About Face (12 page)

I remember the commotion in front of the home the day my pop was murdered. I can see myself all over again running toward the yellow police line. I see a lifeless body that turned out to be my gunned-down father covered with a blood-soaked sheet. Images and memories are flying now in no particular order, without any rhyme or reason. It's like a montage of my life—Jonah Gray's life—is being projected onto the entire front façade of the four-story townhouse. I see my mother whom I've missed every day since she died when I was five. I see my youth. I see myself at all ages coming and going with friends, girls, Pop. I see the beautiful dining room. I see Galina Zhamovsky's—Ia's—drawings lining the staircase wall. I see my father's study.

I see secrets.

So many secrets.

Secrets that led to me being set on so many different paths at once.

Secrets that led me to perhaps giving the world the true meaning behind the lost Imperial Fabergé Easter Eggs.

Secrets that led me to murder.

Secrets that killed Jonah Gray and gave birth to Ivan Janse.

I feel so much I barely feel anything.

Or is it the other way around?

I ball my hands into fists and clench my jaw.

I hail a cab and head to Times Square. Before going back to the hotel, I stop in one of the electronics stores and buy—as always, with cash—a disposable cell phone that can handle domestic and international calls and texts, photos, attachments—all the capabilities I'm going to need.

S
T
. M
AXIME
, F
RANCE
2004

I closed the door behind me. Instead of getting on the elevator, where Bernot would more likely be looking to see me coming, I decided to use the stairs. Once on the ground floor, I opened the door a crack. I peeked out to get my bearings. I could see the front entrance. Immediately, I realized I was around a corner from both the front and concierge desks, by a nook where both pay phones and house phones were located. I exited the stairwell and picked up the closest phone to the corner I needed to peer around.

Pretending to speak on the phone, I took a casual look, exposing only one eye. The ground floor was rife with activity. People were coming and going. There was a rowdy group sitting around one of the glass-topped tables, enjoying cocktails and champagne. At the front desk I saw Brigette and a tall, dark-haired man wearing horn-rimmed glasses I assumed was Bernot.

And they were talking with two cops.

“Okay,” I said upon entering the suite. “Everyone ready to get moving?”

Perry was in the final throes of getting our bags together. Max and Neo were playing tug-of-war with a sock.

“Tell you what,” I said, taking her suitcase from her hand, “why don't you let me handle these?”

Our eyes were locked. Perry didn't need to say it. She was nervous.

“Max,” I went on, “why don't you take Neo onto the terrace for one last breath of the ocean air?”

“How do you deal with this feeling?” she asked when they were out of earshot.

I was dying inside like she was. I hated that she had to know such uncertainty, a feeling of fear that threatened paralysis. It was at this moment, I vowed, I would never let her see that from me. Strong as she was, I would always be stronger. Especially, when she needed that from me most.

“Not now, Per—we don't have time. Here.”

I handed her the car keys.

“We're driving a silver Opel Astra. It is in the third spot from the entrance, as close as possible to the main road. I need you to take Max and Neo, pull the car out, and wait for me. Can you drive a stick?”

She was having trouble focusing.

“When … when will—”

I put my hands on her shoulders.

“Perry, there are police downstairs and they are no doubt looking for me. I know this is all becoming much more real than you ever imagined, but I need you to focus. You need to trust me.”

She nodded her head yes.

“Can you drive a stick?” I asked again.

“Yes.”

“Good. Take Max and Neo—I'll give him to you in his carrier—and walk out of the building casually. Like I said—there are police downstairs so try not to look at anyone for too long, especially them. You never checked in, but people may be able to recognize
you as having been with me, so don't draw any attention to yourself. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Yes. Got it. Take Max and Neo, get the car, wait for you.”

“What kind of car?”

“Silver Opel Astra.”

“Where is it?”

“Third spot from the entrance. Near the street.”

“Good girl.”

“What about the bags?”

“They're coming out the back with me. I don't want anyone knowing you're leaving.”

Dusk was upon us. Our three bags next to me—Perry and Max's suitcase, my small gym bag stuffed with not only the items I grabbed in New York, but my new casual items as well, and my briefcase. I looked over the terrace. I was on the third floor. We'd been in a corner suite. I looked around the corner, around the side of the building back toward the street in front. There was a story-high stone fence separating the rear portion of the property from the beginning of the parking lot area. Which made my life a lot more difficult, as once on the ground, I'd have to completely circumnavigate back the other way around the entire property where I knew I could get around the building.

Pool deck area life below had thinned out, but still had life nonetheless. I picked up the bags and moved with them from the long edge of the terrace to the farthest possible east corner of the terrace. I leaned over as far as I could to survey the situation below, then reached down, grabbed my gym bag, leaned over again—swayed my arms to-and-fro a few times to get the right directional momentum—and dropped it on to the terrace below. I waited quietly for a second to see if perhaps the occupant of the room belonging to that terrace noticed a strange bag falling from the sky.

Nothing.

Next was Perry and Max's suitcase, then my briefcase.

Now it was my turn.

I looked back at the pool area. Evening around me was getting darker by the second. The remaining people were either into their poolside cocktails or gathering up their children and belongings. Most important, none of them seemed to be looking up in my direction.

Moving around the terrace like I'd been put on fast-forward, I bounced yet again back to the short side. I leaned over. What was the best way exactly to do this? I put my leg up on the rail—but the position didn't feel right. Going forward meant I was going straight to the ground. I brought my foot back down. My breathing was gaining rapidity. I stepped up again, this time turning around as I did so. I stepped completely over with my right foot, placing it just under the rail on the other side but still on the top of the terrace wall, then my left. Now, hands holding the rail, I was facing the building. I was in a crouched position. My feet were only inches below my hands. I turned my head as far as it would go while looking down. The outside of the terrace was smooth, which meant there was nowhere else to put my feet until the next terrace below.

I was in a stare with the ground below when I heard a door slam. Fuck—was it my room? Had the cops entered my room? Time was ticking. Was Perry clear—or had she run into trouble? I needed to go. At that moment. No more thinking.

I took my feet from the top of the terrace wall and let them slide down below. As I dangled, I removed my right hand hoping to dip down just enough to gain a visual for even one second that might give me an idea of what to grab. Then I heard another door slam and lost my grip completely. As I sped past the top of the second-floor terrace, I stuck my stiffened arms out. I did my best to muffle a scream as my forearms slammed into the top of the railing. My right one bounced right off, but with the will of an Olympic gymnast on the uneven bars I managed to keep my left—post-bounce—close enough to the bar to get one more shot. My left hand grabbed the
railing, and in a millisecond my right was back on it as well. I hoisted myself up and over.

My breathing ragged, I grabbed both of my forearms. The pain was shooting, and especially sharp in the right. I looked over, down below. All was still as clear as I could hope. I dropped the three bags over the terrace to the ground. One story I could handle. I got up over the railing, faced forward with both feet on the top of the terrace wall, and jumped.

My timing was right, and my knees gave at precisely the moment I needed them to as I fell into a semicomfortable roll forward, breaking the fall. Quickly I slung the gym bag over my shoulder, picked up the suitcase handle in my left hand, and my briefcase with my right. I headed for the pool deck.

Look natural.

A guest having a last look at the property before departing.

Keeping my gait steady I decided to use the outermost path around the area, the route that took me along the two-and-a-half-foot wall separating the deck from the rocky shore leading to the Mediterranean. Everything was calm. I looked at the building, glowing against the impending night. Hearing the breaking surf, I looked to my right. I wanted one more look at the white foam, which by now I could barely see.

About halfway around the deck, I heard a new French-speaking voice enter the mix. It was somewhat distant. I looked back toward the building. One of the two cops had appeared. And he was speaking with a bikini-clad male guest.

Without a thought I quietly slinked over the wall. The rocky ground below was more uneven than I'd thought. As I placed the bags down next to me snug up against the wall, the suitcase tumbled about fifteen feet away. I wanted to go after it, but didn't want to risk being seen moving beyond the wall.

For a few moments, my back against the wall, I sat silently. The two were still talking. After a few more seconds, their conversation ended.

I had no idea where the cop was now or where he was going.

As I gathered my nerve, about to peek over, another conversation started. This time it was the cop and a woman. I listened. Where were they exactly? It sounded like he had walked a bit east on the deck, but I couldn't be sure. Lifting nothing more than my eyes past the crest of the wall, I looked. I was right. He had walked east. He was about a hundred feet from me. When the conversation came to an end, the cop seemed to be turning in my direction.

Eyes wide, I retook my place, back to the wall. I looked up. The stars were beginning to pop. I listened. I waited.

Thirty seconds later—nothing. He hadn't initiated another conversation, or at least one I could hear. I had no idea where he was. He could have left. He could have been right upon me. Either way, I needed to keep moving. Perry, Max, and Neo were waiting for me.

And I wasn't about to leave them waiting because my guard had fallen.

I looked over again. The cop was walking around, surveying the area. He was west of me now, but closer to the wall, no more than thirty feet away. Like a fox lying in wait, I watched him. I registered his every move, breath. If he only came back east, then past me, I could continue in my intended direction along the outside of the wall. But until then—until he was well past me in the opposite direction—I couldn't risk him hearing me navigate the challenging terrain.

I watched. I waited. Finally, it was happening. He was circling back, heading to the east side of the deck. His vision was forward. As he was about midway, directly in front of me now, a large wave crashed behind me. The cop looked toward the ocean, toward me.

Then he stopped walking.

I dropped back down. And at that moment, my line of vision now exactly the same as his, I realized he hadn't seen me. He was looking at the suitcase fifteen feet in front of me.

Which meant he was on his way.

I braced myself for battle. There was no escape now. Chaos was
upon me. Quietly as I could, I swung my legs left to put them as close to the wall as possible and keep myself out of sight for as long as I could.

I could hear his footsteps. They were getting faster. Adrenaline shot through my body so intense I thought my head might explode, but I managed to remain still as the rock I was sitting on. My lips were slightly open to make sure even my breaths were silent. Then, as I had anticipated, it happened. Slowly the cop's head and upper torso appeared above me.

And I was ready to go to that place I'd learned to go.

Like Carmelo Anthony exploding toward the rim for a jam, I lifted off the rock, grabbed a fistful of his uniform chest-high with my right hand, and flung him over the wall. The pain in my forearm was over the top, but I welcomed it. I appreciated the reminder of the kind of pain I needed to inflict.

The cop let out a yell when he landed on the ragged backdrop, tumbling end over end. As he rolled, I was already after him like an animal. When he stopped, I was already pouncing. Before he could even comprehend what happened, I was on his chest. Under the night light I could see blood on his face. I didn't care. Before he could speak, I pounded him with two massive rights across his jaw. He tried to look up at me but went limp. I started to get off him, blood trickling from my knuckles, but as I did he started flailing his arms and legs as human nature kicked in. I pinned his chest down with my knees again. Then I gritted my teeth, loaded up, and gave him another right that laid him out.

As I rushed up on the car, Perry, who had thrown on jeans and a white wifebeater, slid across to the passenger seat. I dropped the bags in the back next to Max then jumped in. As I grabbed the stick and released the clutch, Neo—in his carrier on Perry's lap—poked his head out, leaned forward, and licked my bloody knuckles.

My breathing pace somewhat restored, I embraced what had just happened, let it seep into me. Because it was confirmation the plan I was about to put into motion was not just the right one, it was the only one.

“We ready?” I asked, rolling all the windows down.