The Lion's Game

  I walked slowly along the sidewalks, which were still crowded with people despite the hour and the drizzle.

  Now that I was actually doing this, it occurred to me that if Khalil was not holed up in this immediate area, it might take him awhile to get to the park and to make contact with his friends who were following me. And if they weren't pros, then they might lose me before Khalil showed up.

  Therefore... if they did have an apartment or office on East 72nd Street, it could be not only their surveillance post, but also where Khalil was living and hiding out. There goes the neighborhood.

  I continued on, and Bob Stark's voice in my earphone said, "Hunter, SO One here--you read?"

  I spoke to my condenser mic under my shirt, "Hunter five by five."

  "Okay, we're with you, but I think you're alone."

  "All right. But I'll stop at the park entrance and you'll see if anyone seems interested in me."

  "Right. We have two people there--a man and a woman--right inside the park."

  He described their clothing, and I said, "Try to keep your people away from me once I get deep into the park. I do not want you to spook any tails."

  "We're pretty good at this."

  "I know. I'm just saying I can protect myself."

  "Good. Next time you can go by yourself."

  I replied, "Don't get pissy."

  "Copy."

  FYI, if you're walking along the street in New York talking to yourself, no one notices--except maybe other people who are talking to themselves.

  Anyway, I crossed Fifth Avenue and stood near the low stone wall that surrounds the entire park. There were still a few pushcart vendors around the park entrance, and remembering that I needed to linger here, I took the opportunity to buy a chili dog. In fact, make it two. Hey, this could be my last meal.

  I sat on a wet bench and ate my hot dogs, trying to look like a dejected widower, which is not easy when you have two magnificent dogs in your hands.

  Anyway, I finished dinner and walked into the park.

  I spotted the surveillance couple sitting on a bench, looking for all the world like lovers--not husband and wife, because they were holding hands and talking. Okay, that was not nice. More importantly, they did not look at me, and I sensed they were pros.

  I kept walking, and as I got deeper into the park, away from Fifth Avenue, I was struck by how the mood and feeling changed--it was almost as though I'd stepped back in time to when Manhattan Island was all forest, meadows, and rock outcrops.

  You can, however, see the lighted skyscrapers around the park, and in the park are paved paths lined with ornamental post lights. I followed one of those paths north toward my first stopping point, which was the Kerbs Boathouse.

  The drizzle had kept the big crowds of promenaders away, and also kept people off the lawns. In fact, there weren't many people around tonight, and this was good.

  I made my way north, then followed a sign and a path that took me toward the Kerbs Boathouse on the pond.

  I tried to spot my surveillance people, but other than the couple, who were walking fifty yards behind me holding hands, I couldn't ID anyone.

  I also tried to spot anyone else who was following me, but no one looked particularly interested in me.

  In fact, a voice in my ear said, "Hunter, this is SO One--you seem to be alone. Copy?"

  I replied, "Copy."

  And that was it. Nothing more to be said.

  I got to the boathouse, which was used to house model boats for geeks, and I stood on the stone patio between the house and the pond and looked out over the water.

  Somewhere across the pond was a SWAT team with sniper rifles, and they could shoot the chewing gum out of a guy's mouth and not chip his teeth. But it seemed that I was the only one here.

  There were benches near the shore and I sat on one of them, looking despondent, which isn't hard to do when your ass is wet and the rain is getting colder.

  I gave it ten minutes, and I was about to move on when Stark said, "Someone approaching from the north."

  "Copy."

  I drew my Glock and held it in my lap.

  I heard footsteps coming from my right and I glanced at the far corner of the boathouse.

  A male figure--tall--stood in the glare of a lamppost. He was watching me, then took a few steps forward and walked slowly across the patio toward me.

  He wore a long black topcoat that was too heavy for this time of year, and he was carrying a big bag, the way homeless people do, and as he got closer I could start to make out his features.

  I kept an eye on him as he approached, but it was not Asad Khalil--though it could have been one of his pals.

  He sat on the bench next to mine and said to me, "How ya doin'?"

  "My wife is dead and I'm going to drown myself in the pond."

  "Yeah? Sorry 'bout that, man." He added, "Hey, it ain't that bad."

  Stark said to me, "Who are you talking to?"

  I replied, "I don't know. Hold on." I asked the gentleman, "What's your name?"

  "Skip. What's yours?"

  "Tom Walsh. Hold on." I said to my condenser mic, "It's Skip."

  "Skip who?"

  Before I could ask Skip for more info, he asked me, "Who you talkin' to?"

  "Myself. Don't you talk to yourself?"

  "Hell, no. Crazy people talk to theirselves."

  "Hunter," asked Stark, "who is that?"

  I asked Skip, "Are you an Arab terrorist?"

  He replied, "Yeah. I'm an Arab terrorist."

  I said to my mic, "He says he's an Arab terrorist."

  "What the hell are you doing? Get rid of that guy."

  "Ten-four." I said to Skip, "You gotta leave."

  "Says who?"

  "The voice in my head."

  "Can you spare a few bucks?"

  I said to Stark, "I'll give him a few bucks, but you might want to check him out when he leaves." I added, "Get my money back."

  I heard a few laughs from the surveillance team in my earphone.

  Skip asked again, "Who ya talkin' to, man?"

  "Aliens." I pulled two dollars out of my pocket, but Skip was up and gone.

  I decided to do the same, and I said, "SO One, Hunter is mobile."

  "Copy."

  I headed toward another body of water, Belvedere Lake, which was about a third of a mile farther north and west.

  I walked slowly across the area called the Ramble, which is heavily treed, and a good place for an ambush, though I seemed to be the only person around. But, you know, sometimes you get that feeling you're being watched.

  I reached Belvedere Lake, and Stark said to me, "Take a walk around the lake."

  So I took a slow walk around Belvedere Lake, also known as Turtle Pond, or perhaps tonight as Sitting Duck Lake.

  I completed the walk without meeting anyone interesting, and I stopped near a building called Belvedere Castle, where I sat on a wet bench and looked at the pond.

  I said, "Hunter at rest."

  Stark replied, "We have visual." He added, "No one followed you. But sit awhile."

  So I sat for fifteen or twenty minutes, then Stark said, "We're thinking that if you had company, we'd know by now. So maybe we'll cancel the Reservoir."

  I replied, "I'm having too much fun."

  I thought I heard a few groans in my earpiece, then Stark said, "Your call."

  I stood and replied, "Hunter mobile." I asked, "How do you want me to go?"

  He replied, "Around the Great Lawn, to the west."

  "Copy."

  I began walking, skirting the Great Lawn along a path that passed beside a treed area. There was no one around except a guy on a bicycle coming toward me. I kept walking and as he got closer I could see he was looking at me, and I put my hand on the Smith & Wesson.

  A voice in my earphone said, "Hunter, I'm the guy on the bike."

  "Ten-four."

  He passed me, gave a quick nod, and continued on.

  I, too, continued on.
Off to my left, in the trees, I saw a guy walking his dog. The dog was sniffing around, the way dogs do when they're supposed to be taking a crap, and the guy was talking on his cell phone, probably saying to his wife or significant other, "Why do I have to walk the dog every time it rains? It's your dog." And so forth. Been there, done that.

  I continued on, but I glanced back at the dog walker to be sure he and the dog were not terrorists.

  I could see the apartment buildings on Central Park West, and I pictured Vince Paresi sitting in his nice warm apartment having a glass of vino and trying to remember what was happening tonight that was keeping him on call. Actually, Paresi had a base station in his apartment, and he could monitor all radio traffic, including my wire, so I said, "Captain, I can see your house from here. Wave."

  There were a few chuckles in my earpiece, but no response from the boss.

  Anyway, it was now about 11:30, and the drizzle persisted. It was getting colder, and I was wet, and the only thing that would make me happy now was Asad Khalil. And on that subject, I was fairly certain I could filet his throat before the surveillance teams could interfere.

  I crossed Transverse Road at 86th Street, and to my right I could see the lights of the Central Park Precinct, which sits in the park. This was not bad duty if you like the outdoors. On the other hand, there is winter. No job is perfect. Not even this one.

  Anyway, up ahead I saw the Reservoir, which is a large body of water, nearly a half mile across. There is a running track that circles it, and I saw two people jogging together. I mean, who jogs in the rain at midnight?

  Stark said, "Hunter, we have some people up there at the Reservoir, and they report that there are only a few joggers, and no one has followed you, so I think it's time to call it quits."

  I replied, "I'm going to jog around the Reservoir."

  Again, a few groans, but more this time and louder. Hey guys, I'm the one trying to get mugged by a terrorist.

  I got on the jogging track and began running in a counterclockwise direction, which is the rule. My running shoes and socks were wet, and I could hear squishing coming from my feet.

  The track is about a mile and a half around, and after about five minutes I was starting to enjoy it, which is the first creepy step toward becoming a jogger zombie.

  By now, of course, I'd given up any hope of meeting up with Asad Khalil, but if one of his goombahs was watching, he'd be calling Khalil now saying, "This man will die of pneumonia or a heart attack before you can kill him. Come quickly."

  Anyway, I circumnavigated the Reservoir in about twenty minutes, which is not too bad, and I was so jazzed, I took a deep breath and said to Stark, "I'm going to do that again."

  Stark replied, "Hold on--I'm trying to talk the SWAT team out of shooting you."

  "Come on. Just one more--"

  "It's over. The operation is over. Surveillance and countersurveillance all report no sightings. Time to go home."

  "All right... but I'll walk back through the park." I gave him my route along the east side of the park and began my two-mile walk back to my apartment.

  I headed south, along a path that took me past the rear of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was on my left, and the Egyptian obelisk on my right. I looked up at the towering stone obelisk, which was about 3,500 years old, and a profound thought took hold in my mind, which was, "That's pretty fucking old."

  Anyway, I continued on, disappointed, but also strangely elated. It was like Paresi said--we were doing something, which was better than doing nothing; better than waiting around for that asshole to make his next move.

  Tonight's operation was over, but I was still alert and I hoped my team hadn't gone home while I was still in the park.

  I said, "SO One, Hunter here. You guys still with me?"

  Silence.

  "SO One, Hunter. Hello?"

  Stark said, "I think everyone left."

  "Joke, right?"

  "Joke. Hey, pick up the pace. Everyone wants to cut out."

  I don't really like jokes in serious situations unless I'm making them.

  I said, "Hey, do me a favor--call Bellevue, get through the switchboard, and have someone on the security floor go into my wife's room and tell her I'm heading home."

  "Will do."

  I continued on, still thinking that there was a chance of making contact with the enemy. But the enemy was either oblivious that I was here in the park or they'd seen me, reported to Khalil, and he'd smelled a trap. But I was game to do it again, tomorrow night, and every night for as long as Walsh and Paresi believed this could work, and as long as they wanted to commit manpower to it. In fact, this was all we had. The only other way that we'd find Khalil was to wait until he sprung his own plan on us.

  Up ahead was the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, and I stopped and looked at it. The Mad Hatter reminded me of Tom Walsh.

  I continued on, then exited the park at Fifth Avenue and 72nd Street and began the walk home. The street was quiet at this hour, and the rain was a little heavier.

  Stark said, "We'll try another location tomorrow night."

  I said to everyone, "Thanks. Good job."

  About eight or nine voices acknowledged.

  I walked into my lobby, and Special Agent Lisa Sims, of all people, was on duty. She asked me, "How'd it go?"

  "A good trial run."

  She nodded and said, "Sorry to hear about your wife."

  "Thanks. She's okay."

  "Good." She took something out of her pocket and handed it to me. It was a silver dollar token from the Taj Mahal. She said, "For luck."

  I smiled. "Thanks." I added, "It worked last time."

  She smiled in return and said, "You look like you need a good night's sleep."

  "Yeah. But you have to stay awake."

  "Right... well, if you get insomnia... I'm here."

  How shall I take that?

  I wished her a good evening, walked to the elevator, got on, and drew my Glock.

  I entered my apartment, gun in hand. I'd left all the lights on and they were all still on. I swept the rooms, returned to the door, and bolted it.

  The bolt itself was good, but not great, though I had never worried about it. But if someone had a door ram with them, they could take out the lock and the bolt with one or two hits.

  I wasn't getting paranoid or skittish--I was just thinking about worst-case scenario.

  The bad guys could sometimes be clever and smart, but smart people also know when not to be clever and when to use brute force. Speed, surprise, and frontal assault--and I'd be falling thirty-four floors from the balcony, without a parachute, and Khalil would be waving good-bye and calling to me, "Your last free fall, Mr. Corey!" Splat.

  That called for a drink, but it also called for being cold sober. So I had half a drink. I really hated this bastard.

  I dragged the couch into the foyer and shoved it against the door.

  Then I changed into dry clothing and sat in my La-Z-Boy. I turned on the TV and found a great old John Wayne movie--Danger Rides the Range--and when the Duke got into a gunfight with the bad guys, I aimed my revolver at the screen and helped him out. Bang, bang. Watch out, Duke! Bang.

  At about 2 A.M., I went to bed. The bedroom door has a good lock, as I'd found out the hard way from two wives and one girlfriend, and for the first time it was me who locked the bedroom door.

  I was completely pissed off that I had to live like this; this went against my training and my natural instincts to be the guy playing offense. But sometimes you just had to wait for the other guy to make his move, and when he did, the game would be over quickly.

  I fell into an uneasy sleep and had a dream that Khalil and I had entered a big arena from opposite ends and were walking toward each other. It was night, and the stadium was empty, and it was very quiet, and only a few of the stadium lights were on, and there were dark shadows across the field, and we both passed through light and dark as we approached each other. And finally, we stood face-to-
face, a few feet apart in a circle of light. We both nodded, and he drew a knife from his belt, and I saw it was covered with blood--Kate's blood. And he licked it. I drew my knife--the K-bar--and held it up so he could see it. He nodded again, and we moved toward each other. The stadium lights suddenly went out... and I could hear his breathing in the dark. Then he was close enough for me to smell him, and I heard him say, "I saved you for last."

  I lunged at his voice in the dark, and felt warm blood on my chest, but I didn't know if it was his blood or mine--or both.

  I woke up in a sweat, breathing hard. I sat there in bed, staring into the dark, and pictured his face, and I said to him, "I saved you all for myself."

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Thursday morning. The weather was better than yesterday, which I took as an omen that today I would kill Asad Khalil. Maybe that's a stretch.

  I spoke to Captain Paresi and we discussed the previous night's operation, but there wasn't much to say except that it ran well, and everyone--especially me--did a good job. The target of the operation, Asad Khalil, however, did not show up. And that's when we'd find out how good we really are.

  Paresi said he got some manpower to check the apartment houses and office buildings on East 72nd Street, starting across the street from my building. He informed me that it would take at least ten days to accomplish this--unless, of course, they got lucky before that.

  Then he said to me, "Are you up for another night of walking?"

  "Anything that gets me out of the house."

  "Okay, we're going to try something different tonight. I want you to come to 26 Fed at about six P.M. Take a taxi, and maybe you'll be followed by Sandland Taxi Service. But even if you're not, we're going to assume, or hope, that 26 Fed is being watched from the street or from a surrounding building. Okay?"

  "You mean we could be under surveillance? Is that legal?"

  "Actually, it probably is. Okay, then about nine P.M. you leave the building and proceed on foot to the area of the World Trade Center construction site. It's pretty quiet down there after dark and you'll just wander the area--sad, lonely, contemplating life and death. Then at some point you'll walk down to Battery Park." He added, "We'll play it by ear and see what looks good as the hour gets later."