"Okay." I asked him, "Where will you be?"
"I'll stay at 26 Fed so I can be close."
"Good. And Tom?"
"Same."
I said to him, "I want to pick the place for tomorrow night."
He replied, "We're not running this operation over the weekend. Too many people out and about."
That made sense, but it didn't make me happy. I said, "Try to rethink that." I reminded him, "This is all we have unless we find him the old-fashioned way."
"Right. In fact, we're going to use the manpower we save on you this weekend to knock on doors in your neighborhood."
"All right, but--"
"Also, John, the other possibility is he will find you."
"Right. But I need to make myself available to him."
He pointed out, "You're also available at home. Maybe he'll try that this weekend."
I didn't want to argue with him, and I was already thinking about giving my protective detail the slip and going out on my own to see if The Lion was stalking me.
Paresi said, "Let's see what happens tonight." He speculated, "Khalil may have skipped out."
"He's here."
I called Kate and she said to me, "A nurse came in last night about one and said she had a message for me." Kate informed me, "I thought you were dead."
"I wouldn't leave you a message like that."
"This is not funny."
"Sorry, but I can't get through the switchboard after midnight."
"Tom sent me a new cell phone this morning, so you can call me direct now."
"Good."
She then asked me, "Where did you go last night?"
"A walk in Central Park." I added, "I'm a despondent widower, thinking about drowning myself in the lake."
She had no comment, but she may have thought that was not a bad idea.
I said, "I was covered. Maybe too covered. And maybe Khalil and his pals are on to our game."
She didn't respond for a while, then said, "He's come here with his own game."
"Right."
She asked me, "Are you going out tonight?"
"Yeah. I'm starting at 26 Fed, then the WTC site, then Battery Park, then... maybe I'll do a hookah bar crawl."
She said, "I'd give anything to see John Corey drinking tea with Arabs in a hookah bar."
"Somebody has to do it."
Kate stayed silent awhile, then said, "It's a little disturbing to think there could be cells living and working here--I mean, real cells with competent and dangerous people."
"Right." We'd never discovered any such organized activity here in New York, but there were a number of individuals and small groups of suspects who were so incompetent and outright dumb that we just kept an eye on them, hoping they'd lead us to someone or some group that was actually dangerous. But Asad Khalil, if he had help, would not be using the gangs that couldn't shoot straight that we'd been watching for years.
In fact, Kate said, "It would be good if all this led to a real cell--maybe Al Qaeda--that we could round up." She reminded me, "That's why we need to take Khalil alive."
"Right." But Khalil, if taken alive, was not going to talk--unless, of course, the CIA took him out of the country and interrogated him in an enhanced manner. But there was no guarantee that would happen. And if it did, we would never know what Khalil said. Also, I'm not comfortable with using torture to get information. So my plan was still the best--cut his fucking throat.
But I'm also not a big fan of cold-blooded murder... so it would be good if Khalil put me in a position where I had no choice--or the choice wasn't so clear. I mean, he wasn't thinking about taking me alive.
"John?"
"Right. We need him alive."
On the subject of sticking to the letter of the law, FBI Special Agent Kate Mayfield asked me, "Have you spoken to Tom about Boris?"
"I'm drafting a memo."
"Call him."
I informed her, "Tom has done a disappearing act on me."
"He has a phone."
"Kate, I will handle this. Subject closed."
She changed the subject. "Do you think that Tom, George, and Vince are in danger?"
I asked her, "What does Tom think?"
She replied, "He's not discounting it, but he's also not totally believing he could be a target."
"Right." The cemeteries are full of people like that. I said to her, "Tell Tom you want a gun."
She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "There's a uniformed officer outside my door twenty-four/seven."
"Even cops have to take a leak. Get a gun. If Tom says no, I'll give you one. They don't count guns on the way out."
"All right."
I told her, "I can't come tonight--I need to be at 26 Fed at six."
"I understand." She gave me her new cell phone number and said, "Call me tonight with good news."
Well, if it was bad news, I wouldn't be the one calling.
Back in my apartment, I worked on my incident report, then I began drafting a long memo about this case, starting from the beginning three years ago. The memo contained all I knew that was classified, and also my own thoughts and theories about things like the CIA's involvement in the original case. I had no idea who this memo was addressed to--but maybe it was addressed to posterity; to whoever worked this case in the event of my death.
Under the heading of "Khalil II," I revealed my recent meeting with Boris Korsakov, which reminded me that I hadn't heard from him since I'd left him at Svetlana contemplating a reunion with his star pupil. This might mean that he was dead, but I think I might have heard about that on the news, or maybe through official channels. More likely Boris had nothing more to say to me. Or, as I said, he'd skipped town, which was the smart move, but maybe not what an egotistical former KGB guy would do. And as I'd discovered long ago, the most common cause of death among alpha males was ego. I should know.
I used my ATTF cell phone to dial Boris, hoping he'd recognize the number that I'd given him and that he'd take the call. Or another voice would answer, "Khalil here."
Boris Korsakov answered. "Good afternoon, Mr. Corey."
"And to you." I asked him, "Where are you?"
"Where I was when I last saw you."
Of course he could be anywhere, and I said to him, "I thought I heard a Swiss yodeler in the background."
He laughed and replied, "No, you are hearing the Red Army Chorus singing 'Kalinka.'"
"No kidding?" I suggested, "Tell them to take a break."
"Hold on."
The Red Army Chorus packed up and left, and Boris said to me, "One becomes nostalgic as one gets older."
"Right. I've got an old German deli guy down the block who misses the hell out of the Third Reich. So, what have you been up to?"
"Nothing. And you?"
"Same. And where is Mrs. Korsakov?"
"Moscow."
"Lucky girl. Look, I'm rethinking what I said to you about not having your place put under surveillance. What do you think?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "You promised me a week."
"Boris, I made no such promise, or if I did, I've come to my senses and I hope you have, too."
He informed me, "We both came to the right decision about this. You should not rethink it."
"Well, I am." I asked him, "What do you think you'll accomplish by locking yourself in your office?"
"Maybe nothing more than staying alive while you find Khalil. But we will see."
I said, "He's not going to come for you if he knows you're barricaded in there. In fact, that's a tip-off to him that you know he's here."
He informed me, "I often spend days living in my office when my wife is not here. So this is not unusual."
"Yeah? What do you do all day?"
"Come visit and you can see."
He laughed and it was that kind of laugh. Men are pigs.
I got back to the subject and said to him, "Look, Boris, you don't have much chance of killing or capturing Khalil
. I'm thinking you need my help. I want to put your place under surveillance, and I also want you to let me set up a trap." I explained, "You leave your fort there, go back to your apartment, take long walks on the boardwalk, go about your normal business, and I'll have people around you who can protect you and also grab Khalil if he makes an attempt on your life." I assured him, "I've done this a thousand times. Haven't lost anyone yet." Not even myself.
He seemed to be thinking about that, then said, "I will consider that."
I knew he was stalling so I asked him, "Why do you want to kill him?"
He replied, "I did not say I wanted to kill him."
"Okay, so you want to reason with him?"
"There is no reasoning with that man."
"So, what's your goal? Your objective?"
"To defend myself until you capture him. Or I may capture him here."
"And then you'll turn him over to the police or the FBI."
"Correct."
"But if you do that, then he'll sing--and it won't be Kalinka."
"I am not following you."
"All right. Let me be more clear." I said to him, "Your story about your involvement in and your knowledge of Khalil's mission here three years ago and Khalil's story about that are probably not the same story."
No response.
I continued, "You knew damn well that he was coming here to murder U.S. Air Force pilots, and that's what you trained him to do. But you bullshitted the CIA, and they believed you--"
"They never believed me. But they found it convenient to say they did."
"Okay... so they think you were involved with, and had knowledge of, these murders. But if Khalil is captured and interrogated by the FBI, he will implicate you in those murders, and the best you can hope for from the Justice Department is a forfeiture of all your assets and a one-way ticket out of here." I added, "The worst would be an indictment for accessory to murder."
He thought about that and replied, "They would not let that happen."
"Who?"
"My friends in Langley."
"You think?" I asked him, "Have you heard from them?"
He replied, "If I have, I could not tell you."
"Try."
"This is a closed subject."
"Okay, then I'm going to have surveillance put around your club and your apartment."
This was not what I really wanted to do, of course--I wanted to find Khalil myself. But I couldn't pass up this opportunity to set a second trap for him, and the first trap, with me as bait, didn't seem to be working. Also, I had a legal--and maybe moral--obligation to call Tom Walsh about Boris.
Boris said to me, "May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Why did you come here alone?"
Good question. I replied, "Well, I was on my way to Coney Island, and out of the blue I had this thought that Boris Korsakov could be living in Brighton Beach."
"That sounds very improbable."
"Right. Okay, your club and apartment will be under surveillance in the next hour or so, and you'll be followed if you decide to come outside for some fresh air. Also, I'd like you to consider cooperating with this surveillance, and let us put a few people inside your club. Okay?"
He didn't respond to that and said, "You came alone because you want to kill him. Not capture him, Mr. Corey, but kill him."
"I don't remember saying that."
"Oh, but you did." He further informed me, "You'd like to do it yourself, of course, but you would accept me doing it. The important thing for you--and for me--is that he is killed."
"Boris, I think you were in the KGB too long."
"Long enough to know how to solve a problem." He continued, "We understand each other, so you don't have to say anything, but please think about what you were thinking about when you arrived here... unofficially."
"Well, to be honest with you, I've rethought that."
"No. You are trying to make yourself feel better about your unorthodox method of dealing with Asad Khalil."
Boris had a point there, but I replied, "I didn't call you for psychotherapy."
He replied, "We are both men who have seen some of the world, and we understand how things are done." He informed me, "In Langley, they told me a little about your involvement with Khalil when he was here last, and I have concluded from that and from what you yourself said to me three years ago that you have some personal reasons for wanting Khalil dead. And he feels the same about you--as he feels about me. So why don't we leave others out of this, and also leave our conversation where it was when you walked out of my office?"
I thought about that. I mean, what was the downside to letting Boris try to kill Khalil? None. But there was a big downside for Boris if Khalil killed him instead. That, however, was not a downside for me--in fact, hate to say it, but Boris would get just what he deserved at the hands of the monster he helped create.
But if Boris killed Khalil, then, yes, I'd have to accept it wasn't me who did it. But Khalil would be just as dead.
"Mr. Corey?"
"Okay. I said a week. That's Tuesday."
"Good. That is the correct decision for both of us."
"I hope you still feel that way when you find Khalil sitting in your office."
Boris did not comment on that, and he said to me, "As I mentioned, I would not be surprised if Khalil intends to kill your friend, Ms. Mayfield. So you should warn her."
"Let me worry about that." I then asked him, "Have you thought about what else Khalil might have planned, aside from whacking me and you?"
He stayed silent awhile, then replied, "Well, as I said, he must need to repay someone for his trip to America. But I can tell you that when Khalil was last here, he had not been trained in explosives or in handling chemicals or biological materials."
"Well, that's good news." I asked him, "You didn't have time for that?"
He replied, "That is not my area of expertise."
"Right." I said, "But he could have learned something new in the last three years."
"Of course. But I want you to know he did not learn from me."
"Right. So if we all start keeling over from nerve gas or anthrax, you had nothing to do with that."
"Correct. And if there is a large explosion--"
"Not your fault."
"Also correct."
"Okay, but... do you have any thoughts, any theories about a possible target--is there anything this asshole might have said to you? Like, 'Gee, Boris, I hate to see women shopping in department stores.' Follow?"
"Yes, I do." He stayed silent awhile, then said, "He did have what I would call an anti-materialistic opinion. So perhaps he would target something like a department store, but... what real damage would that do?"
"Are you kidding? Boris, this is New York. Have you seen all the ladies on Fifth Avenue?"
He laughed, then said, "I wish I could be helpful in guessing a possible target... but this man has so many hates." He informed me, "He did not like women, though he is not gay. He was a... puritan. He would, like his leader Khadafi, go into the desert for weeks at a time to pray, and live on bread and water. He rejected all comforts and material objects, except his clothing and his weapons."
"Not a fun guy."
"No. In fact, a rather boring man. But regarding a hated target... his biggest hate was simply America, and everything about America, so he has many targets."
"Right."
"He considers America corrupt, decadent, and weak."
"What's he have against decadence?"
Again, Boris laughed and said, "He considered me decadent. Can you imagine that?"
Well, yes, but I said, "Maybe he needs a night in Svetlana."
"It would be good for him," he agreed. Then he said to me, "Khalil had a favorite expression--'the Americans know too much of gold, and they have forgotten steel.'"
Well, there could be some truth there. But rather than tell Boris that, I said, "Let me ask you a more specific question about the CIA and Kh
alil, and you don't have to answer this, but if you don't, I might have to pull the plug on you."
No reply, so I asked him, "Did the CIA have any involvement with Asad Khalil?"
Again, no reply.
I waited.
Finally he said, "This is not something you want to know."
"Then why did I ask?"
Finally, he replied, "You understand that my friends in Langley were not giving me too much information during my debriefing. They were asking me questions. But as a trained interrogator yourself, you know that one can learn much from the questions."
"What did you learn?"
"I learned... the CIA and the KGB have much in common."
I didn't reply and waited for more.
I pictured Boris lighting a cigarette and sipping vodka. Then he said, "I have no idea if Khalil and the CIA had any sort of understanding then--or now. But I will tell you this--when a country is attacked, the people rally to the government. You saw this on 9/11. But when a country is not attacked--or has not been attacked in... let us say almost two years--then people forget. And perhaps they become critical of the government, and critical of the methods used by the government in fighting the enemy. In America especially, people resent any loss of their liberties. Correct? So what is the solution of the government? To hand back the power to the people? No. The solution is another attack."
Again, I didn't respond, but I completely understood what he was saying. Boris, though, was... well, a Russian. A KGB guy. And these guys loved their conspiracies. And they loved to speculate about secret plots and all that. So when I asked him to speculate, I'd hit his X-Files button.
"Mr. Corey?"
"Sorry, I was making notes for a movie script."
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Not at this time," I assured him.
"Thank you for your call. And for the week."
"You're quite welcome, and don't forget to call me if you should happen to kill him in self-defense."
"My attorney first, then you."
"You're a real American, Boris."
"Thank you." He stayed silent awhile, then said to me, "Whatever he has planned for you, Mr. Corey, is not going to be pleasant."
"Right. You too. And probably you first."
He didn't reply to that and we hung up. I got a beer and sat on the balcony.
Well, I might now know a little more about Khalil's head, but I wasn't any closer to finding him. And I wasn't any closer to figuring out what else he had planned here. But I was a little more certain that he had something planned--something chemical, biological, or, God forbid, nuclear. Something given to him by his backers.