The horsemen drew nearer and Abrams could see they were men in their early thirties, dressed in jeans and Windbreakers. They both held the reins with two hands and he watched for sudden movements that would indicate they were going for weapons or reining the horses in.
The riders were still at a full gallop as they came within ten yards. Abrams stopped and knelt on one knee. Katherine saw him and did the same.
Abrams looked at the few other people scattered around. They were either innocent bystanders or they were very good at acting the part. He kept the .38 between his thighs, both hands wrapped around the grip. The rider closest to him came abreast, let loose of the reins with one hand and raised his arm.
Abrams brought his revolver up. The rider, halfway through a wave, stared wide-eyed, his mouth open, then shouted something and both men spurred their horses.
Abrams stood and holstered his gun. He said to himself, “Another New York horror tale enters the annals.” He drew a deep breath.
He walked down to the narrow path and watched Katherine approaching. He noticed she was pale and shaking, and he put his arm around her shoulder. “I think we’re taking a cab back. Come on.” He began leading her up the slope toward the parkway.
She pulled away. “No. We’re going on. Peter may be waiting for us.”
Abrams said, “This is not a good idea anymore. Too chancy. Too many people around now.”
She looked at him and replied coolly, “There’s a great deal at stake. We’re armed, we’re together, and we’re expecting trouble. I don’t want to get run over by a car one night… I want to meet this head on. Don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes… okay… I’d prefer a known rendezvous with fate.”
“Let’s go.” She turned and began jogging. He followed. They passed under the concrete piers of the Verrazano Bridge, and continued past Fort Hamilton, around Gravesend Bay, then entered Bensonhurst Park, a distance of three miles that they covered in just under forty-five minutes. They walked through the park.
Abrams took several long breaths as he looked around. To the north there was a very reduced Manhattan skyline, to the west Staten Island, and to the south and east a great pasture of black asphalt from which rose a seaside shopping mall dominated by a discount department store. Abrams said, “Welcome to Bensonhurst.”
Katherine forced a smile. “Homesick?”
“Sure.” He looked at her. “Should we stay awhile?”
She nodded. “This is another rendezvous point I arranged with Peter.”
They walked the paths in silence for some time. Finally, Katherine said, “I usually go into the mall and use the facilities. I’ll buy you an orange juice.”
“Okay. They might be having a Memorial Day sale on the large cup.”
They walked across the crowded parking field toward the mall. Katherine said, “I spoke with my sister yesterday — there’s a secure phone with a voice scrambler in Mr. O’Brien’s office.”
“Just your normal law firm voice-scrambler phone. What did she say?”
“According to Ann, there was no one code-named Odysseus, or Ulysses, who might have been involved in this business. There was a Homer, an Englishman, who did turn out to be a Soviet spy, but he’s dead and buried. Ann tried to call Nick about this, but she couldn’t get hold of him. They both have the same information anyway. I think we’ve reached a dead end there.”
Abrams said, “I thought one of those names might have some esoteric meaning to people in the know.”
“I also asked Pat O’Brien about it, but he said basically the same thing.” She paused, then added, “I decided I had to trust him.” She looked at Abrams, then continued, “But… he seemed very… quiet afterward. I think he knows something.”
Abrams nodded, then said, “I gave it some thought… and if those names don’t mean anything, then it has to be the theme of the story.”
“You mean a warrior who wanders for many years after the war, then returns home after being believed dead?”
“Yes.”
Katherine nodded. “Arnold was trying to give us a clue to his killer, or killers. Or a clue to Talbot himself.”
“Yes. Is there any warrior — a leader, an officer who has returned from the dead? Anyone who can be generally described as an Odysseus?”
She nodded. “There were a number of people in the OSS who were missing in action, then turned up alive after the war. But Ann ran that through her computer and discovered that most of them are dead now. The remainder are not involved in intelligence or government work of any sort. There are four who are, but they’re very unlikely candidates to be involved in this business.”
Abrams did not speak.
She looked at him for some time, then said, “There’s something on your mind.”
He replied, “Well… how about a man who has not yet returned from the dead?”
She stared at Abrams, then replied, “Those who have not returned from the dead are dead.”
He said, “Of course. I meant a man who was listed as missing in action but whose remains have not been found or identified. Perhaps someone who disappeared under unusual circumstances.”
She stayed silent for a moment, then said, “You know, there’s a scene in The Odyssey where Odysseus is wandering in the netherworld and sees the spirit of the hunter Orion forever pursuing the spirits of the animals he had hunted when alive. And Odysseus says of Orion, ‘Himself a shadow, hunting shadows.’” She held Abrams’ eyes and said, “That’s how I think of Arnold sometimes. That’s how I think of my father, too. Shadows forever pursuing shadows.”
Abrams said nothing for some time, then decided to let this oblique response pass, to not pursue any more shadows himself.
They entered the large mall, crowded with shoppers. Katherine commented, “Do you find it odd to walk among people when you know a great secret that they don’t know? Something so cataclysmic that it will put an end to this commonplace scene very soon. Do you have a sense of heightened perception?”
Abrams said, “I’m not sure we know much more than anyone in this mall. Unless, of course, Peter Thorpe is in the mall.”
She looked around. “I don’t see him. Do you see anyone you know?”
“No. I’m thirsty. Are you buying?”
“I don’t seem to have any money with me.”
“I see you’ve been dealing with O’Brien long enough to have picked up some of his bad habits, such as hitting me for loose change.”
She smiled.
Abrams bought two orange juices from the stand and handed her one. “I don’t want to miss Mr. Thorpe. What’s our schedule?”
“I told him we’d be entering Prospect Park by eleven thirty. We’ll take the subway up.”
He glanced at his watch. “We have some time.” He walked over to a game arcade and deposited a quarter into a machine. It was a space-invader game, and Katherine could see that Abrams was adept at it. She said, “I see where you spend your time.”
Abrams was concentrating on the game. “These little green bastards are trying to invade the earth, Kate — take that… and that!”
She laughed. “I can’t believe this.”
“Eye-hand coordination… quick think… snap decisions… Watch out!… Zap!”
She looked at the video screen. “Oh… they’re moving faster…”
“Have no fear… earth is safe when Tony Abrams is at the helm.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” The game ended and he straightened up. “Take a shot at it.”
She stood tentatively at the controls. Abrams pushed the button and the game began. She said, “I don’t understand this.”
“Just keep blasting away.”
She moved the controls erratically. “The green aliens are winning.”