Greenwich Mean Time by Reed Bunzel

Author:Reed Bunzel [Bunzel, Reed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thiller. Mystery. When photojournalist Monica Cross literally stumbles into the site of an old airplane crash at the edge of a Himalayan glacier, she is exposed to a dark and deadly secret. Unaware that her life is in grave danger, she tries to get home to New York while a dark-web, murder for hire outfit pulls out all stops to make sure she never gets there.
Publisher: Epicenter Press Inc.
Published: 2023-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

New York

11:52 am GMT, 7:52 am Local

Diana Petrie was sitting on a concrete bench, staring at what she considered the ugliest deformity New York City had offered to humanity in the last half-century. It was a towering monstrosity known as The Vessel, a structure of crisscrossing and zigzagging stairs that she suspected would have made M.C. Escher weep in dismay. Billed as the centerpiece of the Public Square and Gardens, the bronzed steel and concrete sculpture was a money pit that had cost one hundred fifty million dollars to construct and offered nothing beneficial in return. A stairway with no destination, to Petrie it epitomized the futility of human endeavor and the misplaced priorities of a civilization that had lost its way.

Yet here she was, staring at it, drawing on its emptiness to fuel the fury that was building inside her. Fury because she had just seen the police photos of Simone Marchand sprawled on the floor of the airport restroom, her bruised and lifeless body crumpled against the subway tile wall. Not all that different from the people who had jumped to their deaths from the hideous eyesore before her, which was why it again was closed to tourists.

“How the fuck did this happen?” Petrie whisper-yelled into her cell phone, which was encrypted and scrambled, per usual. “My instructions were clear and simple: surprise, attack, kill.”

“This’ll have to wait,” Eitan Hazan barked at her. “I’m busy.”

“Where are you?”

“Frankfurt Flughafen.” He was staggering through the second level of the railway terminal, keeping an eye open for Monica Cross. He did not need this interruption and almost had not answered, but he knew better than to avoid a call from the Dragon Lady.

“What’s that?”

“The train station at the Frankfurt airport. Everything is under control.”

“Under control is a dead target. Two dead targets. Yet you’re telling me they’re both alive, and Simone is deceased.”

Hazan wasn’t about to explain that one of the targets, Monica Cross, had just obliterated his testes, nor that he’d blown his surprise attack on Phythian. “I’m on it,” was all he said.

“You are not authorized to make flash decisions in the field.”

“Copy that.”

It was morning rush hour in New York, not quite eight o’clock in the morning. Seething with anger and frustration, she had wandered downtown to Hudson Yards to gaze at the one thing that could be worse than the total failure of the double assignment she had put in play—although not by much.

“We’ll discuss Simone later,” she told him. “Right now, your job is to take care of Cross and Phythian.”

“So noted.”

“I want proof of death,” Petrie said. “Incontrovertible.”

She ended the call and looked up. Dear God, she thought: the ugly architectural was still there, the bronze stairs glinting in the morning sun, winking whimsically as if the damned thing had been in on the joke from the start.

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