The Lazarus Trap Read Online Free Page A

sir.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œHe and Marjorie Copeland. They’re in New York.”
    â€œI know that.” He helped Val’s secretary into the suede chair across from where Terrance still sat. His sandwich dangled from his right hand, napkin tucked into his shirt collar. Just another busy exec watching his world shift out of normal rotation. Jack said, “Consuela, get this young lady a glass of water.”
    â€œI’ll do it.” Don moved for the executive bathroom.
    Jack waited until the woman had taken a sip and almost choked in the process. “Now try and give it to me straight.”
    â€œVal and Marjorie had an early morning meeting at Syntec,” she said.
    Terrance made his first contribution. “Our bank for international funds transfers.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Normally Val’s PA did her best to pretend Terrance was invisible. An ethereal vampire who did not register on her screen. Today she was too distraught to notice who spoke. “Syntec’s been hit by terrorists.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI saw it on the news,” Consuela confirmed. “There’s been some huge explosion. Two floors of the Rockefeller Center were totally demolished early this morning.”
    Now both women were crying. “I checked his calendar. Val had a meeting set up for six-thirty. Right before the bomb went off.”
    â€œThat isn’t possible.” Jack pointed a shaky finger at his desk and ordered nobody in particular, “Get on the phone. Call their hotel—”
    â€œI’ve already done that,” Consuela replied. “Nobody answered. His cell either. Or Marjorie’s.”
    Don now. “This can’t be happening.”
    â€œIt’s almost one. Val hasn’t shown up for any of his other morning appointments. The lunch they had scheduled has called twice.” She cast frantic glances at them all, pleading with them to tell her it was a dreadful mistake. “I don’t know what else to do.”
    Terrance had a sudden chilling sensation of standing just beyond the gathering’s visual range. A conductor’s white baton was in his hand. He counted off the beats. One, two, three silent seconds. Okay, now. On the downbeat. Hit it.
    As though on cue, Jack turned to Don Winslow and said, “What would you suggest?”
    Terrance’s baton continued to count off the cadence of shock and sorrow. Don followed the silent script to perfection. His hand even shook as he raised the telephone receiver and dialed information. “I need a number for New York police. What? Oh. Right. Manhattan.”
    He hesitated then, staring at Terrance as though making sure he held to the proper beat. “Missing persons, I guess . . . No.” Another hesitation. Then he dropped his voice a full octave. “No. Scratch that. I think I might need to speak with Homicide.”
    Both women began weeping full out.

“MR. ADAMS? I’M DR. MARTINEZ. WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM?” The doctor was a slight lady with tired eyes, a soft voice, and a fleeting smile. “Other than the fact that your temple is bleeding.”
    He had spotted the walk-in clinic’s address on a street sign just down from the police station entrance. The clinic was connected to an inner-city church housed in a renovated warehouse. The exteriors of both the church and the clinic were painted an orange that hurt his eyes. The clinic’s waiting room held a dozen plastic chairs, a cross on one wall, and health posters on the others. The waiting room was crowded with faces that gave his wounds only a cursory inspection. He had discarded his jacket outside the police station. Other than the tear on his left knee, his remaining clothes were stained but intact. He had dozed through a two-hour wait, then awakened to the sound of someone calling a name he was still having trouble claiming as his own.
    He told the doctor, “I can’t