The Lion's Game

  I stood and said, "We may speak more tomorrow."

  But Boris seemed not to hear me, and he was deep in thought.

  Boris, as I said, is not stupid, and in the old days he played games that were more dangerous and more deceitful and convoluted than this one. And I could tell that his KGB brain was awake and working. No doubt he was getting interested and excited about being back in the old business. He looked at me and asked, "Does anyone know you are here?"

  Well, Veronika does. Viktor. You. That was not the question I wanted to hear. And I had a good, strong reply. I said, "What do you mean?"

  "I think you know what I mean." He asked me, "Why are you alone?"

  "I work alone. Like James Bond."

  He shook his head and said, "You should have an FBI agent with you." He added, "I don't mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Corey, but you are a New York City detective--as I was told three years ago. Where is your FBI counterpart?"

  "She's at the bar."

  "No. I believe you are pursuing this matter on your own and I understand why."

  "Believe what you want. Tomorrow I'll be back with my team."

  He thought about that, then looked at me and said, "Give me a week. Give yourself a week. One of us, I think, will resolve this problem in a way that is best for us."

  I replied, of course, "This is not just about us. It is about the law, and justice, and national security."

  Again, he shook his head and said, "No. It is about us."

  I didn't want to continue on this subject, so I changed it. "You have my card." I also said, "I need your phone numbers."

  He took his card and a pen from his inside pocket, wrote on the card, and handed it to me, saying, "Please keep me informed."

  I took Khalil's photograph from my pocket, handed it to him, and said, "To refresh your memory."

  He took the photograph but did not look at it, and replied, "My memory needs no refreshing."

  "Well," I suggested, "copy it and give it to your people."

  "Yes, thank you." He informed me, "He is very good at changing his appearance."

  "Right. And that's three years old, though I have information that he looks the same. And the eyes never change."

  Boris glanced at the photograph and said, "Yes... those eyes."

  I moved toward the door and said to him, "I can let myself out."

  "I am afraid not." He stood, went to his phone, hit the intercom and said something in Russian, then said to me, "Let me ask you a question which may be important to you and to me."

  I like questions that are important to me, so I replied, "Shoot."

  He asked me, "Do you have any idea if Khalil is acting alone, or if he is working for Libyan Intelligence, or perhaps some other group?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Well, obviously it makes some difference in his... capabilities. His ability to discover what he needs to know about us." He added, "And perhaps in his mission, as well."

  "Right. Well, I can't answer that question directly, but I will say he seems to have help."

  Boris nodded and informed me, "Then you can be sure he will do something here that is different from what he has been doing."

  "I'm losin' ya, Boris."

  Boris looked at me and said, "He is going to detonate a bomb. Or perhaps it will be a biological attack. Anthrax. Or a chemical device. Perhaps nerve gas."

  "You think?"

  "Yes. He must repay those who assisted him in his mission of personal revenge. Have you not thought of this?"

  I admitted, "It has crossed my mind."

  "But I believe it will not happen before he finishes his business with you and with me."

  "Right." I don't make a habit of discussing things like this with people like Boris, but he did have some history with Khalil, and this was once his business, so I said to him, "Think about that and let me know what you come up with."

  "I will."

  Tchaikovsky filled the room, and Boris walked to the door, looked through the peephole, then unbolted the door and opened it.

  Viktor stood aside for me, and as I walked to the door I said to Boris, "If you look through a peephole, you can get a serious eye and brain injury if there's a gun muzzle looking back at you. Or an ice pick."

  He seemed annoyed at my critique of his security procedures and said, "Thank you, Detective."

  I asked, "Where's your security monitor?"

  "There is one in my office, and there is a television in that armoire that has a security camera channel."

  "You should use it."

  "Thank you, again."

  "And thank you for your time and your hospitality." I started through the door, then I did one of my neat turnarounds and said, "Oh, FYI--the pilot who Khalil killed. Chip. Khalil cut off his head."

  Boris kept his cool and said, "I never taught him that."

  I suggested, "Maybe he has a new teacher."

  I walked out of Boris's apartment, and as the door closed I heard the bolt slide home.

  Poor Boris--holed up in his place of business without his wife, and with nothing to do except eat, drink, look out his two-way mirror, maybe watch some Russian TV, listen to music, and possibly enjoy the company of a lady or two. But even that gets old after a few days. Well... maybe a few weeks.

  Viktor indicated the elevator, but I said to him, "Let's take the stairs."

  "Please?"

  "Come on, Viktor. You teach English at Brooklyn College." I walked to the steel staircase door and Viktor opened it with a key.

  This was basically the fire escape staircase, and fire marshals don't like to see a lock or a bolt, but Boris must have told them, "Look, boys, there are a lot of people who want to kill me, so I gotta lock myself in." Or he removed the doors when the inspectors came around.

  I let Viktor go first and I followed. The door at the bottom of the staircase was also locked, and Viktor used his key to open it.

  We entered the small room with the security camera, then Viktor unlocked the door to the hallway, and I followed him through the red curtain and into the restaurant.

  Well, I thought, the security was good, but too much depended on human involvement and two keys--one for the elevator and one for all the steel doors. Also, the door to Boris's apartment had to be bolted manually. Boris needed a code padlock for all the doors between the outside world and him, plus he needed easier access to his security monitors.

  There may have been some security features that I didn't see, such as a panic button, or maybe a safe room, but the real bottom line with personal security was vigilance and a large-caliber gun.

  Viktor escorted me through the restaurant, which was half empty now, and I said to him, "Someone wants to kill your boss. Keep your head out of your ass."

  He didn't reply, but he nodded.

  "You got a gun?"

  Again, he didn't reply, but he tapped the left side of his jacket.

  I suggested, "Work on your pronunciation."

  Anyway, I skipped the bar and Veronika and walked out the rear door. It was almost midnight, and the boardwalk and the beach were nearly deserted.

  If I'd been followed by my surveillance team, it was now that someone would approach me. And if I'd been followed by Khalil's team, this was as good a time and place as any for Khalil and Corey to meet.

  I stood there for a minute, but no one seemed interested in me.

  I walked to the front entrance of Svetlana where a few cabs were parked.

  On the way back to Manhattan, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, I again had the thought, reinforced by Boris, that Asad Khalil was indeed planning something big for his finale--something that would please his backers and get him another line of credit for his next mission--and all that stood between him and that big climax to this mission was Boris Korsakov and John Corey.

  So, yes, Boris was right; it was about us--him, me, and Asad Khalil. And it was about the past following us, and catching up with us.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The taxi
from Brighton Beach had let me off in my underground parking garage, and also left me forty bucks poorer, which is cheap for life insurance.

  I'd taken the freight elevator up to my apartment, and no one from the surveillance team seemed to have noticed my absence. I didn't want to get these guys in trouble, so I'd be certain to never get caught leaving home without them.

  Anyway, it was now 7 A.M. Wednesday morning, a short seventy-two hours since Kate and I had woken up in the High Top Motel in Sullivan County, excited about jumping out of an airplane. Little did we know, as they say, how exciting it was going to be.

  I didn't have anything specific planned for the day, reminding me that the problem with doing nothing is not knowing when you're done.

  I did take the opportunity to go through my daily dozen exercises, being motivated not by vanity but by health concerns, meaning in this case, I needed to be in good shape if Khalil and I got into a wrestling match. Boris was right--Khalil's attacks were up close and personal, and if you could survive the initial surprise assault you had a chance to turn it around. This was why Kate was still alive.

  As I was getting ready to visit Kate at Bellevue, my cell phone rang and it was Paresi. I answered, "Corey."

  Captain Paresi inquired, "What did you do last night?"

  Uh-oh. Time to come clean. I said, "I visited Kate in the hospital."

  "I know that. What did you do afterward?"

  Time to come clean. "I was driven home."

  There was a silence on the phone, then Paresi said, "The surveillance guy in your lobby, Ramos, reported that he called your apartment phone and your cell phone and also had the doorman buzz your intercom, but you didn't answer."

  Time to really come clean. I replied, "I was dead to the world by ten P.M." Or was I having a vodka with Veronika? I asked, "What did Ramos want?"

  Paresi replied, "Nothing. Just a commo check and a situation report."

  Bottom line here, Paresi had no evidence that I'd actually gone out, so I got a little huffy and said, "Captain, I'm a cop--not some Mafia informant who needs watching twenty-four/seven--"

  "Your life is in danger, Detective Corey." He added, "You have agreed--"

  "I didn't agree to sleep with my surveillance guys."

  There was a silence, then Paresi said to me, "All right." He informed me, "As it turns out, we know where you'll be tonight."

  I didn't reply, and I didn't ask.

  He continued, "But first, some housekeeping. Gabe's funeral and that of his wife and daughter was yesterday. It was a private religious ceremony, but we will have a memorial service for him and his family sometime next week if possible." He added, "Depends on what happens."

  Right. Depends on our own funerals. I said, "Okay."

  Paresi asked me, "How is Kate?"

  "Well enough to get out of the hospital, but Walsh is keeping her there, and neither of us is happy about that."

  He replied, "She's safer there, and you're better off not having her home."

  I didn't respond to that and said, "There's something you need to do--have a death certificate issued and recorded in Sullivan County ASAP, and have the Catskill Medical Center alter their records accordingly."

  "Okay... if you think someone would actually be checking on that."

  "Let's assume that Khalil is obsessed with his confirmed body count."

  "All right. Will do." He asked me, "Have you received or recalled anything I should know about?"

  This was basically my last chance to come clean about Boris, and I'd weighed the pros and cons of reporting my contact with Boris Korsakov. Boris, however, had correctly determined that I was acting on my own, and he'd asked me for a week of no police or FBI interference--a week to see if Khalil attempted to whack him on his protected turf at his nightclub. Boris's purpose, of course, was to silence Asad Khalil forever, though I didn't really care what Boris wanted--he wasn't running this operation. But his best interests might coincide with mine. This was a tough call.

  "John?"

  "I'm thinking."

  On the other hand, Boris may have sobered up by now, and smartened up, and he might call me and say he'd changed his mind and please send the police to protect him. Or for all I knew, Boris, the devious KGB man, might now be hightailing it to Moscow with his wife--or the French Riviera without his wife. I wouldn't blame him if he did.

  "Hello? John?"

  I replied, "I can't think of anything." I changed the subject and asked him, "Has Special Operations seen anything unusual at the bad guy safe houses?"

  "No."

  "Are we trying to find any other safe houses that we don't know about?"

  He replied, "We're checking with rental agents about corporate rentals that they may have thought were suspicious--but that's very time-consuming and a very long shot."

  "Right." I said to him, "I had a thought that if I was Khalil's pals in New York, I'd have rented a place on my street--an office or an apartment--and mounted a mini camcorder in the window, and I'd be keeping an eye on my front door from a monitor located in that office or apartment."

  Paresi stayed silent awhile, then replied, "That's a good thought... but your street is lined with high-rises--like thousands of apartments and offices--"

  "Right. I live here. I can see them." I said to him, "You should get some manpower on that, Captain."

  "Right." He advised me, "You should stay off your balcony."

  "I was going to invite you over for drinks on the balcony."

  Paresi sometimes appreciated my dark humor, but this was not one of those times. He said to me, "I have to tell you, we're spread pretty thin, but I'll see if I can get the FBI field office and One P. P. to give us some people."

  Recalling my unproductive surveillance of the Iranian dip, I suggested, "Pull people off the U.N. assignments." I pointed out, "This case is high priority."

  "I know. But you have no idea how many tips, threats, and leads we've gotten in the last few months that we have to follow up on."

  I thought about that and said, "It's possible these are planned distractions."

  He stayed silent a moment, then replied, "Maybe." Then he said, "I never thought we'd be overwhelmed... you know?"

  "The world," I reminded him, "has changed."

  "Yeah. But we're staffing up." He joked, "That's why you still have a job."

  Funny. I asked him, "Any hits from CAU on Kate's cell phone or Gabe's cell phone?"

  He replied, "As you know, we've discontinued service on both, but CAU is watching to see if anyone turns them on to use their phone directories."

  "Okay. Are the surveillances of the Muslim neighborhoods turning up anything?"

  "No."

  "I assume you've cancelled all leave and that everyone is putting in extra days and hours."

  "Goes without saying. In fact, John, let me assure you that despite personnel shortages, the Task Force, the FBI, and the NYPD are on top of all this. And let me remind you, you are not part of the investigation. You are on leave."

  "Then why are you asking me questions?"

  He informed me, "We ask you questions--you do not need to ask us questions. Or give us advice."

  Well, I had been wavering about telling him about Boris, but I wasn't wavering anymore. Hey, I'm not part of the investigation.

  "John?"

  "I understand."

  In a more kindly tone, he said, "We want you to focus on remembering the past, and anything from the past that can help us this time."

  I said to him, "My car and driver are waiting. Anything else?"

  "Yes, the reason I called. You're going trawling tonight."

  That was exciting news, and I said, "Good. What's the plan?"

  He began, "At about ten P.M., you will leave your apartment and go on foot along Seventy-second Street and enter Central Park--"

  "I could get mugged."

  He ignored that and continued, "We're using the park because we all know it and we've all trained there for surveillance and cou
ntersurveillance."

  "Right." I got lost once.

  He continued, "You'll meet a Special Operations Group supervisor in your lobby at ten, and he will give you your route and your various destinations in the park. Then you will establish communication with the surveillance teams outside your building, and off you go."

  "Sounds like a plan." I reminded him, "I don't want a parade behind me or a brass band in front of me."

  "Right. You're covered, but not overprotected."

  "I'll let you know what I think when I see it."

  "Okay. We're willing to learn. Trial and error."

  "No errors, please." I asked him, "Have you notified the Central Park Precinct?"

  "We have. They know what's going down and we'll keep in contact with them."

  "Good." The CPP had a strong presence in the park at night, including mounted police, undercover cops, and marked and unmarked cars. In fact, too much presence. I said to Paresi, "Keep them away from my route."

  "Understood." He went on with his mission briefing. "At your various destinations in the park, there will be backup people--SWAT teams--concealed with night-vision devices and sniper rifles."

  "Don't forget to tell them what I'm wearing."

  Without even a chuckle, he continued, "The places where you will stop and linger are waterside spots--the Kerbs Boathouse, then a prearranged spot on Belvedere Lake, and then maybe up at the Reservoir." He informed me, "The surveillance and SWAT teams want to use waterside locations because that limits the possible avenues of approach for Khalil, and it also narrows down the area that needs to be covered by the SWAT team, and by the surveillance teams." He added, "In other words, you're covered on one side by the water." Then a joke. "Can you swim?"

  "No. But I can walk on water." I asked, "What am I supposed to do at these locations at that hour, other than look like I'm bait in a trap?"

  "Good question. And I don't have a good answer, but I'm thinking you just lost your wife... and you can just be taking a long walk. You know? Head down, sit on a bench, put your face in your hands... or maybe carry a bottle of booze--not real, of course--and act a little drunk. You know how to do that."