Raphael's Dragon

Chapter 10: Fireworks on the Terrace

Friday, April 29, 2005.

Promptly at three o'clock, Bryan entered the Duane Reade drugstore and strolled over to the magazine rack. No one was looking at magazines. His contact should have already been here. He scanned the magazine rack impatiently and picked up a copy of Black Belt. As he leafed through the pages, he considered his options. He didn't like them. He no longer had access to Sara's schedule. This was his one shot. Rescheduling was out of the question.

He heard approaching footsteps. He turned his head to see a middle-aged man wearing a Los Angeles Dodgers track jacket and red running shoes and breathed easier. "What took you so long?"

"Relax. I'm here, ain't I?" The man reached for a sports magazine.

"You got the package?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you by the phone booth outside in five minutes. We'll do the exchange there. No surveillance cameras around to record us."

The man returned the magazine to the rack and strolled off. Bryan stilled his nerves. He'd soon have the last piece. Sara's meeting was scheduled to last till four o'clock. On the last day of the week, the agents would linger to chat. It would be four-thirty at the earliest before she'd return to the room. He'd have plenty of time to slip into her hotel room, using the duplicate key he'd obtained. He should send a note of appreciation to Ydrus for the suitcase they'd supplied him with. If the police had discovered the secret compartment, it would have been all over. Ydrus had come through for him. They'd handled the bail arrangements and provided the lawyer. They clearly appreciated his value. After a couple of weeks, the unpleasantness of the past few days would be behind him and his position within the organization would be more secure than ever.

He used the waiting time to review his next actions. Once in Sara's room, he'd make a call to the concierge, using the recorded message he'd prepared of her voice. The concierge would see the room number on her phone and hear Sara's voice. There was no way it could be traced back to him.

It was so simple and so efficient. The concierge would arrange for the package to be delivered the next morning at eight o'clock. It was a routine courtesy service. No flags would be raised. Bryan could drop off the package anytime that evening when the concierge stepped away from her desk.

Nothing could go wrong. In a week, Sterling-Bosch would be begging for him to return and Sara would be sitting in prison.

* * * * *

Peter arrived an hour early at the art gallery in Schermerhorn Hall, having caught a lift with Travis. El would drive the Taurus to Columbia later in the afternoon. During the ride, Peter pondered how much to tell Neal.

The news could easily wait. Neal wouldn't be involved in the investigation and Peter didn't want to distract him. On the other hand, they'd both been working on being more open with each other. And when Neal eventually learned about it, he could rightfully be upset that Peter hadn't told him earlier.

The food service personnel were preparing the buffet tables when Travis and Peter arrived. The exhibition appeared ready. The students, many of whom Peter recognized from visiting Neal in his studio, were standing around looking nervous.

Richard, Keiko, and Aidan were over by Aidan's video gallery. Keiko had managed to persuade Aidan to wear a suit for the occasion. It was the first time Peter had ever seen him in one. Richard had reduced his scruff to only one day's worth of growth, a major improvement in Peter's view. The video gallery had darkened viewing areas with a few benches for seating. Aidan was presenting multiple videos at the exhibition. They would be shown at separate stations. Each station came equipped with headsets for the visitors.