CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Friday, January 14
1:20 a.m.
New York City
Gaspar pushed the button for the elevator while Otto answered the Boss’s call.
“Since you’ve already heard everything, any chance you can find us a place to sleep?” She asked before he had a chance to speak. “Our hotel has been evacuated. Bomb threat or something. We can’t get back in.”
“You can sleep on the plane. You’re booked from JFK to Palm Beach at five a.m.”
“You found Pauling?” Otto had learned to ask. Gaspar smirked, and she punched him in the bicep hard enough to make him stop.
The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside.
“Encrypted files are on your secure server. It’s a small island. She won’t be hard to find.”
Otto grabbed a strand of hair that had escaped the tight chignon at the back of her neck and tucked it into place. “How did you find her?”
“Brewer narrowed it down for us.”
“You’re welcome,” Otto said, sarcastically. The elevator stopped on the first floor. Gaspar walked out, and she followed. “And you’ve got eyes on her? I’m not interested in another wild goose chase.”
He sighed. “We got lucky. Unlike many phones, her cell won’t ping unless she’s using it.”
“She’s not your average citizen.” Otto frowned. “Who’s she talking to at this hour?”
“Not Reacher, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Gaspar had rounded the corner to the open lobby.
Otto paused and lowered her voice. “Do you have surveillance of the guy who killed Peck?”
“Not yet. Nothing usable, anyway.”
“Send us what you have.”
He said nothing.
She didn’t press him, only because there was no point. He’d do whatever he wanted, no matter what she said. “Why did they evacuate our hotel tonight?”
“You might ask your pal Finlay about that. Rumor is that he made the call.”
She widened her eyes. “Why?”
“Who knows why he does anything?” He sounded bored. “This TrueLeaks thing has everybody on edge.”
“Nobody likes to think about military corruption at the highest levels,” she said.
“After you got Finlay’s curiosity up, he’s paying attention. My guess is he’s got a flag on both of you and everything that might have to do with Reacher. When Gaspar started nosing around in the databases tonight checking into private military contractors and their real estate holdings in historic buildings, somebody probably got nervous about it. Nothing more than a civilian phone call with an unconfirmed tip would be necessary to get a Manhattan hotel evacuated.”
“He doesn’t have a current location on our source.”
“Not yet,” he snapped. “And no thanks to you.”
He’d hung up on her. She was holding nothing but dead air. She shook her head and dropped the phone into her pocket.
She rounded the corner into the lobby of the Dakota. The distinguished old gentleman stood near the door talking casually with Gaspar. Otto looked around for surveillance cameras. Most buildings had security systems in place these days. The Boss could hack into any ongoing signal. If he hadn’t found good images of Peck’s killer, it meant that the guy was savvy enough to avoid the cameras.
Brewer would follow up. There were hundreds of cameras around New York. Maybe he’d find another way to get some good images.
If this guy was connected to Pauling in some way, a picture could be way more effective with her. Otto didn’t have a good feeling about Pauling’s level of cooperation. How many times had she been down this road already? Reacher’s women hadn’t been particularly helpful so far. Why should Pauling be different?
“What’s the best way for us to get a taxi to JFK?” Gaspar asked the old gentleman as Otto approached.
“I can handle that for you, sir.” He moved to a telephone on the desk and lifted the receiver. He pushed a single button three times and replaced the receiver. “I’ve signaled the driver. He will be here momentarily, sir. Please wait here until he pulls up. It’s too cold to be outside tonight.”
“Thank you,” Gaspar said. “This is Mr. Clark, Agent Otto.”
He extended his white-gloved hand. “Alfred Clark, ma’am.”
Otto shook hands with him. Maybe he’d lived to a healthy old age because he shook hands with his gloves on. Fewer germs. “How long have you been working here, Mr. Clark?”
He smiled and wagged his head. “Feels like half my life I’ve been at the Dakota. Nowhere else to go anymore.”
“No family?”
He clasped his white-gloved hands together. “My wife passed years ago. We didn’t have any kids. So it’s just me. The Dakota’s always been my home and my family, too.”
“Did you know Mr. Lane and his family that lived on the fifth floor?”
“Of course, I did.” He nodded. “Both Mrs. Lanes were very nice. The little girl was adorable. A shame they moved.”
Otto cocked her head. “You said both Mrs. Lanes?”
“Terrible thing about the first Mrs. Lane. She was murdered. Sad, sad day.” He shook his head and closed his eyes briefly as if he was offering up a prayer. “Seems like some of these rich folks who live here have too many tragedies, you know?”
“Is that how you met Lauren Pauling?” Gaspar asked, as if he knew for sure that Clark knew Pauling. “When the first Mrs. Lane died?”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Pauling is a really nice person. She was with the FBI then. She took it hard. Detective Brewer, too. It wasn’t his case, but he was upset about it. Hell, we all were.”
“Have you seen Ms. Pauling lately?” Otto asked.
He wagged his head slowly from side to side, thinking about it, maybe. “Probably been a few months since she’s been around. She’ll be back though. Mr. Peck’s a friend of hers.”
He glanced outside. “Your ride is here. You stay warm out there, now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clark,” Otto said. “We will. Thanks for the help.”
Gaspar shook hands with the old gentleman again before he pushed the glass door open and they hurried to the limo. Within the hour, they’d reached JFK.