The party of five men crossed the pavement from the leading car into the hotel and I got out of the Mustang and walked back towards the telephone box.
The man inside was talking but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I walked fairly fast, with the paper under my arm. Every one of the twelve cars parked between the Mustang and the first intersection was empty and there were no cars parked along the other side of the street. The man had walked here, turning this corner. He wasn't interested in me. He'd seen me sitting at the wheel of the Mustang but it hadn't meant anything to him: his basic training was narrow focus and all he could think about was obeying orders and his orders were to make a signal when James K. Burdick arrived at the hotel. If the man had been police or FBI or any trained service operator he would have done one of two things: he would have come right up to the Mustang to check or he would have kept out of my driving mirror.
I reached the corner.
Note two people leaving blue Chevrolet and walking south.
Note patrol car heading in this direction from the next intersection.
Note light-haired girl walking north on opposite side.
Fine rain beginning.
Three cars stopped at the traffic lights, this side: two cars stopped at the lights the other side. A cab went through on the green and the lights changed and the patrol car slowed and prepared to stop.
The traffic lights would govern my sequence of actions, then. There was nothing I could do about that.
Red.
The rain began jewelling the green spring leaves above the pavements and drops fell, darkening the ground. There was no need to note consciously that wet stone is more slippery than dry: the body would adjust automatically.
Green.
One of the cars opposite turned south and the other north. On this side two turned north. None of them stopped at the hotel.
Wait.
Assuming it was a genuine case of cardiac arrest I supposed Finberg had been overworking or had been under the strain of what he knew. Or the strain could have been greater than that: he had vital information and had decided to reveal it and knew the consequences would be heavy and when the time came to make his revelation the stress factor rose to fatal levels.
Assuming it was suicide under the guise of cardiac arrest and using some discreet form of cyanide the same considerations were valid: as the time came for making his revelation the stress factor rose and he swallowed something.
Discount possibility of homicide in those high-security environs.
Red.
Four cars pulled up and the patrol car began moving.
The man was still in the box.
Police don't like people standing at corners in the proximity of a place where security is mounted so I turned and walked north towards the telephone box as if waiting to use it. If they were alert to the situation it would appear normal.
A slightly worrying factor was that if the girl saw the occurrence she might scream and the patrol car might still be within hearing distance and I didn't want any trouble because there wasn't time to have Ferris get me out of it.
Consider abandoning.
The police observer was checking me as I opened the paper. The patrol car didn't slow.
The light-haired girl was walking slightly quicker because of the rain. Jeans and a mackintosh and a music satchel.
The two people walking south were out of sight and there was no one else between the two immediate intersections.
The man came out of the box and began walking towards me.
I looked down at the paper.
The time was telescoping to a narrow band of three or four seconds and I reviewed the situation and it was like this: the girl was almost abreast of me on the opposite side of the street and her head was down because of the rain. The patrol car was fifty yards away to the north and if the girl happened to scream it would be heard and the driving mirrors would pick up the occurrence. Given another two seconds the situation would change and the girl would be too far ahead to see anything and she wouldn't scream.
But the man was only one second away from me and we were walking towards each other so I decided not to risk anything and just turned round and walked back towards the intersection, slowing until he came abreast of me.
This would have alerted him despite the fact that he didn't know I was the man he'd seen sitting in the Mustang. Compensation was provided by my now being in a vulnerable position with my back turned slightly towards him and both my hands visible on me edges of the newspaper. In case this wasn't sufficient I swung very fast and obliquely and took him low and brought medium force to the neck as he came down quietly and my right hand cupped his head to stop it hitting the pavement.
Armpit-holstered.22, knife, no wallet, no papers, no chequebook, no identification of any kind.
When I walked back to the Mustang the girl was halfway to the hotel entrance, hurrying because I supposed she'd washed her hair and didn't want to get it wet.
'Where are you?'
'Kennedy Airport'.
Pause.
He was listening for bugs.
That meant he wasn't in one of our safe houses and he wasn't in a hotel so where the hell was he? I couldn't ask. It's all right to be at an airport but not all right to be in a place where you've got to listen for bugs.
'Time check,' Ferris said.
'03:12.'
He paused again.
I couldn't tell what was worrying him.
All he'd said when I rang him at 22:09 last night was get into New York. He hadn't asked for a report or anything. I suppose the Finberg thing had shaken the network badly.
The rest of the passengers from Washington were still coming past and I watched them. I was fairly confident about security but you've got to watch everyone, all the time, wherever you are: men when you notice the same type showing up in two or three different places you know he's watching you.
'Did you get anything?' Ferris asked.
'That's a pretty odd question.'
'No,' he said, 'I'm all right'
Fair enough.
If he'd been talking under duress or in the presence of a third party he would have answered: 'It only looks an odd question.' So whatever was worrying him it wasn't that.
'Yes,' I said. The Secretary of Defence had a tag on him last night at 22:00 hours,'
'What sort?'
'I'd say it was someone from a local cell or someone working for a bigger organization, probably blind or at least without any specific rdv's or cut-outs. Routine training, smaller than a hit-man, bigger than a peep. Gun carried but a lot of trouble taken to remain unidentifiable in case of arrest. His job was to signal when the Secretary of Defence arrived at the Quaker House Hotel and he did it by telephone.'
In a minute Ferris said: 'All right.'
He sounded very tense but I didn't make any comment or ask any silly questions: if your director in the field isn't tense most of the time it means you're not getting warm.
The last of the passengers went past and I memorized them, concentrating on those walking by themselves.
'All right,' Ferris said again. 'You know the objective for this phase.' I began listening very carefully. 'I want you to take him over without letting the other two know.'
'Two?'
'The third one's just been hospitalized in Bellevue. He's in intensive care.'
Shown his hand.
This was conceivably why Ferris sounded so worried.
'For Christ's sake get me running,' I said.
'Yes.' Another brief pause. The objective is in Room 23 of the Lulu Belle Hotel on Broadway and West 69th Street. As soon as you feel you've got full control I'll call the other two off. Questions?'
Couple of dozen but none that I could ask. London was probably in a flap over Finberg but Ferris wouldn't tell me that: it doesn't do the man in the field any good to know the network's got the shakes. My report on Burdick's tag could have been vital or useless and he wouldn't tell me that either unless it would help me to know. What 1 had to do now was go after Satynovich Zade and leave the rest to Ferris. 'No questions.'