Chapter 9

The West Side of New York

On the other side of the city Eric Vandermeer made his way along the West Side of Manhattan using the time to think about the upcoming museum events. For him, New York City was the distillate of the East: a dark tincture filled with the essence of those who walked beneath stone monuments that brushed the sky. Walking the city streets with the pavement under his feet felt just as satisfying as the dirt on the paths in the forests he traveled when he was on a field expedition for museum research. There was a renewed freshness spurred by his discussions with his colleague Lily Robinson and he reviewed his predicament in his mind. He knew every inch of his museum, and what he thought were all the possible places one could hide or conceal an improvised bomb. Yet dogs, trained to detect a single molecule of explosive, had moved throughout the museum in waves during the week and found nothing.

He was terrified at the thought of a hidden bomb in a museum exhibit, remembering Lily’s story of the Boston Marathon bombings. She had witnessed firsthand the unmistakable terror unleashed on innocent athletes and spectators as explosions produced death and limbs askew on the brick. Nurses and doctors were overwhelmed by the pools of blood as gurneys were wheeled into the emergency department and isolated legs were placed on stretchers next to the patients. Nurses slipped in the red on floors while yellow and black coded vests brought a never-ending onslaught of mangled humanity. Calls went out throughout the city for units of blood, and surgeons mustered their strength to hold a marathon of their own. They tried desperately to save lives, those with missing pieces, and those whose eyes had witnessed a lifetime of red stain flowing like a poison tide down Boylston Street. He found the vision haunting.

Eric also considered that maybe Lily had it right. He had to believe that any bomb carried through the doors of his domain would easily be detected unless of course it was hidden in a “Trojan horse.” Or perhaps it wouldn’t be a bomb at all, but something far easier to conceal, harder to reveal. The curator’s anxiety mounted as he imagined the economic devastation if world bankers were to be the victims of a mass killing in an effort to disrupt the global economy, and bring chaos into the financial world. He also considered the consequences of the physical destruction to one of the world’s most beloved and cherished museums. It would be terror at its highest level.

Once back in the museum, Eric Vandermeer again swept through the common areas with other agents at his side. There was no scent of a bomb.

“Sir,” said one of the guards in an abrupt tone, “we’ve just covered the perimeter again and would like your permission to peruse the exhibit you will tour this evening. There are a lot of places to hide IEDs, and we just have to keep looking.”

Eric nodded yes. There were obvious security agents as would be expected for a function such as this, but many of the government agents working with Lily and the curator were dressed either as museum guards or docents. Some were agents who had a high level of intelligence clearance and could recognize known terrorists by sight, and others were experts in bomb detection and disarmament. Yet they all blended in with the regular museum staff—acting as the just recently hired extras for the special event. The event assistant, a young woman named Alexis, had been quite helpful in organizing the dinner for the museum, and yet was unaware of the intrigue and threat behind the scenes. She had planned several fund-raising events for the museum in the past and was familiar with the protocol. Her reputation was one of efficiency and professionalism.

“Excuse me doctor,” she said in a cordial tone, “we’ll be setting up later this afternoon in the main hall. I’ll see that the caterers are organized in the kitchen, and I think we have pretty much everything else under control. If I might add,” she added a bit sternly, “please keep your security detail out of my way. We seem to have an awful lot of them today. I don’t like to be interfered with when I’m creating a masterpiece. Oh, and I took the liberty of ordering flowers for each table. Lilies; I hope you like them,” she said as she made her way out of the room.

Eric once again nodded yes, only partially listening to her words, and thought the event planner was not only efficient, but elegant, wearing a French designer scarf containing scenes of Napoleon on his horse. Alexis made a striking presentation. But his focus sharpened as he saw the silhouette of a woman in stilettos enter the room. There she was. Her unbuttoned suit jacket revealed her low-cut black tank top peering out from under her cashmere suit that Eric could not help but notice. She seemed to spill over the top with soft white flesh that had undoubtedly caught the curator’s attention. He moved his eyes down to her shoes. Leave it to Lily Robinson, he thought. We’re in the middle of a crisis and she manages to wear her signature stiletto heels with the peep toes. He never considered himself a man to know fashion, but since he had known Lily, he became attentive to the accessories of a woman’s attire. He walked toward her, arms open wide for a hug, and she started asking about the changes in the museum security before he released her from his embrace.