The Darkest Day

THIRTY-ONE

The Metropolitan Museum of Art stood on Fifth Avenue in the Upper East Side. Victor arrived on foot, having taken the subway to 86th on Lexington Avenue, followed by a meandering route around the local area to lose possible surveillance. The neighbourhood was overflowing with other museums and galleries, grand apartment buildings, and upmarket stores and boutiques. It smelled of money and culture.

It was a good area for counter surveillance too. Watchers and shadows tended to wear casual clothes to blend into the widest variety of environments. Here, the populace fell into two distinct categories: residents and tourists. The residents wore stylish and expensive attire whereas the tourists were even more casual in appearance than the typical watcher.

He saw no one that registered on his threat radar, but the area was so busy with foot and vehicle traffic it would be impossible to be sure no set of eyes watched him.

He approached the museum from the north, walking alongside Central Park behind a crowd of German tourists. He didn’t look like them. Neither was he dressed as they were. But their numbers were of use to him.

When they reached the museum, the Germans hung around on the wide stone steps outside near an American flag fluttering in the breeze. They were waiting for one of their number to join them. Victor overheard something about someone oversleeping. He left them — waiting around only increased his exposure — and climbed the steps up to the entrance framed by enormous pillars.

There were lots of tourists outside the entrance, milling about and taking photographs. He saw signs for exhibitions, noting the ones he was most interested in seeing while at the same time working out which ones would be best for drawing out shadows while he looked for Raven.

The building was huge and spectacular; a sprawling Gothic giant that housed seventeen acres of galleries — the largest in the United States. The museum spanned almost a quarter of a mile from the south corner to the north. The façade was a stunning example of neoclassical style with high, arched windows, deep cornices and elaborate sculptural decoration. Victor, well used to beautiful architecture, was impressed. The museum occupied over two million square feet and contained some of the greatest examples of art in the world. Victor had longed to visit for many years, but he stayed away from the United States for anything less than vital visits.

Locating Raven in a building of this size was going to be a challenge. If he was still being shadowed without his knowledge, he would have a better chance of identifying shadows in an interior environment where he could control the situation and set them up to reveal themselves.

He passed through the entrance and into the Great Hall, a huge cavernous space where visitors stood in awe, necks straining to look up at the beautiful domed ceiling above. Others paid for admission or checked the maps of the museum and collected information on exhibitions, tours and lectures.

Victor waited his turn and paid the suggested donation for admission. He wanted to pay more — he loved museums — but he had to remain inconspicuous at all times. Generosity now, even that which he felt was just, would make him memorable. The English woman behind him donated a dollar.

The main entrance hall was no good for trying to identify watchers. There were too many people passing through or hanging around, too many ways in and out, and overlooking balconies. And Halleck’s team had the advantage of knowing what he looked like. Victor had only seen five of twenty-one.

He headed into the gift shop. An uncommon first choice for a visitor, and a far smaller space with fewer people than the entrance hall. It also had two entrances/exits, so shadows either had to follow him inside or divide forces to watch both. He loitered for five minutes, memorising anyone who came in after him. As he left, he did the same with anyone in a good position to watch the exit he passed through.

He browsed information leaflets and purchased an audio tour guide of the museum, in German, while his gaze swept the area for women matching Raven’s description.

As expected, he saw no woman that could be Raven in the hall itself. He had no idea where she might be located, so he did the same as the other visitors tended to do. He walked straight ahead towards the Grand Staircase on the far side of the hall, which led up to the European galleries.

He felt guilty for not taking the proper time to walk around and marvel at the masterpieces displayed, but he wasn’t here to sightsee. He was here to end a threat on his life. Maybe when he had a new face and enough downtime between jobs he would return and spend a week exploring all the museum had to offer. He wanted to absorb everything. He wanted to miss nothing. He glimpsed Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm. It reminded him of wallpaper in the corridor of a Parisian hotel.

Another time, he promised himself. It was nearing half past three in the afternoon. If Raven was as careful as Victor, which he believed from what he had witnessed and learned, then she would be here already to perform her own counter surveillance. He imagined she was meeting a client or broker or contact of some kind.

He perused the Greek and Roman galleries next. They were teeming with people. No Raven among the tourists staring at the various statues and artefacts from ancient times. He stood aside to let a guided tour walk by. As a participant in such a tour he would have the advantage of anonymity, but the rigid structure of the route around the museum would make looking out for Raven, and any potential threats, all the more difficult.

Paintings and drawings, sculptures and furnishings, arms and instruments from throughout thousands of years of human history all competed for his attention as he passed through the museum. There was so much to see, so much to distract him, it was almost a challenge to remain focused on his objective. But a lifetime of discipline and adhering to protocol meant any distraction lasted but an instant.

In the sunlit atrium that housed the Temple of Dendur he detected a potential problem. He stood with the other visitors as they admired the great sandstone blocks that formed the Egyptian place of worship to the goddess Isis. A pool of water set within the hall reflected the sky above the atrium and those that stood nearby. Victor’s own reflection danced on the surface.

So did that of a man in a blue suit. He was tall and slim, about thirty, with pale skin and receding brown hair cut clipper short. There was nothing remarkable about him. He did not pay Victor any attention or do anything to suggest he was trying not to pay Victor attention, but he felt wrong.

It was impossible to qualify why. Maybe Victor had seen him somewhere else, whether on the subway, on the streets of the city, or perhaps even elsewhere inside the museum itself. He did not recognise the man, he could not place when or where he might have seen him, but that did not mean he had not and was now remembering.

He didn’t seem like one of Halleck’s guys. That was obvious by his dress, build and manner. Victor moved on, curious to see what the man in the blue suit would do as a result.

In the hallway leading to the next gallery, Victor stopped and thumbed through one of the leaflets he had picked up from the information desk inside the Great Hall. He skimmed over text and photographs relating to a new, temporary exhibition while he waited to see if the man in the blue suit followed.

He did not.

Victor continued on his way.