Bullseye (Michael Bennett 9)

Well, one man and his wife.

She checked her phone. Eleven forty-five. It was getting close now.

They have absolutely no idea what is about to hit them.

The smoky, bitter roasted-coffee smell of a pretzel cart hit her as she walked closer to the corner of 50th.

The scent, surprisingly strong, halted her for a moment as memories even stronger than the aroma instantly flooded in. Ever since she was a kid, that simple yet of its own essence pretzel smell was New York for her. Midtown and Times Square and yellow taxis. The gigantic Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, Broadway musicals, and Eloise at the Plaza.

How many of her dad’s business trips from England had she been on back then? A dozen, perhaps? They had taken the Concorde more than a few times. How wonderfully NYC storybook it had been. How wonderfully, royally, let-them-eat-cake. For how many other little girls in the history of the world had ever had breakfast in London, lunch in New York, and then dinner in London?

But what did kiddie memories matter now? she thought, shoving them quickly down a mental dustbin. She needed to focus now, really focus, and do the final checks.

If she got this right, she’d be letting everyone eat cake again for the rest of her life.

Chapter 89

The business-suited cops behind the barriers began getting into their armored vehicles as she arrived on the northeast corner. She watched as the NYPD tow truck that would be the tip of the motorcade arrived at the 50th Street barrier and was let through.

She swallowed as she felt a butterfly swirl of tension begin to corkscrew in her stomach.

Now. She gripped her iPhone, turned it in her hand. It was happening right now.

“Don’t you just love Buckland?” said a voice close by as she was about to leave.

She turned to her left, a little startled. A boyish man, tall, handsome, and preppy in a Brooks Brothers overcoat, stood there on the corner beside her, his arms crossed, smiling.

She looked at him, warily checking his hands, trying to place his American accent. Chicago, maybe.

A cop? she thought. No. Too well dressed. Too…prissy. But who knew? She expected the feds to have agents in the crowd. They were all on high alert now. Just how many agents she didn’t know. It unnerved her, though, that they were perhaps being called in from as far away as the Midwest.

Was it the look on her face? she wondered quickly. Did she appear too keyed up? Too off in some way? Was her cover blown?

“He’s awesome,” she finally said, giving him her dumb-blonde act along with her best American accent.

“I know, right?” the guy said, gesturing at the motorcade with a little fist pump. “He’s bringing our country back, and not a moment too soon, if you ask me.”

This fool was actually just being patriotic, she realized. He was just as he appeared: some overgrown American frat boy finance type with a massive preponderance of bone between his ears. He was just flirting with her.

“I’m Jimmy, by the way,” the man said, giving her his Division I quarterback smile. “I’m supposed to be at my trading desk across the street, but what the hell, I slipped out. Be a fool to miss all this.”

“You said it,” she said, winking as she turned on her heel. “So long, now.”

It was nothing. The guy was nothing, she told herself as she hit the opposite corner of Park and waded into the business lunch crowd of pedestrians heading north. Just an average yokel. She was just being paranoid.

Seven blocks north, on the north side of East 57th, she pulled open the door of a bank. Instead of going inside the bank itself, she did a right face and crossed the empty vestibule of its ATM lobby. On the other side of the machine, she did another right face and stopped by the sill of a window that faced south back down Park, toward the Waldorf.

For five minutes, she searched the passing pedestrian crowd for the Chicago hot dog. But there was no one. No one on the sidewalk. No surveillance car. No one. She was clean.

She lifted her phone as its text vibration went off.

It was from her husband. Two words.

Start it.

“Yes, love,” she said in the empty vestibule as she brought up the new app.

Timing was of the essence here, she thought as she took in and let out a long breath.