As he walked he saw the Ford Escape leave the tail completely and move up the street. He called it out to his teammates, and they all surmised the Escape was heading to the subway station as well.
Sam asked over the net, “What are we doing, guys?”
Clark had been monitoring the progression of the tail. “You two have to call it. I’m not there and Ding doesn’t have the eye. Dom, I don’t want you guys in the subway if I can avoid it, but if you think this woman is in peril, I’ll approve you going down and watching over her. Dom? Sam? Talk to me.”
Sam watched the Ford stop at the entrance to the subway. Two Asian men climbed out of the back and hurried down the stairs.
Before Dom had a chance to respond to Clark’s query, Sam said, “I’ve got two potential North Korean FAMs descending into the Canal Street station. Both wearing light-colored button-downs under black business suits.”
FAMs meant the same thing to all four men on the net. “Fighting-aged males.” They could be spooks, military, or any other bad actor. Of course, they could also be insurance salesmen, on their way home from work.
But Clark was betting against the latter. “Sam, you stay in the vehicle. Ding, you catch up to Dom.”
“He’s in view ahead of me,” Ding said. It was evident he was still jogging, keeping his cover going as well as closing the distance between himself and the surveillance target.
Clark finished with, “Ding and Dom, follow Allende tight. Go overt if you have to, let the DPRK assholes know you’re there, but keep her out of danger. No unnecessary risks. You will lose comms with Sam and I up here, so reestablish contact as soon as you’re able. Good luck.”
In front of Dom, the Chilean woman in the raincoat descended into the station, unaware men were watching her at this moment, and equally unaware others were waiting for her below.
34
Canal Street station was surprisingly quiet, even for ten-fifteen on a weeknight, but a light stream of foot traffic on the stairs headed toward the track. Marleni Allende walked along with the others, all but unaware of her surroundings because her mind was still on her worries.
She passed through the turnstile on her way to the northbound N train, her mind still unable to free itself of the stress of the past few days. She told herself she’d done the right thing, no amount of money would assuage the guilt she would feel for the rest of her life if she succumbed to corruption. She considered herself a good Catholic, and though here in New York she had made many mistakes, finding herself unable to resist running up her credit cards and blowing through her life savings, she at least had the backbone to know that accepting a bribe from shadowy men obviously working for the interests of an evil regime was no way to dig herself out of her troubles.
She wasn’t paying attention at first, so she didn’t notice when, directly in front of her, two young Asian men walked on the platform against the flow of pedestrians heading toward the train. And she became only obliquely aware of them a moment later and took a step to the right because she sensed them in her path and approaching her direction.
When she noticed the two men adjusting their gait to move again in her path, now just fifteen feet away, she looked up. Both men eyed her without reservation and they kept moving toward her.
She slowed her walk in surprise. She didn’t have the training to be instantly fearful, but she thought they were perhaps walking up to her to say something.
At eight feet she sensed rather than saw both men reach inside their jackets.
As her eyes began moving down to see what they were retrieving from inside their coats, her heart lurched in her chest.
Oh, God! They are police and they know.
Just then she felt hands touch her from behind, grasping her at her elbows, and two men formed at her sides and began leading her gently but surely along the platform diagonally, out of the path of the men in front of her.
As she looked up at them, certain she was under arrest, one of them, smiling, spoke in a friendly voice.
“¿Marleni?” he said. “¡No lo creo! ¿Como te vas, amiga?” Marleni? I can’t believe it! How are you doing, friend?
She glanced up and saw the Asian men standing on the platform, their hands still in their coats. Confusion on their faces. The men leading her to the subway didn’t seem to notice them.
“¿Todo bien, chica?” the smaller of the two said. He was on her left, and he continued to guide her toward the track’s edge. He acted like he knew her, and was happy to see her, but it was clearly an act.
“¿Quién es usted?” she asked. Who are you? The man on her right was a little taller, just as dark but bearded, and he shielded her from the two Asian men who were now behind her. A few more people came forward on the platform as the train came to a stop.
The Latino with his hand on her back — from his accent, Marleni had identified him as Mexican — spoke softly now, still in Spanish. “Get on the train with us. It’s okay, we’re friends.”
She did as she was told, not because she understood or trusted him, but only because there were two of them and they moved her forward with gentle but unmistakable force.
When the doors closed, Chavez turned around to look for the two North Koreans, but he couldn’t see through the crowd of people leaving the train and heading for the exit. He thought it possible they had boarded another car, but he hoped the sudden appearance of him and Dom gave them enough pause to slow them down.
Chavez helped the woman to a seat; she was compliant but scared.
He said, “Ms. Allende. I don’t want to alarm you, I am a friend.”
“Who are you?” She clutched her bag. Ding was a forty-seven-year-old Hispanic male in warm-up pants and a gray sweatshirt. While he didn’t look threatening, his approach like this was jarring enough to make Allende wonder if perhaps she was about to be robbed.
“Those men have been following you since you met with Riley. We think it’s possible they were going to hurt you in some way. We can’t let that happen.”
“I don’t know any Riley.”
“He may have given you another name. I am talking about the man you met with at the restaurant on Mott Street twenty minutes ago.”
Allende’s face reddened. “I don’t know—”
“It doesn’t matter what is going on. We just want to make sure you are safe. Please let us escort you back someplace where we can talk.”
“I don’t know what this is all about. Really. I demand to be allowed to call my embassy immediately.”
Chavez said, “You aren’t safe in the subway. We can get you out at the next stop and meet friends at street level who can help us.”
Allende stood suddenly. Her confusion was subsiding quickly, and now she had acquired a sense of authority, even outrage. “I told you. I demand to speak to my embassy.”
The train slowed at the Prince Street station. Dominic moved for the door, his hand hovering at his waist, ready to draw his weapon if any North Korean operatives entered the car.
Ding said, “Okay. You can call whoever you want, but we’ve got to go up to the street, right?”
“I refuse to talk to—”
Dom spun away from the door, moved over to the Chilean UN official, and reached for his wallet. “Pay attention, lady.” He opened his wallet and displayed his Bureau credentials. “I’m FBI. You are coming with us.”
“I have diplomatic immunity.”
“And I don’t give a shit. You are not being arrested, you are being escorted to safety. You need to appreciate what is happening. We’re leaving right now.”