The Hypnotist

NINETEEN

The sounds of hammers, electric drills, saws and sanders accompanied a very angry Henry Phillips as he walked through the Met’s unfinished Islamic art wing inspecting his firm’s work, accompanied by the job’s foreman, Victor Keither.

There was of course no art on display, nothing to look at except for the work Keither’s crew was doing. As far as Phillips was concerned there was nothing artistic about that.

“All of these inconsistencies in workmanship are not up to our standards,” he said.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Keither agreed. “But I wanted you to see for yourself. I need better men, Henry.”

They’d stopped in front of an exposed stone wall with an oculus in its center. The round opening must have once displayed a piece of art, then been closed up and forgotten until Keither had discovered it a few months ago. When you dealt with such an old building there were always surprises. Having the original architectural drawings helped, but alterations over the years weren’t always annotated. The committee from the museum that was overseeing the construction had checked this out weeks ago and none of them felt this anomaly was architecturally significant or worth preserving.

“This should have been closed up by now, and the wall should have been plastered over.”

Keither took off his helmet and ran his hand through his orange hair. His fair skin, sprinkled with freckles, reddened. “There’s been too much turnover, Henry.” A competitor, Manhattan Construction, was recruiting Phillips’s men and overpaying them by fifteen percent to move. “We’ll get back on track if you’ll approve additional men.”

Since taking the job with Phillips in 1985, Keither had worked on every museum job the firm had handled-six of them, almost back-to-back. He’d started out a member of the crew and now was in charge of the whole operation. Except for the days his children had been born, two bouts of the flu and an appendicitis attack, he’d never missed a day of work, even showing up during two blizzards only to discover that the museum was closed.

“That would take us over budget,” Phillips said.

“Over budget or late? Take your pick. The replacements aren’t as good as the guys we lost. Can’t you keep them?”

“Manhattan Construction is playing an expensive game.”

“What do you know about Manhattan?” Keither asked.

“Other than the fact that they’re poachers?” Phillips shook his head. “How about if I pull some men off the hotel job and move them here for a few weeks temporarily? We haven’t lost anyone on that crew.”

“You haven’t?” Keither asked. “Not a single man?”

“No. Everyone they’ve stolen has been from this job. Everyone knows you train them the best.”

“I wish that was the reason.”

“Me, too. Any ideas?”

“Not yet, but I’m going to work on it.”