Lisa Unger - Smoke

“Can you do this for me?” she said, trying to keep patience in her tone. “If you have their contact information, can you please call one or both of them and tell them I’m interested in speaking with them? And then give them my name and number.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Ms. Strong,” she said vaguely. “I’ll get back to you.”

Lydia said her thanks but the lawyer had already hung up.

She felt a swell of emotion now, some combination of anger, resentment, and sadness. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want a box from her dead father waiting for her in Jeffrey’s office. She didn’t want to learn that she might have a sister somewhere. But like with all the mysteries of her life, there was this eternal flame inside of her, this burning to know . She could take that box to the Dumpster, call Patricia O’Connell back and tell her not to bother. And that would be the end of it. But she couldn’t . She just wasn’t hardwired to walk away from a question mark.

“Shit,” she said out loud to no one.

“What’s up?” Dax filled the doorway. She hated him at the moment. He had hurt her feelings. And since her feelings were so rarely exposed for the hurting, vulnerable to so few people, they were still smarting.

“Nothing,” she said flatly. “What do you want?”

He walked in and sat down, unperturbed by her mood.

“Well,” he said. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

She looked at him with an expression that she hoped would encourage him to just spit it out.

“It looks to me like the security system installed at The New Day is a custom job. We’re talking motion detectors on the exterior, roving security cameras, infrared beams in entrance hallways, security shutters over doors and windows. Retina and palm scan entries on certain areas, heat sensors on doorknobs, serious stuff. A system like the one they have would cost a hundred grand, at least. It would be nearly impossible to get in-or out-once the system is activated.”

“And the building behind was connected by an interior walkway?”

“There are two connections. One on the first floor and one in the basement of the building.”

Lydia cocked her head at him. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“That’s because I just found out.”

“How?”

“I know the guy who designed and installed the system.”

“I guess that would be the good news?” she asked.

He nodded and gave her a smile.

“Doesn’t seem very secure,” she said. “You pay someone a hundred grand to secure a building and then he runs around telling people how to subvert the system.”

“That’s the problem with mercenaries,” he said with a shrug. “Loyalties shift.”

“So he told you how to get in?”

“Not exactly. He gave me the specs of the system. But he’s so good at building these things that even he couldn’t get in. I’ll have to figure it out.”

“When the alarm goes off, who gets alerted?”

“It’s not connected to the police department or to any outside security agency.”

“So presumably there’s a security staff on the premises.”

“My guy didn’t know anything about that, said that the client was highly secretive and that when his people were installing the system, there was no one around. But presumably, yes, I imagine there’s a security staff. We’ll have to assume.”

“Why would a church, especially one concerned with abandoning materialism, be so concerned with security?”

“It’s a good question. Another question would be how they found out about the guy that designed this system. I mean, it’s not like he’s in the phone book or anything. You need to know people to get in touch with him.”

“What kind of people?”

“People you don’t want to know. Like, bad guys… gangsters, mobsters, guerillas, the CIA. Really bad.”

Lydia looked at him. “And where do you know this guy from?”

“We served together. He’s former British Special Forces. Now he’s freelance.”

“Like you.”

He nodded. “Yes, like me.”

He’d gotten a serious tone to his voice and the stony expression to his face that he always got when she asked too many questions. He’d give her a little bit of information, stuff she already knew like the bit about his having served with the British Special Forces, then he’d shut down.

“So does that mean your loyalties are prone to shifting?”

He gave her a look. “That hurts.”

“Hmm. How long will it take you to figure out a way in to The New Day?”

“A couple hours,” he said. “We’ll go tonight if you want.”

“I want. I haven’t been able to find anything about them on the Internet other than their own website. Detective Stenopolis said he’d check to see if there was anything in the system about them but I haven’t heard back from him.”

“So we go find out for ourselves,” said Dax, standing. “I just need to find a way in.”

Jeffrey walked down Broadway to Forty-Seventh Street, New York City’s diamond district. The street was mobbed with people, as it generally was. They walked slowly, stopped suddenly to stare at the glittering gems on display. He made his way through as quickly as he could, dodging and weaving between window-shoppers. He came to the address Christian had given him and walked inside and stood at the door. He could see in the shop a young man, a Hasidic Jew dressed in traditional garb, sitting behind a cash register. Jeffrey noticed wires coming from behind the long curls that hung at each of his temples. There was an Apple iPod sitting on the glass counter in front of him. It took the kid a minute to notice him standing there. He quickly took the headphones from his ears. He reached beneath the counter and the door in front of Jeffrey buzzed open.

He stepped inside. The place smelled of cheap cologne and something meaty cooking.

“Can I help you?” the kid said. He had an open, earnest face, a slight New York accent. The whole Hasidic thing was weird to Jeffrey. The older guys, he understood traipsing around in their traditional garb. But the young men, modern Americans with iPods, didn’t they want a more up-to-date look? Something that didn’t alienate them so totally from the present? It had always seemed to him that a religion that didn’t stay with the times was doomed to plenty of conflict between younger and older generations within, and eventually extinction.

“I’m here to see Chiam,” he said resting a hand on the glass counter.

“I’m Chiam,” the kid said. “But maybe you mean my dad.”

“Christian Striker said he might be able to answer some questions for me.”

The kid nodded and walked through a door toward the back of the small space. It was a small rectangle of a room, barely two hundred square feet, with bare white walls. There was nothing to distract from the glass cases lining the three interior walls and their magnificent contents. Diamonds. Earrings, necklaces, stunning solitaires. He noticed a case containing a small sign that read “Fancy Diamonds.” In here, the gems were red and blue, pink and yellow. They were beautiful, certainly, but to Jeffrey nothing compared to a colorless white diamond with its cold fire.

An older version of the man he’d spoken to emerged from the back. He extended a hand.

“Christian called and said to expect you,” he said. “I am Chiam Bechim.”

Jeffrey shook his hand. “Jeffrey Mark. Good to meet you.”

Chiam opened a small door between the cases and Jeffrey walked through, followed him into a back room. Chiam senior barked something in Yiddish to his son, who reddened. Jeffrey saw him put the iPod in a drawer by the register, muttering something under his breath.