The Reykjavik Assignment (Yael Azoulay #3)(46)
“No. Nobody called me, which helps. If they ask, I’ll just say we had a tip-off that Akerman was….”
“About to be shot dead?” said Sami, brightly.
“No. That Akerman was having a secret meeting with the SG. That’s a legitimate story.” Najwa studied him, a quizzical expression on her face. “Why didn’t you come up to the residence once the story broke? You could have been there by ten. I would have told you everything. You were free. Yael canceled.”
He looked away, his voice suddenly tight. “I got an e-mail last night. That’s why I didn’t go up to the residence.”
“And?”
“Take a look,” said Sami, as he handed Najwa a sheet of paper.
17
Yael walked to the front of the line in the security tent and showed her UN identity card to the uniformed security officer. “The SG is expecting me. We have a meeting at ten thirty,” she explained politely.
The security officer, a middle-aged man with olive skin, a thick mustache, and a heavy paunch, handed Yael’s card back without looking at it. His Velcro name tag said “Nero.”
“Sorry, ma’am. We are on the highest state of alert.” Nero’s voice was gruff, almost hoarse. He did not sound very sorry. “There is no way to speed up the security procedure. Please take your place in the line. Thank you for your help today.”
Yael did not feel especially helpful. She looked at her watch. It was 9:45 a.m. She had passed through the main entrance on East Forty-Second and First Avenue more than a quarter of an hour ago. The walk from there, through the open courtyard, to the door of the General Assembly Building usually took a minute or so. There was sometimes a short wait for the elevators, especially to the thirty-eighth floor, but she should have been in her office by now, with plenty of time to get to the SG’s suite a few doors away.
Instead she had been standing in a queue for a metal detector in a freezing, shaky tent in the middle of the courtyard for fifteen minutes, waiting to go through the same procedure she had just completed at the UN’s main entrance. She was cold, wet, pissed, and unsettled. Who had taken the photographs of her and Eli? The same person, or group, who had been inside her apartment? Generally she did not like to jump queues and use her connections with the SG just for convenience’s sake. But at this rate she would miss her meeting with him, and that would likely be it for the rest of the day, at least. Last night’s CNN report was still echoing through her head. If anyone would know the details of the deal that may have resulted in her brother’s death, it would be Fareed.
Thunder rumbled, echoing over the East River. Yael shivered. The weather had not improved, drops of water the size of hard candies gushing through the pavement and gutters, drumming on the canvas walls of the security tent as the wind pulled the walls in and out like a pair of giant bellows.
Helicopters clattered overhead; NYPD checkpoints sealed off FDR Drive, the highway running up Manhattan’s east side, five blocks above and below the UN complex, causing a mile-long backup as they checked the papers and the vehicles of anyone wanting to enter the area. Police launches cruised up and down the East River. The Queensboro Bridge at East Fifty-Ninth Street was closed, causing massive traffic jams deep into Queens. Even the cable car to Roosevelt Island had been shut down.
To slow approaching traffic the NYPD had set up concrete blocks in a zigzag pattern along First Avenue, while officers on foot frisked everyone walking by the Secretariat Building or waiting to enter it. Local radio stations broadcast a continuous alert, strongly advising locals to avoid the whole midtown area, especially on the East Side, unless they had “urgent and necessary business” there. Queues at the visitor’s entrance security tent on First Avenue and East Forty-Third reached down almost two blocks.
Yael had traveled on the subway, taking the 1 to Times Square, and then a bus to the corner of East Forty-Second Street and First Avenue. She wore a poncho and rubber boots, and carried an umbrella, but even that was insufficient protection for the short walk from the bus stop and the wait to pass through security. Her damp jeans were cold against her legs. Her blouse stuck to her lower back, where the rain had somehow found a path inside. She stood aside, took out her phone, and called Fareed Hussein on his private number, one shared with just a handful of people. No answer. She stared at the screen as if to force him to pick up. Nothing happened. He hadn’t taken her call last night, either. In the chaotic aftermath of the shooting, that was understandable, but why not now? Where was he? Yael tried Grace Olewanda, his secretary. Grace, a lively Congolese woman, was usually an ally, always willing to find a few minutes for Yael in the SG’s schedule. Her number was busy. Again. Yael waited a minute and hit redial. This time Grace picked up, and Yael quickly explained her situation. A few seconds after they hung up, the phone on the desk rang. The desk security officer, a stocky African-American woman in her early forties, looked around the tent until she saw Yael, then she nodded and put the handset down, beckoning her forward.
Yael emptied her pockets into a plastic tray, dropped her purse onto the conveyor belt, and stepped through the metal detector. The light flashed green. She handed her identity card to Nero. Clearly unhappy that she had pulled rank on him, he checked her name against a list, her face against a computerized database on his tablet computer, drawing out the process as long as he could. Yael knew most of the security staff, but she had never seen him before. She gathered her possessions from the plastic tray and he handed her identity card back, then she walked through into the entrance foyer of the Secretariat Building, down the long, glass-walled corridor that overlooked First Avenue, and over to the elevators. A sign announced that, due to the security situation, there were no direct elevators to the thirty-eighth floor. All staff and visitors had to go to the thirty-seventh floor, pass through a further security check, and then be escorted to the SG’s office. The new procedure added a further delay.