“And they have the means and motive to have killed her,” Dinara said.
“The mob …” Leonid said the word dreamily, as though his mind was elsewhere.
“Problem?” Dinara asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing’s ever really a problem. Not if you’ve got enough firepower.”
CHAPTER 31
ELIZABETH CONNOR WAS attending a charity lunch at the Beekman, the luxury hotel where I’d met Karl Parker the morning he’d been shot. Her schedule was closely guarded, but Mo-bot had managed to hack into Connor’s assistant’s computer.
Justine and I drove south to the hotel and parked the car a block away on William Street. We hurried through the quiet, frozen streets and entered the hotel without incident, but once inside the grand lobby, we saw heightened security everywhere. Hotel guards eyed everyone coming into the traditionally decorated redbrick building, and their presence was augmented by the addition of private security personnel, who were easy to spot with their dark suits and discreet earpieces. They congregated at the edge of the lobby, by the entrance to the first-floor bar, which had been closed to the public.
“This way, honey,” I said to Justine, gently steering her toward the bar.
Playing the part of a couple of gawking tourists, we peered past the security personnel into the large space beyond. Dozens of people sat at ornately decorated circular tables, and at the very end of the room was a long table on a raised dais where twenty VIP guests sat. Elizabeth Connor was seated in the middle of the table and had two guards standing behind her, flanking either side. The room was a beautiful example of nine-teenth-century architecture, with tiled mosaics, decorative arches and wood paneling everywhere. But the most impressive feature was the nine-story atrium that was capped by a huge skylight. The balustrades of the nine balconies that overlooked the bar were made of ornate metalwork, and wherever you looked there was a beautiful feature to catch the eye.
“Can I help you, sir?” one of the suited men asked as we spied what was happening inside.
“We were hoping to have a drink at the bar,” I said.
“It reopens at five, sir,” the man replied.
“Let’s go to our room,” I said to Justine, and we headed for the elevators.
“It’s like they’re protecting the President. How do we get to her?” Justine asked.
“I’m working on it,” I replied, calling the elevator.
We stepped inside one of the three cars and I looked at our reflections in the smoked mirrors. I was in a lounge suit, and Justine wore a pullover and jeans. We were hardly dressed for a high-society lunch.
The elevator doors opened on the seventh floor and we moved along the corridor to the rectangular balcony that edged the atrium and overlooked the bar. The lunch was in full flow and the hubbub cascaded up to the skylight. I caught sight of a chambermaid in one of the corridors leading off the balcony. She was at her housekeeping trolley, going over a checklist. I put my arm around Justine and started tickling her playfully as we moved toward the chambermaid.
“What the—?” Justine said. “Get off me.”
She pushed me away, and I collided with the chambermaid, knocking her into her trolley.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“That’s OK, sir,” the chambermaid responded as I steadied her.
“What the hell was that?” Justine asked as we walked on.
“A little misdirection,” I said. “Sorry.”
I showed her the maid’s keyring, which included a hotel master key.
“Nicely done,” Justine remarked.
We went round a corner and found a double door marked “Service Area.” The chambermaid’s master key got us inside a twelve-by-twelve-foot space that contained racks of linen and a couple of housekeeping trolleys. There was also a service elevator, which I called using the stolen key card. Justine and I stepped inside and I pressed the button for the first floor.
We descended in silence and as the floors counted down, my body crackled with anticipation. We had no idea where the elevator would bring us out, but I was almost certain there would be a guard posted nearby, and if we couldn’t bluff our way past, I’d have to take a more direct approach. I looked at Justine and could read the tension on her face. She offered the faintest smile, but it was forced through layers of stress.
“It’s going to be OK,” I told her, steeling myself as we reached the ground floor.
The doors slid open, and we stepped into mayhem.
Staff were running through a vast kitchen and a couple of close-protection personnel were trying to maintain order by a set of double doors. Guests were screaming and pouring through the doors, joined by servers and other hotel staff. Justine and I pushed against the flow of people until we were able to see into the atrium bar.