Tarnished Image (38 page)

Quickly Aldo reached into the pocket of his blazer and extracted a small roll of fiber-enhanced packing tape, pulled a six-inch piece loose, and placed it across his victim’s mouth.
He pulled a longer piece free and taped the man’s ankles together. Another long piece secured the man’s feet to the metal handrail that circled the inside of the cab. Removing the guard’s handcuffs from their holder, Aldo cuffed the man’s right hand, pushed the free end through the handrail, and cuffed his other hand. The guard was immobilized and hung like a hammock in the elevator.

Aldo took the security card and dropped it into the pocket of his coat. “That’s step one,” he said to himself.

The elevator continued its climb. Aldo had only moments to complete the next step. With a body trussed up in the cab, he could not allow the elevator to descend to the lobby again. He could not push the emergency stop because it would set off alarms. No, he had to gain control of the elevator from within the cab, and there was only one way to do that.

He wasted no time kneeling in front of the control panel, his attention focused on a small keyhole under the rows of plastic buttons that selected the floors accessed by the elevator. Reaching in his other pocket, Aldo removed a locksmith’s tool kit and began working on the keyhole, which was the override that firefighters used to control elevators in emergencies. By using the override, Aldo could gain complete command of the elevator cab, but he had only seconds to pick the lock.

After years of practice the long, picklike tools felt familiar in his hands. He probed for tumblers and found them, just as the elevator passed the fifty-first floor. Working patiently, as if he had hours instead of moments, Aldo worked the lock. It turned, and the doors opened. He was on the fifty-second floor, just where he wanted to be.

Taking another strip of tape, he placed it across the face of the door to block the light beam that crossed the threshold of the elevator cab. The beam was an electronic safety measure to prevent the doors’ closing on a passenger entering or exiting the cab. With the beam broken, the doors would not close, and the elevator would remain stationary. It would be there when Aldo needed it, and he would need it.

He stood, straightened his clothes, and exited into the lobby of the fifty-second floor. He had been here before dressed as a deliveryman. At each end of the lobby was a long corridor that led to various offices. Choosing the hall on the right, Aldo walked casually toward the rest rooms. He saw no one. No workers. No guards.

The rest rooms were just a few steps away from the junction of the lobby and corridor. He paused in front of the two doors. Glancing down the hall in both directions, Aldo made certain he was not being observed. A woman entering the men’s rest room might draw unwanted attention. Seeing no one, he stepped through the door. As with all commercial rest rooms the door led to a small niche that in turn led to the spacious room itself. The light was on, which caused him to hesitate. He had assumed that at a little after two in the morning the lights would be off. Could some late-working employee be inside? He peeked around the corner and saw a wall lined with six urinals. No one there. He stepped into the room, crouched down, and looked under the stall doors. No feet. He was alone.

Stepping to the middle stall, Aldo opened the door and closed it again. Standing on the seat of the toilet, he pushed up one of the suspended ceiling tiles and reached into the dark void. He searched with his hand for a moment and then
extracted the briefcase-size package he had concealed there after delivering the videotape to Kristen.

He stepped down from his perch, exited the stall, and stepped over to the sink counter. He set the package down and stripped off its brown-paper wrapping, revealing a small aluminum case. The shiny case reflected the soft fluorescent lights overhead.

Like a briefcase, the container had two latches, a lock combination for each, and a hinged top. Aldo dialed in the combination and released the latches. Without hesitancy, he opened the lid. Everything was there.

Aldo smiled.

David awoke with a start. A sound. A soft ringing. He sat up on the couch and blinked hard. He had drifted off. Looking at his watch he saw that it was just before two.

The phone rang again. David rose and trotted across the room. He was hoping the phone would not wake Kristen as she lay asleep on the couch.

“Yes,” he said with a tone more sharp than he meant.

“Dr. O’Neal,” the voice on the other end said, “this is Fred Weaver down in communications. I’m sorry about the lateness of the hour, but we have a standing order to notify you if we regain contact with our missing workers in Bangladesh.”

“I’m glad you called,” David said, his heart picking up a beat. Communications was the only department that operated twenty-four hours a day. With workers around the globe, Barringston Relief could not expect them to call during West Coast office hours. Every worker could be contacted or could make contact any time of day. “Have you heard something?”

“Good news, Dr. O’Neal. I have both workers on satellite link. Did you have a message for them?”

“Yes, but I want to give it to them myself. I’m on my way down.” David hung up the phone. For the first time in a week he had some good news. Two workers thought dead were alive.

He walked back to the couch intending to tell Kristen, but he stopped. She was sound asleep, unperturbed by the phone. Since he was only going to be gone for a few minutes, he decided not to wake her. She wouldn’t even know he was gone.

David headed for the door.

Aldo enjoyed the thirty-five ounces of weight the Beretta 98FS, nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistol brought to his hand. The silencer attached to the muzzle would add a few ounces and slow the bullets down to just below the sound barrier, but that was plenty fast enough to do the job. Better silence with a slower bullet than maximum power with lots of noise. Stealth was still the order of the day.

Closing the aluminum case and snapping shut its latches, Aldo took it with his left hand and, holding the gun in his right, exited the rest room, pausing only long enough to be sure his movements were unseen by anyone who might have entered the corridor. The communication room was on this floor, and he knew that department never closed.

With quick steps, Aldo moved to the elevator. The door was still open. Once inside he glanced at the still unconscious and trussed guard. He frowned. It would be better if he could have disposed of the man, but that would take time and a chance discovery would complicate things. Killing him would
be easy, but that, too, would be counterproductive. A single killing would make the news. A multiple killing would draw more attention and community outcry. That would place even greater pressure on the local police to find the killer. Not that they could. But wisdom called for as prudent a path as possible.

Reaching down, Aldo pulled the tape from the door, allowing the sensor to complete its circuit. The doors closed immediately. Taking the magnetic card he had removed from the guard, Aldo inserted it into the scanner and then pressed the plastic button marked 53.

The elevator began its one-floor journey up.

Among the debris-laden winds of emotion that had been swirling through David’s mind, one of the most unrelenting had been the missing Barringston workers in Bangladesh and India. The Bangladesh workers had been the closest to the tsunami impact. It was an unspoken belief that they had been killed along with thousands of Bangladeshi.

Now the two missing workers were found and had made contact with communications. David bounced on his heels with excitement as he waited for one of the elevators to arrive. The building had six electric cable elevators, but only three opened on the fifty-third floor and only employees with special magnetic card keys could direct the elevator to the top level.

A small ding sounded as the central elevator opened. David stepped in and punched the button for the next floor down.

P
ARTLY FROM IMPATIENCE
,
PARTLY AS A TEST
, C
ALVIN PULLED
his car to the curb in front of Barringston Tower. A young man in uniform sat on the front steps, smoking a cigarette. He gazed nonchalantly at Calvin as he exited the car and walked toward the entrance.

“Hi,” Calvin said with a grin that belied his real emotions. This kid seemed barely awake. Granted the hour was late, but it was his duty to be alert.

“Hi,” the young man said.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” Calvin asked.

“Boring is more like it.” The security guard took one last drag on the cigarette and then flicked it to the sidewalk.

“You don’t like your job?”

“It’s all right, I guess. It beats real work.”

Calvin nodded at the walkie-talkie that rested on the concrete step next to where the man was sitting. “Does your radio work?”

“Sure. Why?”

“I was wondering what your supervisor said when you told him that I just pulled up.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell him.” The guard reached into the front pocket of his uniform shirt and retrieved another cigarette.

“Interesting,” Calvin said easily. “So I could kill you right now and no one would know the difference?”

The young man’s eyes widened, and he started to rise.

“Do you know who I am?” Calvin’s voice was terse, pointed.

“No.”

“Then why are you sitting on your butt? Do you have any idea why you’re here?”

“I’m guarding the front door.”

“No you’re not, you’re killing time. My name is Calvin Overstreet. I’m the guy who hired your firm to protect my client. It’s a good thing that you don’t care for your job, because when I’m done talking to your boss you won’t have one. Get on your feet.”

The young man complied.

“Where are the additional guards?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not surprised. There were supposed to be additional guards added tonight.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” The guard was off balance, nervous.

Calvin was becoming more infuriated each moment. “Yes, Einstein, I am. That’s why I called for more people. Has anyone approached the building?”

“No—well, yes.”

“Which is it?” Calvin demand, “No or yes?”

“A car with a woman in it drove into the parking garage. But it’s OK, we have a guard posted down there.”

“Have you talked to him? Who was the woman? Did she drive out or is she still in the building?”

“No I haven’t talked to the other guard—”

“So for all you know, he could be dead. Right?”

“I would have heard something.”

“This is unbelievable,” Calvin said loudly. “I want to talk to your supervisor.”

The young man hesitated.

“Now!” Calvin shouted.

“He’s in the lobby.”

“Take me to him. Right now, son. Take me to him right now.”

“But I’d have to leave my post.”

“You left your post hours ago.” Calvin grabbed the young man by the arm and steered him toward the front doors.

Once inside the lobby, Calvin released his viselike grip on the guard’s arm and marched toward the older uniformed man behind the counter. The man wore a different uniform. Calvin recognized it as the one worn by the building’s night watchmen. As soon as the man saw Calvin marching through the lobby, he raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth and keyed the microphone.