The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [36]
“Thank you, Mr. Caruso—you have a nice day now.”
“You too,” I say, forcing a smile. The only good sign is that he lets me pass. They don’t know who they’re looking for. But they are looking. They just don’t want anyone to know.
That’s it, I decide. Time to get some help. Blowing through the lobby and past the bullpen of rolltop desks, I head for the public elevator, but quickly change course and keep walking toward the back. I use Lapidus’s code every day. Don’t call attention to it by stopping now.
By the time I reach the private elevator, I’m a sweaty mess—my chest, my back—I feel like I’m soaking through my suit and wool coat. From there, it only gets worse. Stepping into the elevator’s wood-paneled embrace, I go to loosen my tie. That’s when I remember the surveillance camera in the corner. My fingers bounce off my tie and scratch an imaginary itch on my neck. The doors slam shut. My throat goes dry. I just ignore it.
My first instinct is to go see Shep, but it’s no time to be stupid. Instead, I pound the button for the seventh floor. If I want to get to the bottom of this, I need to start at the top.
* * * *
“He’s been waiting for you,” Lapidus’s secretary warns as I fly past her desk.
“How many stars?” I call out, knowing how she rates Lapidus’s moods. Four stars is good; one is a disaster.
“Total eclipse,” she blurts.
I stop in my tracks. The last time Lapidus was that upset, it came with divorce papers. “Any idea what happened?” I ask, struggling to keep it together.
“I’m not sure, but have you ever seen a live volcano…?”
Taking a quick gulp of air, I reach for the bronze doorknob.
“… I don’t care what they want!” Lapidus screams into his phone. “Tell them it’s a computer problem… blame it on a virus—until they hear otherwise, it’s staying shut down—and if Mary has a problem with that, tell her she can take it up with the agent in charge!” He slams the receiver just as I shut the door. Following the sound, he jerks his head toward me—but I’m too busy staring at the person sitting in the antique chair on the opposite side of his desk. Shep. He shakes his head ever so slightly. We’re dead.
“Where the hell’ve you been!?” Lapidus yells.
My eyes are still on Shep.
“Oliver, I’m talking to you!”
I jump, turning back to my boss. “I-I’m sorry. What?”
Before I can answer, there’s a knock on the door behind me. “Come in!” Lapidus barks.
Quincy opens it halfway and sticks his head in. He’s got the same look as Lapidus. Gritted teeth. Manic head movements. The way he surveys the room—me… Shep… the couch… even the antiques—everything gets a look. Sure, he’s a born analyzer, but this is different. The pale look on his face. It’s not anger. It’s fear.
“I have the reports,” he says anxiously.
“So? Let’s hear ’em,” Lapidus says.
Standing on the threshold and still refusing to enter the room, Quincy tightens his glance. Partners only.
With a swift push away from the desk, Lapidus climbs out of his leather wingback and heads for the door. The moment he’s gone, I go straight for Shep.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, fighting to keep it to a whisper. “Did they—”
“Was this you?” Shep shoots back.
“Was what me?”
He looks away, completely overwhelmed. “I don’t even know how they did it…”
“Did what?”
“They set us up, Oliver. Whoever took it, they were watching the entire time…”
I grab him by the shoulder. “Dammit, Shep, tell me w—”
The door swings wide and Lapidus storms back in the room. “Shep—your friend Agent Gallo’s waiting in the conference room—do you want to—?”
“Yeah,” Shep interrupts, leaping from his seat.
I shoot him a sideways glance. You called in the Service?
Don’t ask, he motions, shaking his head.
“Oliver, I need you to do me a favor,” Lapidus adds, his voice on fire. He flips through a stack of papers, looking for…
“There,” I say, pointing to his reading glasses.
He snatches them and stuffs them in his jacket pocket. No time for thank-yous. “I want someone downstairs as people start coming in,”