Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (35 page)

You’re freaking him out, Russo. Go easy.

Dmitri looked at Vail, then back to Russo, but he was clearly focused on Russo, and he was beginning to sweat. Then again, it could have been the heat and humidity.

“That’s an odd question,” Dmitri said. “About being armed. Usually people want to know how many steps it takes to climb—”

“We’re not most people,” Russo said. “I’m a lieutenant with the NYPD. And one of the things I do is investigate homicide. Murder. And Karen here is with the FBI. She helps us catch serial killers. You have an interest in serial killers. Don’t you, Dmitri?”

Dmitri backed up a step. “I don’t—I don’t understand. What do you want?”

“Maybe we should talk about your sister.”

Dmitri pushed his glasses back up on his nose as he swallowed deeply. “I—I—that was a long time ago. She was killed.”

“We know. We also know about your books.” Russo reached into the plastic bag, pulled out the photo album, and splayed it opened to a picture of his sister. “Look!”

Dmitri’s face contorted—but that was the last thing they saw because he raised his right hand and sprayed their eyes with liquid from a small leather canister.

52

>LIBERTY ISLAND

New York Harbor

40°41′21″N 74°2′40″W

Present day: Wednesday, July 16

“Watch it!” Vail said as she instinctively threw up a hand and simultaneously swung her head to the right.

“Ah shit, it burns, it burns,” Russo said, bending over at the waist.

“Pepper spray,” Vail said, blinking rapidly. “You okay?”

“Can’t see, feels like it’s boiling right through my skin.” He started coughing violently.

“I blocked some of it,” she said, knowing she had to resist the urge to touch the liquid. “Got my cheeks, some in the eyes. I’m going after him.”

“Gonna find a restroom and wash it out. Goddamn it.”

Vail ran forward, coughing, hoping to find a Park Police officer.

Her vision was blurry; her eyes stung and they felt swollen and irritated.
Son of a bitch.

Vail stumbled into the security tent and grabbed her badge off her belt. “FBI, out of my way!” She pushed through the line and got to the mouth of the screening room, where airport-type X-ray and metal scanners were located. If there was going to be a law enforcement presence, this is where she would likely find it.

“Whoa, hang on. Where do you think you’re going?”

Vail tried to make out who was talking to her, but all she could tell was that he was a ranger. “I need Park Police.” Cough. “Hurry!”

“Carl, over here,” he called. Then to Vail, “Who are you?”

She pulled out her creds and held them up. “Karen Vail, FBI. I’ve—”

“Officer Kraut,” he said. “What’s going on?”

It was another man’s voice, and he seemed to be in front of her. “I’ve got a suspect on the run,” Vail said. “Lock the place down, no ferries are to load or offload. Hurry.”

She heard him key his two-way, then repeat the order.

“We already had an alert to secure the island. Is that what this is about?”

“You have a ranger, Dmitri Harris. Put out a BOLO. My partner, NYPD Lieutenant Russo, was questioning Harris about a murder when he shot us with pepper spray and ran.” Cough.

“Ranger Harris? Are you serious? He’s a strange bird, a loner. But he’s never late and never misses a day of work. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m sure you’re basing that statement on information you obtained using sound law enforcement investigative techniques. But for now, just do what I say. We can debate your opinion later. Have you seen him?”

“He came through here a couple of minutes ago.”

Interesting choice. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get off the island, so he came in here. Does he know a place to hide?

“You want me to call SWAT?” Kraut asked.

“No time.” Cough. “I need some help—you. Be my eyes until this shit clears up.”

Vail kept blinking, squinting, and tilting her head, trying to clear her visual field. It was improving, but not fast enough.

“SWAT’s right here on the island.”

“Then hell yes, call them, tell ’em to search for Dmitri Harris. He’s armed with pepper spray and assumed dangerous. If we’re right, he’s killed ten people.”

Kraut conveyed that information by radio.

After hearing the affirmative, Vail said, “You know this place? As good as Harris?”

“No one knows it as good as Harris. But I’ve worked here eight years.”

“Then I need you to think like him. Take me to where you think he’d go, where he can hide.”

Kraut stood there, silent.

Vail tried to focus on him—and finally was able to get a sense of who she was talking with: a pasty white guy with thinning hair.

“Kraut, now would be a good time.”

“Right, follow me.”

They passed through security, the officer telling the screeners that it was cool to let her bypass the X-ray machine, which did not go over well because it bucked procedure, but all Vail cared about was that she got through without losing time.

He led her into what Kraut described as Fort Wood, the original structure that existed on the island before the pedestal was built for the statue.

As they walked past the old torch that she remembered seeing when she was here with Jonathan, Vail said, “So if you want to hide inside the statue, where would you go?”

“Tough question. There are a few different closed areas, but we’ve got a state-of-the-art security system with high-resolution cameras, fitted with motion sensors and infrared. The detail is so good you can practically read the time off my watch. If he’s in there, we’ll know.”

“Who’s monitoring those cameras?”

“Our Park Police station offsite. But it’s real-time. Anyone goes into a closed area, even staff, we’ll catch it.”

Somehow that doesn’t seem comforting.

They stopped on the other side of the torch. And that’s when the power went out.

53

“Oh, shit.” Kraut said it matter-of-factly, without panic.

Vail removed her BlackBerry and turned on the flashlight. “So these closed areas. If you had to choose, which ones offer the best chance for escape?”

“Depends on how you define ‘escape.’ There’s the basement, which is really the old Fort Wood. It’s basically a long tunnel with a couple of branch-like passageways. The walls are the same granite blocks you see on the exterior, but the ceilings are arched and made of red brick. Pipes run along the ceiling and there are lights—”

“Access?”

“Interior and exterior doors. But it’s got multiple levels of security—meaning there are multiple beat keys required to get in. Each key’s on a different ring.”

Cross talk chirped through his radio’s speaker. It was apparently not directed at Kraut, who occasionally stopped for a second to listen but felt no need to join the conversation.

“Who’s got these keys?”

“The buildings and utilities part of the Park Service. They’ve got a maintenance division. Maintenance rangers have the most access of the regular ranger staff. Then there’s all of us—Park Police, which includes SWAT, sergeant and above, unless they’re doing their rounds. Most of the rangers on the island have never seen the basement, the arm, or the torch because they don’t have access.”

Vail cleared her throat to head off the tickle of a cough. “So what would stop a perp—an insider—from making copies of these beat keys, like a wax mold of some sort?”

“Nothing, if he really wanted to and knew what he was doing.”

“How about someone obsessed with the statue, who’s worked here all his life, who wants the ability to access places no one else can get to?”

“The security cameras.”

“Right. But these cameras weren’t always there.”

“After 9/11.”

“And maybe it’s not about doing it so much as being able to do it. Was Harris ever a maintenance ranger?”

“Years ago he was the guy who changed the bulbs on the torch when the ranger who’d been doing it for a gazillion years retired. Park Service finally got around to filling the post, so Harris only did it for a while.”

“Tell me about the torch,” Vail said.

“Only way to the torch is through the arm. That’s the other closed area.”

And if he had the keys before 9/11, before security and terrorism became a way of life in America … before things were tracked as closely as they are now …

“Take me there.”

Kraut led her up the stairs, which featured some kind of bright yellow glow in the dark coating that illuminated the blue rubberized steps. Vail coughed the entire way, jogging up to Level 6P, the top of the pedestal, and then climbed up a narrow staircase.

As they ascended, she realized she could see again—but not clearly. It would have to do.

“This is the way to the crown,” Kraut said, starting up the helical stainless steel staircase. “The arm’s this way too, but we’ll get off well before we reach the top.”

Just then, a klaxon started sounding. Emergency floodlights kicked on, glary, harsh, and uneven—but it was significantly better than her phone’s anemic glow.

Vail could now see that they were standing inside the body of the statue. A steel skeleton of thin “bones” was bolted to the interior and conformed to her curves, keeping her upright.

As they arrived at the portal that led to the arm, Kraut cursed under his breath.

“What?”

“Someone’s in there. The door, it’s open. You need several keys—just like the basement—to gain access. But once you go up, there’s no way to close and lock it from the inside.”

“What’s it like in there?”

“Todd—the maintenance ranger—told me there’s a forty-two-foot ladder inside the arm that leads to the top. Ladder’s not actually attached to the copper skin. There’s a metal framework that holds the ladder up. That’s why it’s so tight in there. Very little room.”

That’s just terrific. London all over again, the climb from the underground’s rail car to the surface. There I had Hector to talk me through it. Now I’ve got … a serial killer armed with pepper spray. No biggie, Karen. You can do this.

“There’s a 45 degree angle when you first get in,” Kraut continued, “and like I said, it’s real narrow.”

“Tight and narrow with very little room. Got that part. What else?”

“The thing sways a lot. It’s copper, remember? Even with its skeleton, the arm sways about eighteen inches from side to side. The copper was meant to breathe and sway with the wind.”

“Sounds … exciting.”
Frightening.

“Worse when you’re up on the torch. Then it really sways.”

“Sounds like you’ve been up there.”

“Once. Todd needed help with a bulb. But it wasn’t an official visit.”

Official? Whatever the hell that means.

“The torch you saw downstairs, the new one’s an exact copy of the original, right down to the access hatch. Except for the flame. New one’s 24 karat gold plated.”

“So it’s just a straight shot up the arm?”

“When you get to the elbow, the ladder turns and twists a bit. It narrows down even more—like shoulder width—as you get close to the wrist. And there are other doors you need to get through—”

“Same thing, though, right? If Harris keyed them open, he’s got no way to close them behind him.”

“I think so. But there’s that hatch when you get to the top of the arm, at the torch. He might be able to lock that one once he’s out. I have no idea. I do know it’s easy to hit your head going through,” he said, absently rubbing his scalp.

If the killer doesn’t hit me on the head first.

“Okay, thanks.” Vail drew her Glock.

“Whoa, whaddya think you’re doin’ with that? You fire that thing, you’ll poke holes in her copper skin. It’s only the thickness of two pennies.”

“Thanks for the tip. Meantime, I’m going up.”

“No, you’re not. This area has extremely limited access. Senators have been denied access. No way
you’re
going up.”

“Listen here, dumbshit, there’s a guy in that arm who could be the Hades slasher. We’ve been chasing him for almost twenty years. I don’t know what his endgame is, but if
he’s
up there,
I’m
going up there.”

Kraut keyed his radio. “Lieutenant, this is Carl. Over.”

Vail did not wait for permission—or denial. She grabbed hold of the stairs and started up toward the access door.

“Hey, stop!”

But Karen Vail did not stop. She plunged into the dark armpit of Lady Liberty.

54

As promised, it was dark. And tight as hell.

This is not a good idea, Karen. He’s got pepper spray. Maybe—he got off two long bursts at me and Russo, which might’ve emptied his canister.

Vail climbed one rung at a time, but after several feet she realized that holding her Glock in her right hand was not only slowing her down but would not do her much good in a close-quarters fight. She could actually lose it if she was struck unexpectedly.

She stopped and reholstered it, then continued her ascent, fighting the anxiety of being in a long vertical tunnel with the edges of the tube scraping her shoulders on both sides.

My chest feels like it’s got a goddamn weight on it. And the gnawing tickle in the back of my throat from being burned … Fun times. I should do this more often.

She fought to push aside the intense feeling that the tunnel was closing down on her, as well as the urge to lash out with her arms and break through the copper walls. She had to focus on the killer—who was somewhere above her.

Vail had climbed a dozen rungs when she stopped and listened. She heard nothing but felt the intense lateral sway of the arm. It sure seemed like more than eighteen inches. The queasiness in her stomach, coupled with the perspiration that was trickling down her torso, led her to think she might be the first person ever to vomit inside Lady Liberty’s arm. It would be a story to tell her grandchildren one day.

Then again, maybe not.

She kept moving skyward.
How high did he say it was? Forty-two feet? Am I insane?

Hector, where are you when I need you?

Vail stopped and listened. Footsteps above. And the space was getting tighter against her shoulders. She took a deep breath and tried to slow her racing heart. Was it racing because she was so close to getting clobbered by the killer? Or because there was barely room to move, let alone breathe?

Tough question. Not one she wanted to ponder at the moment.

Her hand struck the top—and she felt around and found the access door to the outside.

Now was the time to draw the Glock. She slowly removed it, taking care not to drop it. That would totally suck if it clanged its way down the narrow, four-story tube.

With an anxiety-slick hand, Vail grabbed the knob on the torch access panel and gave it an authoritative push.