The ticket had been delivered to her room in a sealed envelope early that morning, but she wasn’t sure which entrance to use. A large policeman saw her frowning as she studied her ticket and he asked her if she needed help. He had a badge on his chest which said his name was Murphy but his accent was a slow Maryland drawl with no trace of Irishness in it. He had a drinker’s nose, though, red and bumpy like she’d seen so many times on the faces of the men in the streets of Belfast. Officer Murphy pointed to where she should go, and wished her a nice day. He actually touched his hand to the peak of his cap, a gesture she associated more with Dixon of Dock Green than an American cop. The elderly man who checked her ticket at the turnstile was just as friendly. She could never get over how polite everyone was in America. Waitresses, policemen, bank clerks, people she met in the hotel, they all smiled and seemed to take a genuine interest in her. The people in Belfast were friendly enough, but there was still a coldness between strangers which didn’t seem to exist in the States.
She walked through the crowds to the stairway which led up to the level where her seat was. The stadium was buzzing expectantly, while down on the bright green playing surface players warmed up, throwing balls hard and fast and catching them with their large leather mitts. Even high up in the stand, Mary could hear the thwack of balls being hit home. Off to the side, by the dugouts, men were swinging bats, their arms extended, whirling them like propellers. Messages were being flashed onto a large electronic screen at the far end of the stadium, welcoming the fans and telling them who was on that day’s team. Men rushed up and down the aisles carrying boxes of beer cans, hot pretzels, hot dogs and soft drinks, shouting their wares. Food and drink was passed from hand to hand along the rows by the fans, and money shuttled in the opposite direction to be pocketed by the vendors.
The seat on Mary’s left was vacant, and to her right was a young boy, his head dwarfed by a black baseball cap with an orange Oriole logo on the front. He was eating a huge mustard-smeared hot dog and swinging his legs up and down while his father tried to attract the attention of the Budweiser-seller. Mary smiled down at the little boy and he grinned, his lips yellow with mustard. When Mary looked up, a middle-aged man wearing sunglasses was sitting next to her, a large tub of popcorn in one hand, a giant beaker of Cola in the other. He looked like a typical sports fan rather than the terrorist the world knew as Carlos the Jackal. The lenses of his sunglasses were pitch black and Mary could see her own reflection in them. “Good afternoon, Ilich,” she said.
“Mary,” he said quietly, turning to watch the players warming up. “It’s so nice to see you again. You are as beautiful as always.”
“Why thank you, Ilich. You’re too kind.”
He held out his tub of popcorn but Mary politely refused. The opening bars of the Star Spangled Banner began, and the stadium rumbled as the tens of thousands of fans got to their feet. Mary and Carlos followed suit, though they didn’t join in the chorus of cheers when the National Anthem finished and the Orioles ran onto the field. The opposition, a team from Minnesota, sat in the dugout while their first hitter went up to bat.
“How is everything?” asked Carlos.
“Fine,” said Mary. “I’ve rented a house overlooking the Chesapeake Bay, not far from Bay Bridge Airport.” She slipped him a piece of paper on which she’d written instructions and drawn a sketch map of the location of the house, and a set of keys. “Matthew is in Florida, when he gets in touch I’ll tell him to meet you in the house. How are the others?”
Carlos smiled. “A little tense,” he said. “They don’t like waiting. And Rashid is missing Lebanese food. Other than that, they’re raring to go. At the moment they’re in separate motels.” He pocketed the keys and the paper. “I’ll move them into the house tomorrow. How long is the lease?”
“I took it for six months, three months paid in advance. The electricity, gas and phone are connected, we won’t be having any unexpected visitors.”
“That is good, very good,” said Carlos. He scooped up a handful of popcorn and shovelled it into his mouth. The man always ate as if it was the last food he would see for some time, thought Mary. He never left any food on his plate, and she knew that Carlos would not throw any of the popcorn away. Any remaining when it came time for him to leave the stadium would be saved and eaten later. “The weather has been variable,” he said, his mouth full of popcorn.
Down below, the pitcher threw the ball and the spectators roared as it went straight into the glove of the catcher. “The changing of the seasons,” said Mary. “The forecast is good. But in any event, they can compensate for the wind.”
Carlos nodded. “I hope the game does not get rained out,” he said. “A rain check will be of no use to us.”
“You worry too much,” said Mary.
“I want to succeed,” said Carlos. “I cannot afford to fail.”
The little boy on Mary’s right was unabashedly trying to listen but she knew he was too young to follow the conversation. She smiled and the boy grinned back. His father smiled at Mary and began talking to his son about one of the players. Mary turned back to her companion. “Neither of us wants to fail,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It will be all right, Ilich. Trust me.”
“The luck of the Irish?” he said, grinning. He wolfed down another handful of popcorn.
“We’ve planned for every eventuality,” said Mary. “Don’t worry.”
Carlos swallowed. “You’re a cool one, Mary Hennessy. Where were you during the Seventies? I could have used you then.”
“The Seventies?” said Mary wistfully. “I was happily married then. I was a housewife and mother. I had a husband and I had a brother.” Carlos nodded and noisily sipped his Cola through a straw. Mary looked around the ball park. Every seat was full. The Baltimore Orioles were having a good season and the city had rallied to support them. Beyond the stands were the towering office blocks of the city centre. Mary shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand as she scrutinised the tall buildings. When she turned back to Carlos, his seat was empty.
Cole Howard left it until 10 a.m. before ringing Jake Sheldon’s secretary and asking if he could see the director. He wanted to be sure that Sheldon had seen the new computer-enhanced photographs and the written request for a wire tap. The secretary told him that Sheldon was at a meeting until noon but that she’d pencil him in for twenty minutes after that.
Howard picked up a set of the Clayton photographs and went along the corridor to the office Kelly shared with five other agents. She was on the phone and Howard read through the departmental notices on the wall while he waited for her to finish. “Good morning, Cole,” she said brightly as she replaced the receiver. He put the pictures on her desk and watched her as she scrutinised them. She brushed her blonde hair behind her ears, her eyes wide. He saw the glint of a wedding band. She looked up at Howard and then back at the photographs. “This is amazing,” she said. She was wearing a pale blue dress with short sleeves and gold buttons. It reminded him of one of his wife’s expensive Chanel outfits and he wondered who Kelly’s husband was and if he had money. “Are these from Clayton Electronics?” she asked.
Howard nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Can you run them by the people in the car rental office? Also, I’d like you to see if you can get a match from our files. Try Interpol, too. Let’s see if we can get a match now that we’ve improved the resolution.”