She waited until the Russian military transport had driven off to the east and out of sight. She didn’t think Severov was cold-blooded enough to just murder Amir. He would find some job for him that would keep him safely stashed far into the Russian homeland, and maybe the crazy Iranian would find his way home one day.
It was time to focus on the operation once again. She started down the same highway headed south, only this time she intended to catch a flight from Tartu to Stuttgart and get back to business immediately. If the Russians did invade as she thought they would, anything she did to slow down the Americans would be helpful. Now her main target would have to be her marine major, Bill Shepherd. And she had the entire flight home to figure out exactly how she could use him.
Walsh knew not to do anything stupid or sudden, so he put on a smile and said calmly, “What can I do for you, officers?”
It was clear the passenger was going to do all the talking, as the driver stayed right next to the cruiser. Years of abuse and unnecessary officers’ deaths had trained them not to get too close to people immediately.
The young man who was addressing Walsh had a very dark complexion, and his head was shiny in the midday sun. He said, “We were just wondering what you were doing on the street alone. We haven’t seen many pedestrians the last few days in this area.”
Walsh didn’t know if it was a trick to get him to say something that would reveal his identity or if it was just a “stop-and-talk,” as the cops liked to call it. He considered his options, and short of pulling his pistol and shooting fast, there were none. And no matter what he had done or how many years he could be facing in jail for something he didn’t do, Walsh was not about to shoot police officers just doing their job. But he did decide that he wouldn’t make it easy for them.
Walsh said, “Oh. I get it.”
The cop gave him a quizzical look and said, “Get what?”
“In order to continue to do your stop-and-frisks, you have to get a certain number of white people in nice areas so the numbers even out. I don’t agree with that, son.” He liked throwing in the “son” to make himself seem older, even though he was probably only three or four years older than this guy.
“Not sure what you’re talking about, sir.”
That made Walsh wonder if the cop threw in the word “sir” to indicate to him that he was an old man. Either way, Walsh had this guy on the line. He said, “I’m talking about how you guys constantly ignore Mayor de Blasio and continue to do things like stop-and-frisk even though he said the practice would stop.”
The cop near the car said, “And look where it’s gotten us the last few days.”
The black cop who had been talking to Walsh turned and gave his partner a sharp look that shut him up. He quickly turned his attention back to Walsh.
Walsh said, “I know you think he took the teeth out of enforcement and that he’s cutting back on your authority, but picking on me when I’m not doing anything at all is not going to help.”
The cop looked truly confused now and said, “All I said was, ‘Excuse me, sir.’ I don’t know where the rest of this is coming from.”
“It’s coming from a citizen who believed the mayor when he said he’d stop making the city a police state. What’s your probable cause for stopping me?”
“First of all, I don’t need probable cause to stop you. Second of all, I am not stopping you, I was just going to talk to you.”
“Am I under arrest or am I free to go?” Walsh had seen some attorney on TV say that was a phrase that forced cops to make a decision. Never give them a third choice.
The cop hesitated as he formed an answer. He was no idiot.
Walsh was ready with his next response when the cop turned as a radio call came over his handheld. The cops exchanged a quick look after a series of codes and an address not far from where they were standing.
Walsh recognized that the cop looked relieved they were getting a call.
The cop looked at him one more time and said, “Have a good day,” and as he slid into the car, Walsh heard him mutter, “Dickwad.”
25
Derek Walsh’s encounter with the New York City police officers had emboldened him. They didn’t recognize him, and he’d showed some balls. He needed to prove to himself he could get out of this, and for the first time he was starting to believe it. Now he sat in a diner off Spruce Street near Pace University’s Manhattan campus. There were even a couple of cops at a booth not far from him, but his confidence made him feel like no one even noticed him. Perhaps his plea to Tonya Stratford really had kept his photo off the news.
He had his cell phone but was hesitant to use it. If he called a number and it was traced, they might be able to get a fix on his position by looking at which cell towers the phone hit. For now, no one even realized he had a phone.
He’d made one call to the hotel and had a short and somewhat unpleasant conversation with Alena. Her belief that she was imprisoned against her will had only grown since he’d left her earlier in the morning, but he convinced her that he’d be back by six o’clock and everything would be all right. She just had to be patient. It was a tough sell, but by the time he broke the connection he felt confident that she’d stay put and spend the day watching Jerry Springer and Steve Harvey.
Then Walsh decided to take one risk with this phone. He called the switchboard at Thomas Brothers Financial. He knew the system and realized it would be difficult to trace a call unless they were waiting for it. Something told him that Ted Marshall was sincere when he said he would help. He certainly was nervous enough in the courtyard to make Walsh believe he was scared. He got no benefit from Walsh being accused unfairly. Walsh was going to have to trust someone besides Mike Rosenberg.
When the operator answered, Walsh asked for Ted Marshall. His former boss picked up the phone on the first ring. Tension strained his voice when he said, “Hello.”
Walsh said, “Ted, it’s me.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. I’ve been a nervous wreck since I tried to eat my lunch on that bench. What do you want, Derek?”
“Just what we talked about, nothing more. Get me on the network and I’ll get the photographs off my security plug.” There was a long pause, and Walsh added, “Come on, Ted, you know I’m straight up. You can stay with me the entire time I’m on the computer.”
“If you don’t get the photos, will you turn yourself in?”
Walsh thought about it for a moment and said, “You can call the FBI while I’m in the office.”
“That’s the problem. There will already be FBI agents in the office. Usually they’re totally focused on files and computers, but I will yell to them if you’re not on the level.”
“I swear I just need network access for my security plug. It will take like two minutes to see if I’m right. If not, I’m screwed anyway. Do you really imagine me as a fugitive for the rest of my life?”
Marshall sounded resolved as he said, “I guess not. It’s just that this is such a huge risk. We’ve gotta make it looked like I just ran into you in the lobby. I’ll need a little time. I’ve got some afternoon meetings, one of them with an FBI agent working in the office.”