She too thanked the security chief, who left. Then she said to Jessen, "I'd like copies of their resumes. Everybody on the list. Or if you have employee profiles, CVs. Anything."
"Yes, I can arrange for that." She asked her assistant to make a copy of the list and pull together personnel information for everybody on it.
Another man, slightly out of breath, arrived in Jessen's office. Midforties, Sachs estimated. He was a little doughy and had unruly brown hair, mixed with gray. "Cute" seemed to fit. There was a boyish quality about him, Sachs decided. Sparkling eyes and raised eyebrows and a fidgety nature. The sleeves of his wrinkled striped shirt were rolled up. Food crumbs, it seemed, dusted his slacks.
"Detective Sachs," Jessen said. "This is Charlie Sommers, special projects manager."
He shook the detective's hand.
The president looked at her watch, stood and donned a suit jacket she'd selected from a large closet of clothes. Sachs wondered if she pulled all-nighters. Jessen brushed at skin flakes or dust on the shoulders. "I have to meet with our PR firm and then hold a press conference. Charles, could you take Detective Sachs back to your office? She's got some questions for you. Help her however you can."
"Sure. Be happy to."
Jessen was looking out the window at her dynasty--the massive building, the superstructure of towers and cables and scaffolding. With the fast-flowing East River glistening in the background, she seemed like the captain of a huge ship. The woman was obsessively rubbing her right thumb and forefinger together, a gesture of stress that Sachs recognized immediately, since she often did the same. "Detective Sachs, how much wire did he use for that attack?"
Sachs told her.
The CEO nodded and kept looking out the window. "So he's got enough left for five or six more. If we can't stop him."
Andi Jessen didn't seem to want a response. She didn't even seem to be speaking to the other people in the room.
Chapter 18
AFTER WORK, A different social tone emerged in Tompkins Square Park, in the East Village. Young couples, some in Brooks Brothers, some pierced and sporting tats, strolling with their toddlers. Musicians, lovers, clusters of twentysomethings headed home from despised day jobs and filled with expanding joy at what the night might hold. The smells here were hot dog water, pot, curry and incense.
Fred Dellray was on a bench near a large, spreading elm tree. He'd glanced at the plaque when he'd arrived and learned this was where the founder of the Hari Krishna movement had chanted the group's mantra in 1966 for the first time outside India.
He'd never known that. Dellray preferred secular philosophy to theology but had studied all major religions and he knew that the Hari Krishna sect included four basic rules in order to follow dharma, the righteous path: mercy, self-control, honesty and cleanliness of body and spirit.
He was reflecting on those qualities and how they were figured in today's New York City versus South Asia, when feet scuffed behind him.
His hand hadn't even made it halfway to his weapon when he heard the voice, "Fred."
It troubled Dellray deeply that he'd been caught off guard. William Brent wasn't a threat but he easily could have been.
Another sign of losing his touch?
He nodded to the man to sit. Wearing a black suit that had seen better days, Brent was nondescript, a little jowly with direct eyes under swept-back hair, sprayed into place. He wore steel-rimmed glasses that had been out of style when Dellray had been running him. But they were practical. Typical of William Brent.
The CI crossed his legs and glanced at the tree. He wore argyle socks and scuffed penny loafers.
"Been well, Fred?"
"Okay. Busy."
"You always were."
Dellray didn't bother to ask what Brent had been up to. Or what his present name was, for that matter. Or career. It would have been a waste of energy and time.
"Jeep. Strange creature, isn't he?"
"Is," Dellray agreed.
"How long you think he'll live?"
Dellray paused but then answered honestly, "Three years."
"Here. But if Atlanta works out, he'd probably last for a while. If he doesn't get stupid."