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“Everything’s in here, right?” Beck said, snapping his head around at the sound of car horns from the traffic.
“Sure. We didn’t take anything, if that’s what you mean,” Jeff said.
“No, no, man.” Beck focused on Cole, then winked. “Because you’re too young to use my electric razor, right?”
“That’s funny,” Cole said. “The airplane you have in there is cool.”
“What airplane? You looked inside?”
“Sorry.” Cole glanced at his dad, then at Beck. “It was when I thought it was my backpack. I saw the little toy plane.”
“Everything’s in there,” Jeff said.
“What? Okay. I’m really late.” Beck looked around to the street, closed the bag, then hoisted it onto his back. “Yes, I packed it so fast, I’m not sure what I put in there. Well, I have to split. Thanks.”
Beck disappeared into the crowds entering Penn Station. Jeff’s attention followed him with a ping of unease before he turned to Cole.
“Let’s get back to the hotel, son.”
3
New York City
Hans Beck gripped his backpack and pinballed through Penn Station.
For a fleeting moment he considered boarding a train, any train, and getting away.
No use. They’re watching, waiting. And I need the money.
Beck had lied to Jeff Griffin about having to catch a train. Instead, he had to meet his contact and complete this delivery.
He’d nearly blown this job.
How could he have been so stupid to have picked up the wrong bag? In his time as a courier he’d never screwed up like this. His customers were enraged. He’d never had contacts so intense. He didn’t know who they were, or what they were involved in.
He didn’t want to know.
When he’d given them the Griffin backpack in error, they took no comfort in his assurance he would retrieve the misplaced bag.
Well, he did it, just as he said he would.
So everyone should relax, he told himself. We’ve got the right bag now. Soon this would be over and he’d be on a plane to Aruba awaiting a large deposit in a numbered account.
Beck left Penn Station and hurried by the post office and deep into the heart of the Hudson Yards. He moved quickly beyond the Long Island Rail Road maintenance tracks, where Thirty-third Street dipped into a wasteland near the Hudson River.
He was nearly jogging now as he hurried along a chain-link fence that surrounded a site where a massive foundation, reaching down several stories, was under construction. The sun had set, the entire area was deserted. He heard the hum of a motor, then brakes, and a panel van stopped suddenly beside him.
A side door slid open and he got in. It was crowded inside because several men were in the back working. A couple of them were talking on cell phones. Two others were working quickly on laptops.
The men had already acted on the information sheet they’d found in Cole Griffin’s bag and had quickly searched the family. They’d also taken pictures of Jeff and Cole on the street, making the exchange with Beck.
Everything had unfolded with urgency.
The men seized his backpack, dumped its contents, probed them, then tore through the empty backpack.
Whatever they needed was still missing.
For the first and last time in his life, Beck had failed to make a delivery.
His final thought was that a plastic bag had swallowed his head and his struggle against the forces holding him was in vain.
Everything went black.
His corpse was wrapped in a plastic sheet and hefted into the construction site. It was concealed under a layer of gravel at the base of a footing that would be filled with fifty cubic yards of concrete the next day.
4
New York City
The next morning the Griffins went down to the lobby for breakfast.
The dining area was crammed but Sarah spotted a table for them. Jeff and Cole moved with the crowd along the breakfast bar, loading their trays with sausages, eggs, cereal, fruit, toast, juice and coffee.
Jeff saw Sarah at the table with her phone, reading, then responding to a text message.
Who is she talking to?
It consumed him as they ate and discussed options for the day but he’d have to deal with it later. Cole was wearing a New York Jets T-shirt and ball cap they had bought the night before, along with his new souvenir New York key ring bearing his name. He’d clipped it on the belt loop of his jeans. After flipping through his guidebook, Cole decided he wanted to take a tour bus down to Ground Zero, then a ferry to the Statue of Liberty.
“But can we go to Times Square first?” he asked. “There’s a giant screen there that takes your picture and a toy store with a Ferris wheel inside. Can we go there?”
Jeff consulted his map of New York.
“Are you up for the walk?”
“You bet! And every time I see the Empire State Building I’m taking more pictures. Can I go back for another juice, Mom?”
“Sure.”
When they were alone, Jeff nodded to Sarah’s phone.
“So who were you talking to?”
“Valerie, back home. She was asking if we got in okay.”
“Valerie. Anybody else?”
“Jeff, please don’t do this.”
“Who, Sarah?”
Her face reddened; she was on the verge of losing it with him. Instead, she seized her phone, cued the message, then thrust it at him.
“Valerie. See? Valerie.”
“Sorry.”
Sarah put a hand to her mouth, blinking back tears. She looked toward the food bar to see Cole waiting his turn to fill his glass at the juice dispenser. She looked at Jeff.
“On our way in from the airport I saw this billboard and—” She halted, shifted her thought. “I don’t want a divorce and I don’t think this is the time or place to tell Cole that you want one. We can’t break his heart, Jeff. We have to hang on and work this out.”
He noticed she was twisting her wedding ring.
“I never blamed you for what happened,” she said. “I was out of my mind, we both were. I was angry but I never blamed you for what happened. Get this through your head. I love you. We have to fight to hold this family together, not tear what’s left of it apart, please.” Upon seeing Cole returning, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Why in God’s name can’t you see that?”
Jeff looked at her without speaking, his mind racing with a million thoughts before Cole returned, sensing unease.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
She touched a tissue to her eyes.
“Just a sad memory, sweetie.”
“All right.” Jeff cleared his throat and stood with his tray to clear the table. “Let’s get going.”
They walked east to Seventh Avenue, then Broadway bound for Times Square. The city pulsated under a clear sky with the thud of a passing helicopter, the ever-present wail of sirens and traffic, telling him that he had to come to a decision. It weighed on him as they moved north along Broadway. Here, amid the whirlwind, he considered Sarah’s words.
We have to fight to hold this family together. We have to hang on and work this out. Was she right?
“Dad? Are you going to get in the picture with Mom now?”
Cole’s question pulled Jeff from his thoughts and he took an immediate assessment, estimating that they were somewhere around Forty-fourth and Forty-fifth Streets near Seventh Avenue. The streets were crowded, traffic was heavy. Not far from where they stood, massive neon signs soared in spectacular glory, exuding an air of controlled chaos. News reports flowed nonstop in electronic ribbons of light that wrapped around several buildings.
They were at the edge of Times Square.
Sarah had just taken Cole’s picture and returned her camera to him.
“Over there, Dad,” Cole said from behind the viewfinder. “Get next to Mom. I want to get that big flashy sign behind you—then we’ll go down to the center of Times Square, hurry!”
Jeff put his arm around Sarah, then felt her arm solidly around his waist. It felt good, it felt right, and a bittersweet sensation rolled over him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d touched each other, held each other. This was not easy. They both made an effort to disguise the emotional turmoil churning under the smiles they’d manufactured for Cole.
Finally, he took the shot.
“All right,” he said. “Can we get one of us all together?”
“Let me ask somebody,” Jeff said.
He took the camera from Cole and went a few yards down the crowded sidewalk to an older man wearing a Yankees ball cap taking photos of two women, likely his wife and daughter. Jeff asked him if he would mind taking a Griffin family photo with Sarah’s camera.
“Be happy to.”
The man took the picture but when Cole requested he take one more, nothing happened with the camera. The man looked at it. “Looks like your batteries are gone.” The man handed it back. Jeff thanked him and turned to Cole and Sarah.
“I forgot to put in fresh ones,” Sarah said.
“It’s okay.” Jeff glanced around, spotting a suitable store behind them. “I’ll go in there and get fresh batteries. You stay right here, don’t go anywhere.”
“All right,” Sarah said. She and Cole began inspecting the jewelry, statues, artwork and T-shirts on a vendor’s cart. Jeff stepped toward the store but was stopped.
“Sir, could you spare any change for a veteran?”
A man with bushy dark hair and a beard flecked with bits of something white held up a hand in a dirty worn cyclist’s glove. He was in a wheelchair and missing his right leg. He wore torn jeans, a filthy John Lennon T-shirt and a tattered raincoat. His chair was reinforced with metal coat hangers and had a U.S. flag affixed to it. Jeff looked into his leathery weatherworn face, his brown eyes, and figured him to be in his early thirties. Guys who’d served deserved better, Jeff thought.
“How’d you lose the leg?”
“IED in Afghanistan. I ain’t had a decent meal in days, sir.”
Jeff thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out two crumpled fives.
“Here.”
The man stared at the cash.
“Thank you. God bless you and your beautiful family, there, sir.”
Jeff went to the store—Metro Manhattan Gifts and Things.
It had a narrow storefront of soot-streaked stone and a large window cluttered with a galaxy of tacky items. Discounts on jewelry, T-shirts and posters were listed on the chalkboard sign outside.
Inside, rock music throbbed from a radio station. The walls were jammed with T-shirts, ball caps, trinkets, posters, knickknacks. A young man was on a ladder, pulling down a cardboard box overflowing with scarves for two women. Racks filled with chips, chocolate bars and snack cakes bordered one side of the store, next to coolers filled with soda, juices and water.
Compact video recorders, cell phones and other electronics covered the wall behind the counter near the cash. A mounted security camera watched from above. Jeff took his place in line behind half a dozen customers.
As he waited, he saw Sarah and Cole through the window, browsing at the cart. They looked happy and the image sent his mind racing back to that last moment of perfection. Back to that time when he’d sat in his truck in their driveway and watched Sarah with Cole and their baby daughter, Lee Ann, through the window.
The last time they were happy.
And now he’d brought his family here, to the brink of disintegration.
Kransky the Shrink had been right; they couldn’t just overcome the blow of Lee Ann’s death. They had to adapt to it and allow each other to deal with it in their own way.
Throughout their ordeal Cole had been the rock of the family. He’d accepted that God had made his baby sister an angel and took her to heaven first to wait for them. Cole just got on with being a kid and continued obsessing about seeing New York City, the way most kids obsessed about seeing Disney World.
In this way Cole was the calm, healing force, holding them all together against the threat of destruction.
And the threat was not Sarah.
It’s me.
