“Until today, my damn rage and quest for revenge blinded me to seeing what was so obvious. Every time these bastards would take out some jihadist, I was cheering them on. They were doing what we could never do. I didn't want to know what I should have known, to see what is so clear.” He grabbed her shoulders firmly but not forcefully.
“They were destroying the monsters and becoming themselves the very things they sought to destroy. I hated the jihadists for taking the lives of the innocent. Of my son. But God, Rebecca, look at this,” he said, gesturing toward the television. “The streets are lined with children's bodies. They are no longer fighting the enemy. They are the enemy. They have become everything they seek to destroy.” He let go of her shoulders. “Someone has to stop them.”
She stared a moment into his eyes, shaking her head, but she knew what she saw. “Then I'm coming with you.”
Savas looked at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not! It's enough for one of us to go crazy and jump off the cliff. I will not let you endanger yourself, your career, for what I'm forced to do.”
Cohen slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bag. “If you don't let me come with you, I will call the FBI, the NYPD, and Gunn International and warn them of your coming. They'll wall you out before you get into the building. Take me or forget going, John.”
Savas didn't know whether he felt angry or touched by her hard-headed bargaining. “All right, you crazy woman. Let's go. But you let me do all the stupid stuff.”
“Agreed. And I'm your crazy woman, stupid man. Don't forget that.”
43
The ride through Midtown was eerily devoid of the usual traffic. Two terrorist attacks in four months in Manhattan had had a profound effect on the city. Within ten minutes, Savas had parked his car in one of an unusual number of open spots along the side of the street, a block away from the fifty-five floors of steel and blue glass that was Gunn Tower.
He was curious to find himself putting money in the meter. He had the quarters piled high in the small storage area underneath the CD player and radio. The human mind was a mess of contradictions. He was about to enter without a warrant and confront one of the world's most powerful CEOs. Rationally, he knew that he might walk out under arrest and would no longer need his car, perhaps for a long time. But he found himself unable to let go of the old habit of tending to the vehicle. He looked over at Cohen, who gave him a quizzical look as he paused, staring at the meter.
“Well, we don't want to get a ticket or anything,” he said dryly as she put on her sunglasses.
They entered the enormous lobby of Gunn Tower, passing through a revolving door set in a solid wall of glass. Inside, the ceiling was at least fifty feet above their heads, with stairways and escalators leading to multiple overhanging layers that held general social functions, including restaurants and stores. The floor was of polished blue-green marble. Light poured into the lobby from outside, filtered into a bluish hue. Savas felt like he was in a giant aquarium. On the open second floor, a small museum dedicated to the Gunn family and their accomplishments was advertised by a sign. Modesty was not on display.
One hundred feet in front of the entrance was a security checkpoint that screened those headed back toward the main elevators. Armed security guards flanked the metal detectors. Pleasant-looking women stood on each side, checking ID cards for personnel. Cohen looked over at Savas, her glasses hiding the anxiety he could feel emanating from her.
“OK, now what?” she asked.
“We exploit the power of the federal government.”
Savas walked up to the long marble counter beside the security checkpoint and addressed a young woman who smiled and welcomed him to Gunn Tower. Savas opened the leather case for his badge and showed her its contents.
“Agent John Savas from the FBI,” he said curtly, pleased at the instant shift in demeanor from the woman behind the counter.
“Yes, sir, how can I help you?”
“I've been sent from the downtown division to follow up on a lead. It involves some international shipments by a company owned by Gunn International. This is a sensitive matter, and I am instructed to speak only with Mr. Gunn himself. Could you please tell me how I can go about seeing him immediately?”
The woman stared dumbly, clearly out of her element. Her mouth hung open for a moment; then she closed it, shifting weight to one foot and pushing her hair back behind her head. She glanced at the unmoving, expressionless figure of Cohen in her sunglasses, then back at Savas.
“Sir, I really don't know how to help you. I just work for general Lower Floor Management. I can't connect you with Mr. Gunn or anyone in his level. You'll have to make an appointment with him yourself, sir,” she finished, her long nails playing with her buttons, her expression anxious.
“Ma'am,” began Savas, “I hope I've made myself clear. I am from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, here to chase a lead on a very important international crime case. My superiors here and in Washington believe that Gunn International can shed light on a series of heinous crimes, including those of murder and terrorism. I am expecting full cooperation from Mr. Gunn and his company. Why am I not receiving it, Ms….?” Savas nodded toward Cohen, who reached into her purse, pulled out a small voice recorder and clicked it on. “Of course, you have the option to call a lawyer before speaking with us,” Cohen added dramatically.
Whatever calm the woman had imperfectly maintained was shattered. Savas doubted she felt her job was worth this sort of trouble. “Please wait a minute, sir,” she said, staring at the voice recorder. “I'll get my superior.”
Three minutes later, a harried-looking man stepped over with the young blonde and stared skeptically at the FBI agents. He took off a pair of glasses that then hung from his neck. “Marcia tells me that you are FBI? Can I help you?”
Savas again held out his badge, which the man examined, and repeated his story. The man shook his head. “Agent…Savas? Yes, well, certainly there are more formal ways to establish a meeting with Mr. Gunn rather than traipsing into his building and demanding an audience. Why don't you have your bureau chief call over and do this properly?”
Savas leaned forward and put on his irritated face. “I'm sorry. I did not get your name.” Cohen leaned forward slightly, pointing the voice recorder toward the man.
“Richard Carter, but I don't see how—”
“Mr. Carter, I don't think your employee here has impressed upon you the seriousness of this case,” Savas interrupted forcefully. “We are pursuing time-sensitive leads in an international arms smuggling and terrorist case, linked, if you must know, to a series of attacks around the world in the last few months, including two here in New York City. One of those attacks happened today not forty blocks north of this grand tower. We have reason to believe that other attacks are planned, and that they may be prevented only by timely action. So don't tell me that we need to waste the precious time we hardly have to follow a train of niceties to speak with your lofty CEO!”
The man's faced turned ashen as Savas mentioned the links to the terrorist attacks. Savas saw this and acted quickly to exploit it. “Things are moving too fast and are too dangerous to play games, Mr. Carter. We need all citizens to work with us on this, or the next attacks will be worse.”
The man put his glasses back on and nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, I apologize. Horrible, what has been happening. Please, this is unusual. Let me contact Mr. Gunn's department and convey your request.”