, if Ted Nash was there, it could get very weird when Kate saw a dead man walking. I said to Dom, “But I know you can convince Kate that her loving husband sent you.”

  “Right. But I gotta tell you, John, she may be your wife, but she’s a Fed. Which comes first?”

  Good question. I said to him, “Make her understand what this is about without saying too much in front of anyone else. Okay? Call me if you need to, and I’ll talk to her. If all else fails, threaten them with arrest for interfering with a police officer in the performance of his duties. Okay?”

  “Yeah, but you and I know it’s bullshit. We don’t have any legal right to be there.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “No. Leave it to me.” He stayed quiet for a few seconds, then said, “No matter how it plays out at the airport, the bottom line is me getting Kate to the Plaza Hotel.”

  “I know that. And make sure you’re not followed.”

  “The Feds can’t follow a dog on a leash.”

  “Right.” I said, “You understand why this is important?”

  “I do. You wanna get laid by six-thirty latest.”

  “Right. Don’t mess me up.”

  He laughed, then asked me, “Hey, how are you doing with Mrs. Winslow? What’s she look like?”

  “A nice old lady.”

  “She’s thirty-nine. What’s she look like?”

  “Pretty.”

  “What did you do last night at the Plaza?”

  “Had dinner.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We’re both married and not interested.”

  “There’s a concept. Hey, when I bring Kate to the Plaza, how’s that going to play out when she sees you’ve been shacking up with the star of Beach Blanket Bimbo?”

  “Dom . . . clean up your mind.”

  “You’re no fun anymore. Where’s your witness now?”

  “Taking a walk. I gave her your cell number in case the Plaza gets hot.”

  “You sure you don’t want some backup at the Plaza?”

  “No. We’re incognito here, and no one followed us or tracked us electronically, or we’d already be busted.” I added, “The Feds can’t find themselves in a mirror. But I will need a police escort from here to a meeting with the Feds today, or tomorrow.”

  “Just give me an hour lead time.” He said to me, “You really got yourself into some deep shit this time, partner.”

  “You think?”

  “Hang in.”

  “I always do. Call me when Kate’s in your car.”

  “Will do. Ciao.”

  I checked my cell again, but no messages.

  The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast. I settled in for a long morning.

  The cleaning lady came and went, and I ordered more coffee from room service.

  Every hour, Jill called as promised, and I repeated that there was no news, and she told me what she was doing, which was mostly art galleries. She’d gotten a tube of Crest and found a copy of A Man and a Woman at a video store. She said, “Mark has called about five more times and left messages. Should I call him back?”

  “Yes. Try to determine if any Federal agent has called or visited him. In other words, see what he knows, and if he’s buying your story that you just need to be alone. Okay?”

  “All right.”

  “See if he’s at work. He works in the city, right?”

  “Yes. Downtown.”

  “Call him there. And don’t let him browbeat you into giving him any more information. Okay?”

  She surprised me by saying, “Screw him.”

  I smiled and said, “Call me back. And don’t forget, five minutes max on your cell phone, and don’t use a public phone because that will tell him on his Caller ID that you’re in Manhattan. Okay?”

  “I understand.” She added, “You think of everything.”

  “I try.” I hope so.

  At about 12:30, I turned my cell phone on and waited a few minutes. It beeped, and I retrieved my message. The voice said, “John, this is Ted Nash. I need to speak to you. Call me.” He gave me his cell phone number.

  I sat in an easy chair, put my feet up on a hassock, and called Mr. Ted Nash.

  He answered, “Nash.”

  I replied, “Corey.”

  There was a half second pause, then he said, “As we discussed, I promised to get back to you about a meeting.”

  “Meeting . . . ? Oh, right. How’s your calendar look?”

  “It looks open for tomorrow.”

  “How about today?”

  “Tomorrow is better. Aren’t you picking up Kate at the airport this afternoon?”

  “Is that today?”

  Nash replied, “I thought it was.”

  Ted and I were doing our little dance, each trying to figure out who knew what, and who was leading whom. I said, “Okay, tomorrow.”

  “Good. Morning works best.”

  “Fine.” I said to him, “You need to have that couple at the meeting.”

  There was a two-second delay before he said, “I can have the gentleman there.”

  “Where’s the lady?”

  He replied, “I think I know where she is. So she may be at the meeting. The man will be there, and he’ll confirm what I told you.”

  “The man could be CIA for all I know. Another bad actor.”

  He replied, “If the lady is at the meeting, she can verify the identity of her lover. Correct?”

  “How would I know if the lady is not another impostor?”

  He let a few seconds go by, then said, “I think you’ll know if the lady is real or not.”

  “How would I know?”

  “Because . . . I think you’ve met her.”

  “Met her? I don’t even know her name.”

  He didn’t reply to that, but asked me, “Where are you now?”

  “I’m home.” He knew I wasn’t because he probably had a snatch team in my apartment waiting for me.

  He said, “I called your apartment a few times, and no one answered.”

  “I’m not taking calls. Where are you?”

  “I’m at 290 Broadway. In my office.”

  I asked him, “Did you get home okay from the beach? You shouldn’t drive with a head injury.”

  He didn’t say, “Fuck you” or “Eat shit,” but I knew he was biting his lip and snapping pencils. Also, he wasn’t alone, which was why the conversation was a little stilted, and very cautious. He asked me, “How are you feeling?”

  “Great. But I need to get off this phone in case someone is trying to triangulate my signal.”

  “Who would want to do that?”

  “Terrorists. My mother. Ex-girlfriends. You never know.”

  “Then call me back from your apartment phone.”

  “It’s way across the room. Let’s set up a time and place.”

  “Okay. Who will you have at the meeting?” he asked.

  “Me.”


  “Anyone else?”

  “I don’t need anyone else. But I want you there, obviously, and Liam Griffith, and this guy who starred in the videotape, and the lady, if you can find her. Also, I want you to call Jack Koenig, if you haven’t already, and suggest strongly that he be there. And tell him to bring Captain Stein. And see if Mr. Brown is available.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who. And have someone there from the attorney general’s office.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  Ted Nash made a little joke and said, “Let’s not make a Federal case out of this. This is just an informal, exploratory meeting to see how to proceed. But mostly to satisfy your curiosity and to assure you that there is nothing more to this than what I’ve already told you. This is a courtesy to you, John, not a big showdown.”

  “Oh. Okay. I was getting myself worked up.”

  “That’s been your problem.” He asked me, “Are you thinking about bringing Kate to the meeting?”

  “No. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “That’s not completely true, but if you want to keep her out of this going forward, then that’s understandable—but she may want to be there. Ask her when you pick her up at the airport.”

  “Ted, is it possible that this conversation is being recorded?”

  “It couldn’t be legally recorded without your knowledge or mine.”

  “Oh, right. Why do I forget these things? It’s just that you sound so stilted—not like the old Teddy boy I know.”

  He stayed quiet for a few seconds, then said, “You’re an asshole.”

  “Thank God. I was worried about you. And you’re an asshole, too. Okay, asshole, what’s a good time for you tomorrow?”

  “First thing. Let’s say eight, eight-thirty. We can meet here at 290 Broadway.”

  “Yeah, sure. More people have gone into that place than have come out.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic.” Nash suggested, “How about your ATTF office? Is that safe enough for you? Or is that part of your paranoia?”

  I ignored him and thought about a meeting place. Now that Kate was going to be home, I knew she’d insist on being there, even though I didn’t want to drag her any further into this. But I could use some backup, and I’d feel better about bringing Jill to the meeting if Kate was coming along. I recalled my last night in New York before Kate and I parted, and I said to Nash, “Windows on the World. Power breakfast.”