CHAPTER FOURAsh aimed the jag down a curving ramp toward an unfamiliar but brightly lighted subterranean garage, then followed a line of red neon arrows to a booth where a uniformed attendant sat beside a computer.
“Floor, sir?”
“Ninetieth.” He brought out his wallet.
“Park anywhere on this level.”
“How much?”
“No charge, sir. You’re going to Amadoro Associates?”
“Right.” He slipped the wallet back into his pocket.
“They own the building. No charge for their visitors.”
“Which elevator?”
“Straight ahead. Express elevator to the ninetieth floor. It’s got Amadoro Associates in big letters.”
“Thanks.” He followed more red arrows until he saw a neon sign—“Elevators”—and parked in the nearest vacant space. Walked back toward a brightly lighted marble corridor with rows of elevators on
