The Twelfth Card

Ashberry still remembered how he’d struggled to stay calm, making small talk with the beautiful redhead and offering her the run of the stacks. He’d used all his willpower to keep from heading downstairs himself and casually asking her what she was looking into. But there was too great a chance that this would arouse suspicion. He’d agreed to let her take some materials and when he looked over the log after she left, he didn’t see anything too troubling.
    Still, her presence alone at the foundation and the fact she wanted to check out some materials told the banker that the cops hadn’t caught on to the terrorist motive. Ashberry had immediately called Boyd and told him to make the story more credible. The hitman had bought a working bomb from the arsonist who’d put Ashberry in touch with Boyd. He’d planted the device in the delivery van, along with a ranting letter to the Times about Zionists. Boyd was arrested just after that but his partner—that black woman from Harlem—had detonated the bomb, and finally the police got the message: terrorism.
    And, since the raghead was dead, they’d pull back the protection on the girl.
    This gave Alina Frazier the chance to finish the job.
    But the police had outsmarted her too, and she’d been caught.
    The big question now was: Did the police believe the threat to the girl was finally gone, with the mastermind dead, and the two professional killers arrested?
    He decided they might not be completely convinced, but their defenses would be lowered.
    So what was the level of risk if he went ahead?
    Minimal, he decided.
    Geneva Settle would die.
    Now, he only needed an opportunity. Boyd had said she’d moved out of her apartment in West Harlem and was staying someplace else. The only connection Ashberry had was her school.
    He rose, left his office and took the ornate elevator downstairs. Then walked to Broadway and found a phone kiosk. (“Always pay phones, never private landlines. And never, ever mobile phones.” Thank you, Thompson.)
    He got a number from Directory Assistance and placed the call.
    “Langston Hughes High,” the woman answered.
    He glanced at the side of a nearby retail-store delivery truck and said to the receptionist, “This is Detective Steve Macy with the police department. I need to speak to an administrator.”
    A moment later he was put through to an assistant principal.
    “How can I help you?” the harried man asked. Ashberry could hear a dozen voices in the background. (The businessman himself had detested every minute he’d spent in school.)
    He identified himself again and added, “I’m following up on an incident that involved one of your students. Geneva Settle?”
    “Oh, she was that witness, right?”
    “Yep. I need to get some papers to her this afternoon.The district attorney’s going to be indicting some of the people involved in the case and we need her signature on a statement. Can I speak to her?”
    “Sure. Hold on.” A pause as he asked someone else in the room about the girl’s schedule. Ashberry heard something about her being absent. The administrator came back on. “She’s not in school today. She’ll be back Monday.”
    “Oh, is she at home?”
    “Wait, hold on a minute . . . ”
    Another voice was speaking to the principal, offering a suggestion.
    Please, Ashberry thought . . .
    The man came back on the line. “One of her teachers thinks she’s at Columbia this afternoon, working on some project.”
    “The university?”
    “Yeah. Try a Professor Mathers. I don’t have his first name, sorry.”
    The administrator sounded preoccupied, but to make sure the man didn’t call the police just to check on him, Ashberry said in a dismissing way, “You know, I’ll just call the officers who’re guarding her. Thanks.”
    “Yeah, so long.”
    Ashberry hung up and paused, looking over the busy street. He’d only wanted her address but this might work out better—even though the principal didn’t sound surprised when Ashberry mentioned the guards, which meant that somebody might still be protecting her. He’d have to take that fact into account. He called the main Columbia switchboard and learned that Professor Mathers’s office hours today were from one to six.
    How long would Geneva be there? Ashberrywondered. He hoped it would be for most of the day; he had a lot to do.
    *   *   *
    At four-thirty that afternoon, William Ashberry was cruising in his BMW M5 through Harlem, looking