Daylight

Chapter 58

Finally.

Blum stirred as both Adam Gorman and Nora Franklin came out of the building together. Blum hailed a cab right as a sleek black Mercedes-Maybach slid up to the pair and Gorman held the door for Franklin. He climbed in after her.

The cabbie, who was in his fifties and wearing a white turban and a maroon bindi on his forehead, turned to Blum and said, “Where do you want to go, ma’am?”

“I want to go wherever that Mercedes up there goes,” she said, pointing to the vehicle as it pulled away from the curb.

“What is it that you mean by that?” said the man in a thick accent, which forced Blum to listen closely.

“I just mean to follow that car,” said Blum.

He turned back around, whipped out into traffic, and settled in two cars behind the Maybach.

“Why do you follow them?” the cabbie asked.

“It’s my job.”

“Are you police?”

“I’m with the FBI.”

“You are too old,” he said dismissively. “You are older than me.”

Blum took out her FBI ID card and held it up. The F, B, and I were quite prominent.

“Is this sufficient?” she asked him.

He turned to look at her again.

“Do you have a gun?” “Do you want to find out?”

He pivoted back around and made a left to follow the Maybach.

“Are those criminals up there?”

“They could very well be. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Do you know the city well? I don’t want to lose them.”

“I have been in this country for ten years. I have driven cab for nine years all over this city.”

“Is that when you came to this country, ten years ago?”

“Yes. But in Pakistan I was a doctor, not a taxi driver.”

He turned the cab right as they followed the Maybach. “What will you do when they arrive at their destination?”

“I’ll continue to watch them.”

“Should you call the police?”

“No, it’s not time for that. Not yet.”

“You must find this work exciting.”

“Sometimes it’s too exciting. Sometimes it’s incredibly boring. I’ve spent the last several hours drinking so much coffee I never want to touch it again.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be.”

He pulled up behind the car.

“Don’t get too close,” Blum warned.

“Every yellow taxi looks like every other yellow taxi.”

“But they might see you.”

“We all wear the turban. We all have the bindi. We all are either doctors or engineers who drive taxis.” He glanced back at her. “Are those people dangerous?” he asked.

“One of them has shown himself to be very dangerous,” replied Blum, keeping her gaze on the Maybach.

“That is not good. People like that are not good.”

“I agree.”

“I do not like it that you are following such people. You are a nice lady and they are dangerous people.”

“Don’t worry. I have other people supporting me who are not afraid of people like that.”

“It is nice to have such people.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

Thirty city blocks later, the Maybach stopped in front of a hotel in a very upscale section of Manhattan. It wasn’t Billionaires’ Row, but it was close.

As Blum paid her fare, the cabbie told her, “You must be very careful now. I will no longer be with you.”

“I will be very careful. Luckily, neither of them has ever met me.”

“I wish you good fortune.”

“Thank you.”

As he drove away, Blum steeled herself, turned, and walked into the hotel.

A bellman tipped his cap to her as she went in. Blum bypassed the check-in counter when she saw Gorman and Franklin enter the bar lounge set off to one side of the lobby. They were led to their seats by a young woman. When Blum stepped up to the small hostess stand at the entrance to the lounge, another young woman dressed all in black with a name tag that read JULIET approached and asked her if she needed any help. Blum told her that she was meeting someone here but was early and just wanted to get a seat. The young woman led her into the substantial Art Deco — decorated lounge and deposited her at a table with two chairs. Luckily, it had a direct sight line to Franklin and Gorman, who had settled down at a table with high-backed upholstered chairs near the fireplace; the table had a RESERVED sign on it. The hostess helping them picked up the sign and departed.

As Blum pretended to consult her phone, she kept an eye on the pair. Gorman was leading the conversation and speaking energetically, but she could tell his voice was barely above a whisper, because Franklin had to lean in to listen. By her expression, she wasn’t pleased with what she was hearing. Franklin glanced down at the drinks menu on the table and motioned a waitress over. She ordered something, but when the waitress turned to Gorman he waved her off and resumed speaking after the young woman walked away.

Blum positioned her iPhone so it looked as though she was scrolling through screens. But she had actually engaged the video feature and was recording the pair as they continued to talk.

“Ma’am, what are you doing?”

Blum turned and looked at the beefy man with squinty eyes dressed in a suit with a wired comm piece in his ear.

“Excuse me?” said Blum.

“You can’t film guests without their permission.”

Thinking quickly Blum said, “I’m not. I’m filming that fireplace. I want to get one like it for my home.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you since you came in here. You’ve had your eyes on that couple the whole time.” He gripped her by the arm. “You’ll have to come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even know who you are.”

The man lifted one of his lapels and showed the badge underneath. “Hotel security. And I’m also NYPD, off duty. So you’re coming with me.”

“General?”

They both turned as Robert Puller, in his full-dress uniform, strode up to them.

“General Blum?”

“Yes, Colonel?” said Blum instantly.

“General?” said the bewildered security man.

“Two-star, Air Force,” said Blum, standing up and glowering at the man. “Colonel, this young man seems to think that I was spying on those people over there with my phone instead of taking footage of that beautiful fireplace. I think it will look great with the renovation I’m doing.”

Puller immediately got this. “Absolutely it will. It fits right in with the design theme.” He looked at the man. “We have a flight to catch to DC. General Blum is briefing the Joint Chiefs at the Pentagon late tonight.”

“Jesus,” said the man. With an embarrassed look at Blum he said contritely, “I’m really sorry, General.”

“No need to apologize,” Blum said kindly. “You were just doing your job. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely.” The man almost bowed.

As they walked out of the hotel Blum said, “Thanks for the assist, but how did you know where I was?”

“So long as you have a smartphone you have no privacy.”

“Right. But why were you looking for me?”

“My brother called and told me you were watching Gorman and Franklin for Atlee. Then he contacted me again. He was worried about you tailing a killer by yourself and asked if I could check on you. I’m glad he did, actually, because I found out some troubling things about Gorman and Franklin. I went to the building where you were supposed to be, but you weren’t there. That’s when I traced you by your phone signal.”

“You could have called.”

“You were on surveillance. I didn’t want to call at an inopportune time for you.”

They turned down a side street and reached a spot where they could speak freely.

Puller said, “So what have you learned?”

“Agent Pine saw Gorman come out of the building where she had gone that night with Lindsey Axilrod. That told her he was in on whatever is happening there. Then he went to Franklin’s congressional office. They were there for hours. He’s head of her security team, Agent Pine found out. She asked me to pick up the surveillance, which I did. They left her office and came to this hotel and were having a very intense conversation in the lounge. He was talking and she was listening, and neither of them seemed happy. I think something big is going down.”

She took out her phone and showed him the video.

“Wish I could read lips,” said Puller.

“Me too.”

“There’s no need for that. I can fill you in.”

They turned to see Gorman standing there, as a black town car slid up to the curb. There were two large and tough-looking men in the front seat. One got out and opened the rear door.

“Get in,” said Gorman, who was now pointing a square-muzzled .45 automatic at them. “Or I’ll shoot you both in the head right here.”