“Right.”
She looked at him. “You could be more sympathetic.”
“It was a stupid comment. If today weren’t Saturday, it would be Friday. If Hitler’s father had used a condom, Arnold wouldn’t be in charge of World War Two British archives in Rockefeller Center. So what?”
They rode down in silence and stepped off on the mezzanine. Abrams said, “I don’t want to run into Spinelli in the lobby.” They walked to the west end of the mezzanine, descended by a staircase, and exited onto Sixth Avenue. They began walking south.
The sun was warmer, and the avenue was beginning to come alive. Tourists with cameras were heading toward Radio City Music Hall and joggers jostled with pedestrians. Abrams glanced at Katherine’s jogging shoes and saw they were well worn. “Do you run?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever do Brooklyn?”
“Yes. Prospect Park. Sometimes across the Brooklyn Bridge to the Heights Promenade.”
Abrams said, “I can do the Prospect Park run, about twelve miles. Let’s run it someday.”
“How about Monday morning?”
“Am I getting Memorial Day off?”
“Sure.” She smiled.
They walked in silence for a few blocks, then Katherine said, “Well, what now?”
He took a while to answer, then replied, “I have to get back to the town house, get my tux and return it to Murray’s. Then I have to get back to Brooklyn, check my mail, pack a few things if I’m staying on Thirty-sixth Street, and—”
“That’s so… banal… mundane.”
“Most of life is like that.”
“People are dead. There’s a threat to national security—”
“Napoleon, on campaign in Austria, sent a long letter to his tailor in Paris complaining about the fit of his underwear. Life goes on.”
“I suppose. Listen, I’m having lunch with Nick. Join us.”
“Can’t.”
“I’d like to discuss these new developments: Brompton Hall, Arnold’s death, the attempt on your life.”
“We’ve discussed too much already. Let’s wait for Spinelli’s reports and whatever they’ve got in England. I’d rather deal in facts for a change of pace.”
She nodded. “Well… can’t you think of anything we should be doing in the meantime?”
“I have something at the dry cleaners, too. Also, we should try not to get murdered. Look over your shoulder a lot.”
They stopped at 42nd Street. Abrams said, “I’m going back to the town house. Where are you heading?”
“If someone tried to kill you there, why are you going to stay there?”
“Would I be safer in my place?”
“No.”
“So? Take it easy, okay? Call me about the run tomorrow.”
“Wait.” She took a slip of paper from her bag and handed it to him.
He looked at it. In her handwriting was written JFE 78-2763.
She said, “That was written in Arnold’s hand in the file sign-out ledger. It is not a file number. Does it mean anything to you?”
Abrams stared at the slip of paper. “Looks like… something familiar… I can’t think of what, though.”
Katherine said, “His murderers were sloppy not to read his file ledger. You were right — Arnold realized something was wrong, and tried to leave a message. There’s no other reason for him to put those letters and numbers on a page that I was supposed to sign for the files.”
“Sounds logical.”
“You know what those letters and numbers are, Abrams. Don’t bullshit me.”
He smiled and handed the paper back. “Call me Tony.”
“I’ll call you worse than that if you start playing games with me. I’m being straight with you. Do the same with me.”
He held up his hand. “Okay. Cool down. It’s a library call number.”
“Of course. So let’s go to the library and see what book it calls.”
“Which library?”
“The obvious one. Turn left. Walk.”
They turned east into 42nd Street and covered the block to Fifth Avenue quickly. They mounted the steps of the main library between the reclining lions.
Once inside the towering bronze doors, they climbed up the broad staircase, past the second-floor landing, and up to the third-floor Main Reading Room. Abrams gave the librarian the call number.
They waited for their book to be pulled from the stacks. Abrams said, “Tell me about your sister Ann.”
Katherine thought awhile, then replied, “She’s older than me, a bit more serious and scholarly, never married—”
“I’m not looking for a date,” he said brusquely. “What does she do?”
Katherine glanced at him. This reversal of the pecking order was somewhat disconcerting. She said, “Ann works for the National Security Agency. Codes, ciphers, cryptography… things like that. Electronic spying. No cloak and dagger, just radios and satellites.”
Before he could reply, their number flashed in red lights on the large indicator board and they walked quickly to the desk. Katherine picked up a massive green leatherbound volume. They looked at the gold embossed letters on the cover.
Abrams said, “Graecum est — non potest legere. It’s Greek to me.”
Katherine looked at him. “Oh, I’d hoped you weren’t going to say that.”
“Sorry. Seemed appropriate.”
“Well, you don’t need Greek to read the title—He Odysseiatou. It’s Homer’s Odyssey.” She opened the book and flipped through the pages. The text, too, was in classical Greek, and there were numerous markings in the margins and a few odd scraps of paper that she left in place.
Abrams said, “Did Arnold read Greek?”
“I saw a Greek book on his desk once. That’s one of the reasons I thought he might not be a clerk sergeant. I always suspected he was a ranking intelligence officer, which would indicate that the files had more importance than some of us thought.”
Abrams watched her examining the book and said, “The clue is not that particular book. The clue, if there is one, has to be the title, The Odyssey. Or the author, Homer.” He thought a moment. “Do those names have any significance to you? Someone’s code name?”
“No…”
“How about the protagonist, Odysseus, or by his Latin name, Ulysses?”
She shook her head.
“Then,” said Abrams, “perhaps the plot… the story line. Odysseus, after the fall of Troy, sets sail for home… He meets with misadventures… Circe, Sirens… and all that. He’s presumed dead, but ten years later he returns. Is that about it?”
“Basically… then there’s the end of the story… after ten years of war and another ten of wanderings, his wife Penelope doesn’t recognize him. But he’s left his bow at home and only he had the ability to draw it. He shoots an arrow through twelve axheads to prove to her it’s he.” She thought, then shook her head. “But I don’t know what Arnold had on his mind.”
“Well, you’re familiar with the cast of characters. Think about it. A piece of advice — think about it alone.”
She nodded, then looked at her watch. “I have about an hour before lunch. I’ll go on your errands with you.”
“To Brooklyn? Do you have a passport?”
“Don’t let Peter’s idiot jokes get to you.”
Abrams returned the book to the librarian, and began walking toward the card catalog room.
Katherine fell in beside him. “You handled yourself quite well with him. Ignore him.”
Abrams thought that to ignore Peter Thorpe was like ignoring a dark shadow at your window. They entered the hall and moved toward the staircase. He said, “I deduce that your things are still at the Lombardy. Why don’t we go there and collect them?”
She hesitated, then said, “All right. But… you can’t go up.”