The Deed (43 page)

He found her milling around near the ferry dock, watching a crowd listlessly board.

“Eureka,” he said, surprising her from behind.

She whirled around. “Oh, my God,” she said, instantly catching the fire in his gaze. “Tell me you found something.”

Jason silently pinned the briefcase tight between his feet and whipped off his windbreaker, turning it inside out.

She shook her head. “What are you
doing?
”

“Disguising myself,” he said, slipping his arms through the sleeves and wrapping them around her. “Quick—kiss me, hard.”

He planted his lips on hers and closed his eyes. Her kiss was amazing, warm and soft in the chill of the buffeting sea breeze, a perfect movie kiss. He held her there for half a minute of pure paradise before letting her pull away.

She glanced over his shoulder. “There’s nobody after you.”

He shrugged. “Who said there was anyone after me?”

“Did you find something, you bastard, or not?”

“Come on—we’ve got to catch this ferry.”

She looked at his briefcase, pointed. “Is it—”

Grinning like a madman, he tugged her hand toward the loading ferry. “Come on!” he enjoined her. “Come on, come on, come on!”

SOUTH FERRY
, 12:30
P.M.

In the twenty minutes it took for the ferry to return to the Manhattan side, they spoke in furtive whispers, penned in as they were by blissful peacock tourists.

It’s a big piece of parchment,
he confided, tapping his briefcase, barely speaking.
In a crumbling leather bag.

Let’s at least
look
at it,
she begged.

I don’t know about you, but I’d feel pretty stupid if the damn thing blew into Hudson Bay after all that.

All right, all right,
she allowed.
But the instant we hit shore.

Seriously, I might have been tailed for real,
he replied.
I came out more or less right in front of a security guy. I’m pretty sure he saw me. I don’t know if he left his post or sounded any alarm or not; I didn’t dare look back.

She looked around their deck, couldn’t pick out any park police.
You’re being paranoid,
she said, and he shrugged.

I hope so.

He couldn’t believe it—it was right here in his bag, the answer to questions and the key to futures. For all his show of patience, Jason was every bit as anxious to see it as she was, to hold it and pore over it in some safe place where they wouldn’t be disturbed. He looked over and wondered what thoughts were going through her head; wondered if you ever got so close to another person that you knew, really knew, what they were thinking. A stony silence had sprung up between them; he didn’t believe either of them could screw up the energy for small talk, with so much in the offing.

The World Trade Center loomed again in the foreground, literally scraping the sky, twin fortresses of almighty commerce.
My babies,
he said to himself, gazing up their dizzying height as they drew closer.

They docked and unloaded at last, disembarking with a jostling crowd surge that worried him enough to cause him to pin the briefcase closer to his chest.

“Your place or mine?” Jason said aloud as they cleared the dock and the crowd started to disperse in all directions.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she replied. “We find a bar or something. If you
even
think I’m sitting still for a ride uptown…”

“That’s far enough,” said a stern voice behind them. “You two, step this way, please.”

Jason’s heart sank; he turned slowly toward Amanda and then back. Two grave-looking men filled the space immediately behind them: sunglasses, charcoal suits, trivial variants of some basic undercover-cop style. Jason could see Amanda’s shoulders visibly slump beside him; running seemed utterly out of the question. The smaller man flashed some sort of badge, as his beefier partner smirked without humor and pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

“Come with us, please,” said Badge, replacing his wallet. “Don’t make any trouble, okay?”

“Look,” said Jason, contrite. “This isn’t what it looks like, Officer. I can—”

“Not in front of the tourists,” said Cellphone calmly, fingers poised above the keypad. “If you make things hard for us, I assure you we can make them very hard for you.
Very
hard. Could you please come this way?”

“But we haven’t—” piped in Amanda.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Cellphone interrupted in a deeply sonorous, no-nonsense voice. “I strongly suggest you use it.”

Fighting an almost overwhelming urge to run, Jason looked around at the crowd breaking around them, felt the tourists’ curious glances at the demi-scene unfolding. Had they tracked him all the way from the island, or called ahead? It seemed so pathetic now, in retrospect, he thought with embarrassment. What kind of hubris had let him think he could really vandalize a crowded national monument in the middle of the day without repercussions?

The muscular officer had stepped to one side and was speaking low into the cell phone while his partner watched over them with a wary eye. Suddenly Jason found a ray of hope—this had to be about the trespassing, or at worst, breaking and entering. The police would of course have no reason to suspect he’d removed anything from the statue, even if they’d inspected and found the damaged copper inside the torch—something there simply hadn’t been time for yet anyway.

“You think we should cuff ’em?” Badge called back to his partner, never taking his eyes off them. There was a touch of nervousness in his voice.

Cellphone shook his head dismissively. “No, we don’t need to cuff ’em—they’re gonna play nice. Isn’t that right, kids?”

Shrouded in silence, Jason and Amanda were led toward a nondescript black unmarked four-door idling some twenty feet away. Jason took a deep, rattling breath and stole a guilty glance at his girl, where he met a brief but expectant stare before self-consciousness drove both their gazes earthward. He didn’t know how to read Amanda’s look, a bitter reminder that he’d only known her for a week after all.

He felt dizzy and light-headed, anchored only by the weight of his parents’ briefcase and its cargo as he and Amanda were led around to different doors. After installing them in the back of the car, the cops climbed into the front; the beefy one, driving now, pressed the button that locked the four doors and they headed out onto the streets of southern Manhattan without exchanging another word.

It was all spiraling out of control now. Jason could feel the adrenaline that had buoyed him for so long begin to drain away as his body suddenly remembered the lack of sleep, the stress and activity, the world-class excessive drinking from the previous night. A wave of guilt helped diffuse his burgeoning nausea. He couldn’t help feeling that he’d betrayed Amanda again, with the recklessness of the last few hours—irredeemably, this time. Had he subconsciously rushed the endgame too fast, squandering his invaluable revelation in a cheap ploy to win her forgiveness?

The car angled right—avoiding the Peter Minuit plaza, Jason noted wryly—and turned onto Water Street. He glanced over at Amanda.
It’s not supposed to end this way,
he tried to will his gaze to convey, but her head was down.

Then don’t let it,
said a voice in his head, quite as distinct as if it had been heard rather than imagined.

The cops were mumbling in the front seat, conversing in secret. He looked into the rearview and caught the reflection of the smaller cop looking at him, then quickly looking away. There was something odd about all this…

Suddenly, he had it.

Jason glanced over at Amanda again, and this time she slid her hand over to meet his. It was warm and wonderful…and he squeezed her palm once, twice. On the third time, she raised her eyes to his, curious.

They’re not cops,
Jason mouthed.

Her brow wrinkled.
How do you know?

He shrugged.
I recognize them. They’re your dad’s goons, the casino guys.

Her eyes widened and she nodded. It had been like that for him, too; the comprehension was total, when it came.

The car turned left again, heading north now, onto some larger street.
All we have to do is escape,
he continued,
and we’re free.

She nodded, eyes alight, and mouthed something he couldn’t understand. He gave her a questioning look, and she repeated it:
liberty.

He smiled and nodded.

But we’re locked in.

Jason shook his head, pantomimed the simple reach forward that would unlock the driver’s door and, presumably, all the locks.

Beneath eye level, Jason pointed in quick succession to Amanda, then her door, then himself and his door.
Columbus Circle,
he mouthed silently.
Meet me there as soon as you can.

A few agonizing minutes later, the car slowed for a yellow light turning red up ahead. Jason felt uneasy not knowing where they were, exactly, but they had no choice but to move…who knew what the next minute would bring?

Amanda recognized this, too; as the car slowed, she smiled and mouthed:
I love you.

He pointed to himself and made a peace sign—
me, too
—as the car halted. No time for hesitation. He stealthily slid his hand in alongside the driver’s shoulder and popped the lock. Four door locks leaped up with a loud pop and Jason, hand already pulling the handle, threw his shoulder into the door, wincing with pain.

Suddenly there was activity in the front seat; hearing Amanda’s door open as well, Jason pressed the driver’s lock back down—excellent touch, he thought—and half-fell, half-climbed out of the car, scrambled to his feet, and raced between the stopped cars for the safety of the sidewalk, briefcase smacking his side, desperately trying to keep his footing in a very real race for his life.

Behind him he heard the angry shouts to halt, the front doors opening at last with the pursuit that would be just a little too late. Hitting the sidewalk at a dead run, Jason saw bystanders backing away and clutching purses, and he realized that to the crowd, he and Amanda, wherever her escape route took her, would look like criminals.
No,
he corrected.
In fact, we
are
criminals.
Some do-gooder might even trip him up or try to take him out with a clothesline. But the farther away he drew from the scene, the less interested the crowd seemed in the reason for his hurry, and by the time he made it to the next corner and stole a glance back, the car was gone. With nobody tailing him, he slowed to a sustainable jog.

He had to check his elation when it occurred to him that if they weren’t chasing him, they were certainly chasing her. He wanted to go back…but then the document would definitely fall into their hands. Better to secure it and trust to luck.

Ten minutes later he was sliding into a number 9 subway car, panting for breath, scanning each disinterested face with paranoid intensity. Satisfied that he was safe for now, he sat facing the still-open doors and tried to slow his breathing. He stared silently at the briefcase, on the seat beside him.
Got the deed…lost the girl.

Did Amanda get away? There was no way of knowing until 59th Street/Columbus Circle, still many, many blocks away. Jason could only watch helplessly as the sliding doors opened and closed, opened and closed in their perpetual foolish dance.

Hope was treading water, but in his heart Jason knew, with terrifying certainty, that she wouldn’t be there.

UPPER WEST SIDE
, 5:00
P.M.

Jason took the stairs three at a time—lungs gasping involuntarily, every muscle crying out in pain—flagellating himself for having let things get so out of hand. All he could think to do was hurry, as if moving closer to the speed of light would keep time from elapsing, put off disaster indefinitely. The briefcase swung heavily from one hand as he jammed the other in his pocket, somehow squeezing out the keys between floors.