There were a few chuckles in my earpiece, but no response from the boss.
Anyway, it was now about 11:30, and the drizzle persisted. It was getting colder, and I was wet, and the only thing that would make me happy now was Asad Khalil. And on that subject, I was fairly certain I could filet his throat before the surveillance teams could interfere.
I crossed Transverse Road at 86th Street, and to my right I could see the lights of the Central Park Precinct, which sits in the park. This was not bad duty if you like the outdoors. On the other hand, there is winter. No job is perfect. Not even this one.
Anyway, up ahead I saw the Reservoir, which is a large body of water, nearly a half mile across. There is a running track that circles it, and I saw two people jogging together. I mean, who jogs in the rain at midnight?
Stark said, "Hunter, we have some people up there at the Reservoir, and they report that there are only a few joggers, and no one has followed you, so I think it's time to call it quits."
I replied, "I'm going to jog around the Reservoir."
Again, a few groans, but more this time and louder. Hey guys, I'm the one trying to get mugged by a terrorist.
I got on the jogging track and began running in a counterclockwise direction, which is the rule. My running shoes and socks were wet, and I could hear squishing coming from my feet.
The track is about a mile and a half around, and after about five minutes I was starting to enjoy it, which is the first creepy step toward becoming a jogger zombie.
By now, of course, I'd given up any hope of meeting up with Asad Khalil, but if one of his goombahs was watching, he'd be calling Khalil now saying, "This man will die of pneumonia or a heart attack before you can kill him. Come quickly."
Anyway, I circumnavigated the Reservoir in about twenty minutes, which is not too bad, and I was so jazzed, I took a deep breath and said to Stark, "I'm going to do that again."
Stark replied, "Hold on-I'm trying to talk the SWAT team out of shooting you."
"Come on. Just one more-"
"It's over. The operation is over. Surveillance and countersurveillance all report no sightings. Time to go home."
"All right… but I'll walk back through the park." I gave him my route along the east side of the park and began my two-mile walk back to my apartment.
I headed south, along a path that took me past the rear of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was on my left, and the Egyptian obelisk on my right. I looked up at the towering stone obelisk, which was about 3,500 years old, and a profound thought took hold in my mind, which was, "That's pretty fucking old."
Anyway, I continued on, disappointed, but also strangely elated. It was like Paresi said-we were doing something, which was better than doing nothing; better than waiting around for that asshole to make his next move.
Tonight's operation was over, but I was still alert and I hoped my team hadn't gone home while I was still in the park.
I said, "SO One, Hunter here. You guys still with me?"
Silence.
"SO One, Hunter. Hello?"
Stark said, "I think everyone left."
"Joke, right?"
"Joke. Hey, pick up the pace. Everyone wants to cut out."
I don't really like jokes in serious situations unless I'm making them.
I said, "Hey, do me a favor-call Bellevue, get through the switchboard, and have someone on the security floor go into my wife's room and tell her I'm heading home."
"Will do."
I continued on, still thinking that there was a chance of making contact with the enemy. But the enemy was either oblivious that I was here in the park or they'd seen me, reported to Khalil, and he'd smelled a trap. But I was game to do it again, tomorrow night, and every night for as long as Walsh and Paresi believed this could work, and as long as they wanted to commit manpower to it. In fact, this was all we had. The only other way that we'd find Khalil was to wait until he sprung his own plan on us.
Up ahead was the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, and I stopped and looked at it. The Mad Hatter reminded me of Tom Walsh.
I continued on, then exited the park at Fifth Avenue and 72nd Street and began the walk home. The street was quiet at this hour, and the rain was a little heavier.
Stark said, "We'll try another location tomorrow night."
I said to everyone, "Thanks. Good job."
About eight or nine voices acknowledged.
I walked into my lobby, and Special Agent Lisa Sims, of all people, was on duty. She asked me, "How'd it go?"
"A good trial run."
She nodded and said, "Sorry to hear about your wife."
"Thanks. She's okay."
"Good." She took something out of her pocket and handed it to me. It was a silver dollar token from the Taj Mahal. She said, "For luck."
I smiled. "Thanks." I added, "It worked last time."
She smiled in return and said, "You look like you need a good night's sleep."
"Yeah. But you have to stay awake."
"Right… well, if you get insomnia… I'm here."
How shall I take that?
I wished her a good evening, walked to the elevator, got on, and drew my Glock.
I entered my apartment, gun in hand. I'd left all the lights on and they were all still on. I swept the rooms, returned to the door, and bolted it.
The bolt itself was good, but not great, though I had never worried about it. But if someone had a door ram with them, they could take out the lock and the bolt with one or two hits.
I wasn't getting paranoid or skittish-I was just thinking about worst-case scenario.
The bad guys could sometimes be clever and smart, but smart people also know when not to be clever and when to use brute force. Speed, surprise, and frontal assault-and I'd be falling thirty-four floors from the balcony, without a parachute, and Khalil would be waving good-bye and calling to me, "Your last free fall, Mr. Corey!" Splat.
That called for a drink, but it also called for being cold sober. So I had half a drink. I really hated this bastard.
I dragged the couch into the foyer and shoved it against the door.
Then I changed into dry clothing and sat in my La-Z-Boy. I turned on the TV and found a great old John Wayne movie-Danger Rides the Range-and when the Duke got into a gunfight with the bad guys, I aimed my revolver at the screen and helped him out. Bang, bang. Watch out, Duke! Bang.
At about 2 A.M., I went to bed. The bedroom door has a good lock, as I'd found out the hard way from two wives and one girlfriend, and for the first time it was me who locked the bedroom door.
I was completely pissed off that I had to live like this; this went against my training and my natural instincts to be the guy playing offense. But sometimes you just had to wait for the other guy to make his move, and when he did, the game would be over quickly.
I fell into an uneasy sleep and had a dream that Khalil and I had entered a big arena from opposite ends and were walking toward each other. It was night, and the stadium was empty, and it was very quiet, and only a few of the stadium lights were on, and there were dark shadows across the field, and we both passed through light and dark as we approached each other. And finally, we stood face-to-face, a few feet apart in a circle of light. We both nodded, and he drew a knife from his belt, and I saw it was covered with blood-Kate's blood. And he licked it. I drew my knife-the K-bar-and held it up so he could see it. He nodded again, and we moved toward each other. The stadium lights suddenly went out… and I could hear his breathing in the dark. Then he was close enough for me to smell him, and I heard him say, "I saved you for last."
I lunged at his voice in the dark, and felt warm blood on my chest, but I didn't know if it was his blood or mine-or both.