She nodded, then asked me, "Have you told Tom about Boris?"
I knew I couldn't lie because she'd check with Walsh, so I replied, "I have not."
"Why not?"
Good follow-up question. And I couldn't finesse this, and I didn't want to tell her the truth, so I retreated into the last refuge of husbands and boyfriends and said, "Trust me."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Trust me."
She looked at me, and after a few seconds she said, "You're going to wind up either dead or in jail."
"Neither."
She then asked me, "Have you called Dick Kearns like you always do when you're going around the FBI?"
I didn't reply.
We made eye contact and she said, "Tell me about Boris."
I took a deep breath, and told her about my trip to Brighton Beach and Svetlana, leaving nothing out-except Veronika. I concluded with, "Boris convinced me to give him a week, and I agreed. And now I want you to do the same." I added, "He sends his regards."
She processed all this very quickly and asked me, "Are you crazy?"
"Yes, but that's not relevant."
She retreated into some deep thinking, then said, "I did not hear this."
I nodded.
She advised me, "Call Tom."
I stood and bent over to kiss her, and she took my head in her hands and gave me a long, hard kiss, then said, "I know you'll be looking for Khalil tonight. Be careful. Please. We have a long life ahead of us."
"I know we do." I squeezed her hand and said, "I'll call you later."
Back in my apartment, I spent the rest of the afternoon doing paperwork.
I spoke to Paresi again, who didn't have much new to say except, "Everyone is revved up about tonight."
"Let's not get too excited."
"Yeah… but at least we're doing something-not just reacting."
"Right. The best defense is a good offense."
I'd noticed that Tom Walsh wasn't calling me, and I guessed that he wanted to distance himself from me, or from this operation, in case it went south. If, however, I nailed Khalil tonight, Walsh was waiting in his apartment with a car running outside so he could share the moment with me.
I said to Paresi, "If it goes well tonight, I'll see Tom with his photographer in the park."
Paresi did not respond to that, but said, "Good luck and good hunting."
At 5 P.M., I cleaned my Glock and took three extra magazines of 9mm rounds. I also cleaned my off-duty weapon, which is an old.38 Smith Wesson Police Special. The high-performance automatics like the Glock sometimes jam, and though I've never had a jam, it was possible, so the second weapon should be a basic revolver, which is less likely to go click, click when you want to hear bang, bang.
I rummaged through my closet and found some clothes for my walk in the park, then I found an old Marine K-bar knife that's been in my family since Uncle Ernie served in the Pacific. The knife, according to Uncle Ernie, had drawn blood, so it was not just any knife; it had been baptized.
It also needed sharpening, which I did with a honing stone from the kitchen drawer. And while I was sharpening the big knife, I understood a little of how ancient warriors must have felt on the eve of battle-or modern soldiers, who sharpened their bayonets before an attack. The sharpening of the steel was less about the cutting edge of the blade than it was about the cutting edge of the soul and psyche; it was an ancient communion with every man who ever faced battle and death, and who stood with his comrades, but stood alone, with his own thoughts and his own fears, waiting for the signal to meet the enemy, and to meet himself.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
At 10 P.M., I went down to the lobby where a Special Operations supervisor, FBI Special Agent Bob Stark, was waiting for me. I knew Bob, and he was one of the good guys.
I was wearing khaki pants, white running shoes-but no flashing lights on them-and a white pullover jersey. It was drizzling on and off, so I had on a tan windbreaker and a tan rain hat. It was kind of a dorky outfit, and I hoped I didn't run into anyone I knew. Except, of course, the Libyan guy. More importantly, I hoped that Khalil or his pals didn't realize I was dressed to be seen in the dark.
Stark and I went over the assignment, and I took a park map from him in case I got lost, which I sometimes do in the park. I did a commo check on my wire, and we made sure my GPS was up and running.
I had my Kevlar vest on, of course, and my Glock in a hip holster and the S W stuck in my gun belt on the left side for a quick crossover draw.
Stark noticed the sheathed K-bar knife on my gun belt, but he didn't comment on that.
I also had my cuffs with me, as per regulations, but I seriously doubted I'd get to use them.
On the subject of bringing him back alive, Bob offered me a can of Mace, and I said, "Thanks, but I forgot my purse."
Satisfied that I was good to go, he said to me, "Okay, I'll be in a commo van, and I'm SO One, and you are Walker-"
"Hunter."
"It doesn't… Okay, you are Hunter. As you know, the wire is an open channel, so when you speak, everyone on the surveillance teams, countersurveillance, and SWAT can hear you. But to keep wire traffic at a minimum, my teams will speak to me via cell radio, and I will relay to you-though if something is urgent, you will hear directly from a surveillance person on your wire."
"Understood."
He said to me, "Good hunting, Detective."
I said to him, "If it gets late and the weather gets bad, will you let me know if the FBI guys went home?"
He smiled and advised me, "This is not a good time for you to make FBI jokes."
"Good point."
So off I went.
I stepped outside and stood under the lights of the apartment canopy, then moved toward the curb and stood there a moment, feigning dejection or indecision. This was the only place where I could be picked up by the bad guys, so I lingered, without being obvious.
East 72nd Street is a wide, multi-lane road that runs both ways, and it's a busy street, so it would be hard for me to tell if anyone was watching me from the street or from a vehicle-but the surveillance team would have picked that up by now, and Stark wasn't talking to me on my earphone.
Remembering that Khalil had planned this for years, and that he had local assets here, my best guess, as I'd told Paresi, was that Khalil's friends had rented an apartment or an office on this street. And as I also told Paresi, these guys would be keeping my front door under 24/7 surveillance with a mini camcorder mounted in one of these thousands of windows. That was a fairly standard method of safe-distance surveillance, and all it took was money, manpower, and guys who didn't mind staring at a monitor all day and night, looking at an image of my front door. If you're going to kill someone, it's good to know where they are and where they're going.
I turned to my right and headed toward Central Park. By now, if I'd been seen, Abdul was calling Amin who was calling Asad.
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.