Lev Rosen - Depth

She wanted to call Caroline, to talk the case over with her while they ate at someplace awful and greasy that Caroline had chosen. She stopped at a hot-dog vendor—one of those small boats that bobbed just off a low bridge, cooking and selling all day—and bought one. It was salty, and she ate it too quickly, leaving her chest feeling burnt out. She took a taxi to City Hall, knowing Caroline would still be at work.

When the waters had risen, the old City Hall had been covered pretty quickly, and the politicians had had to find a new spot. They chose two adjacent buildings in midtown—once called the MetLife Tower and the MetLife North Building. Their Art Deco exteriors had been carefully coated in Glassteel, so each angle shone in the fading light. A large dock surrounded them and filled the space between, acting like a wooden plaza. Streetlights thrust up through the plaza on the perimeter and then again in a circle around the center. From above, Simone imagined it looked like a shooting target in bright white, the green of their algae generators winking up between the wooden slats of the platform. There were potted plants and even a small sea-water fountain that someone had rigged to pump stuff up from the ocean and shower it back down again. It was lit from underneath, so when the sun began its descent, the fountain seemed to spray liquid light. The entire area was called City Hall Plaza and was often featured on brochures put out by the city’s plucky travel bureau, with the Chrysler Building glowing behind it. This was probably because it looked, in many ways, how New York used to look—that is, if you cropped out the ocean waves rising up angrily just beneath the plaza.

The mayor’s offices were at the top of the tower, above the other municipal offices. That’s where the balconies were, and the mayor reportedly enjoyed a nice lie-down on a hammock he had set up outside. Caroline’s office was right next to the mayor’s, but anyone who knew the city knew to get an appointment first. Simone sat down on one of the benches and stared up at Caroline’s office. It was too far up to see anything specific, like a person moving around, but the light was on. It glowed a lonely pearl color, the only one on the floor.

Simone tapped her earpiece, said the word “call,” and almost said “Caroline,” but waited long enough that her earpiece told her in soft metallic tones to repeat the command. She wondered why she was always looking up at Caroline’s window. Stalker . She could almost hear Caroline whisper the word in her ear. Then the light went out in Caroline’s office. Simone sat down at the end of the plaza farthest from the door. She wasn’t in shadow—there was no shadow in the plaza, not with the streetlights and the fountain—but she thought she’d be hidden by the water bubbling up between her and the door.

So she knew that the Reinel was a map. But what could it lead to? If it were just deCostas, she’d assume it had something to do with underwater air pockets—maybe the location of a particularly well-coated building or something, but for Sorenson to be interested, or the Khans? They were too smart for all that. She knew Caroline didn’t believe in that pearl-diving nonsense. Then again, Anika had called it bullshit—so that lined up. But how could the painting show the location of an airtight building? Did he paint a large sign in the background that read, “Future site of Underwater Living”? Simone shook her head. The revelation that Reinel painted maps had seemed so significant, but now that she was thinking about it, she felt just as lost as before.

The door across the plaza flashed open, and Caroline walked out. Simone stood, then squatted again, but then stood entirely. Caroline didn’t seem to see her. She walked past the fountain, but Simone stood where she was, then turned to follow Caroline. When she had cleared the fountain and there was nothing between them but space, Caroline stopped. She stayed there a moment before turning to look at Simone. She held a black leather briefcase in both hands. She was wearing black gloves and a dark green coat that fell down to her knees in the shape of a bell, and under that something white and high collared, like a priest.

They stared at each other for a while. Caroline once opened her mouth, as if to speak, but then closed it again. She was too far away for Simone to read her eyes. The air was cold, and the saltwater from the fountain was blowing on her with every gust of the rising wind. The salt felt like small shards of glass biting into her. Simone looked down, took a deep breath, not sure what to say, but knowing she had to speak first. But then she heard Caroline’s footsteps, and when she looked up, Caroline was walking away, dissolving into the mist and darkness.

SIMONE SMOKED THE CIGARETTE down to the very last bit of ash as she walked to her meeting with Sorenson. The night had come in on heavy sheets of gray, and the fog was weaving itself into thick knots, moments of blindness Simone had to walk through on faith. That meant soon there’d probably be rain for a couple days. Hopefully nothing too hard. She didn’t want to be locked up inside her office, unable to go out without getting killed.

A few people were milling around outside the Hearst Tower when she showed up. They were dressed conservatively and speaking in low tones. They all turned to stare at Simone as she pulled open the door of the building. She winked at one of them, and he blushed a bright scarlet. Inside, the receptionist was packing up to go home and told Simone the pastor was waiting for her in his office on the top floor.

Simone took the elevator up. The doors opened onto walnut walls and big open windows that let in the damp air. Large religious paintings hung on the walls. Sorenson sat behind his desk, looking at Simone expectantly. Behind him, staring out one of the windows, was—

“Marina,” Simone said before she could stop herself. The Blonde turned to her and smiled.

“You learned my name,” she said. “You care. That’s sweet, it really is, but we don’t know each other that well. Maybe you should just call me Ms. Beck.”

Simone’s hand was already at the gun in her boot. “Is this some kind of setup?”

Sorenson rose, his hands extended, palms out, reassuring. “No, no, Ms. Pierce, I assure you, this is no setup. Ms. Beck and I just need your help. She told me about your… encounter, so I thought perhaps it would be best if I didn’t mention her bein’ at this meeting.”

“I am sorry about that,” Marina said, walking forward from the window to sit on Sorenson’s desk. “You see, I’m used to transporting large sums of money and valuable artwork, so when someone is following me, I assume they’re trying to take it from me. I didn’t know who you were. That you were working for Linnea. Like I am.” She smiled pleasantly, an obvious mask, but a good one, as Simone couldn’t read anything but insincerity in her tone. She couldn’t tell if Marina was lying or not.

“You’re working for Linnea?”

“Well, it was Henry and Linnea. But turns out you were right about Henry being dead.” She raised her eyebrows, as if amused by a titillating scandal of some sort. She was good. Everything about her dripped with false friendliness, but only false friendliness. She didn’t have a single tell. Simone had a sudden itch to play poker with her.

“Ms. Beck was hired by the St. Michels,” Sorenson said.

“To sell a Reinel painting, I know,” Simone said.

“I guess I’m not the only one who’s been doing her homework,” Marina said.

“I bought the painting,” Sorenson said. “But with Linnea hidin’ away somewhere, I have yet to receive it.”

Simone narrowed her eyes. “If you bought it, why was she meeting with deCostas last night?”