“See, is guaranteed,” explained the cobbler. “A sole, guaranteed for the life of the shoe. What if you come in next year, you say I have given you a sole, when all I did was the heel? Ehhh.” He waved his hand as if he were smacking an imaginary cheater.
“You don’t remember your work?” said Fisher.
“Oh, I remember, but this way, I put it on paper, the customer just nods. I learn in the early days. Believe me, people cheat you.”
“I’ll bet,” said Fisher.
After Fisher’s heel was fixed and paid for, they sat together going over the notebooks from the past six months. Fisher jotted down addresses of people the cobbler didn’t recognize as being longtime residents of the area.
It amounted to only three entries. Each name was Arabic, though that was hardly telling in New York.
Fisher found a cab that had somehow strayed uptown in error and went to check out the addresses. One was over on Amsterdam Avenue, a few blocks away in a large apartment complex; the second was up in Inwood, the very northern tip of the island. And the third one didn’t exist.
Which naturally made it the most interesting of all.
Chapter 2
The bomb had already been made for him. All Faud had to do was put the wiring in and set it in the hallway. He had been warned to follow the directions very carefully or face catastrophe. He worried now as he stood with the wire over the connector: Had he followed the steps precisely right?
Surely he had, he told himself. It was a devil again distracting him. The imam had warned him of this.
Seeing the imam had been a surprise and a great consolation. He was prepared now. He had told himself before that he was prepared, but now he truly felt it.
The truck would be waiting. He would take the canister he had prepared and then drive to the station. So long as he went in at precisely two A.M., no one would see him. Once past the gate — he had practiced jimmying the lock already — no one would stop him or even ask about the bags he carried.
He could open them if asked. The gear inside looked as if it came from the fire department.
If all went well, he would be in his spot by four o’clock. And then he would simply have to wait.
Pray and wait. Things he was used to doing.
Faud’s fingers shook as he brought the wire near the connector on the bomb he was setting. Worry seized him.
What if the imam had lied? What if this bomb was not a diversion in case he was found, but a way of killing him?
The top was covered with a mesh bag of nails. His body would be torn to shreds.
He was unprepared and would not enter paradise if he died today. His hand jittered again.
No, he told the empty apartment. I trust the imam and I trust God. He closed his eyes and pushed the wire around the post, screwing it down as he caught his breath.
Chapter 3
Dr. Blitz frowned in the direction of the tuna fish sandwich Mozelle had brought, then turned his attention back to the draft report on the Korean government situation, studying the language the State Department had recommended the President use in his speech to the UN next Monday. The speech would call for a plebiscite on reunification, though the wording being recommended was so guarded even Blitz wasn’t sure that’s what it said.
Certainly there was a need to be diplomatic: Anything the President said might be interpreted as pressure and be used by Korean critics to stir up resentment not just in the North but in the South as well. Still, it had to be clear that the U.S. was not only in favor of the vote but would help Korea — all of Korea — work toward overcoming its divided and tumultuous past.
It would be an expensive commitment. Treasury had sent over a memo claiming that simply keeping the North from starvation would cost twice what the U.S. had spent on Iraq, and there were no oil reserves to defray the costs. Peace was an expensive proposition.
Blitz wasn’t generally one to worry about the costs of things; the bean counters would always complain, in his opinion. But Congress would undoubtedly use the money issue to throw up roadblocks.
An issue for tomorrow. Right now he had to get the speech right. Blitz brought up his word processor and began preparing a few changes. He was just getting into the flow when Mozelle buzzed in
“You wanted to talk to Major Tyler in Korea?” she asked. “He’s on line three. It’s pretty late over there.”
“Thanks.”
Blitz turned around to the phone.
“ Tyler?” he asked after punching in the line.
“Dr. Blitz?”
“I heard you had a bit of trouble out there,” said Blitz.
“Yes, sir. No serious casualties. Pilot broke his leg, some concussions. That was the worst of it.”
“God was with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What can you tell me about the UAVs?”
“Nothing beyond what was in the interim report,” said Tyler. “They look like mini-airplanes to me, or even something closer to spaceships. The radio control gear and the engines were missing. The design itself I guess was interesting, but I’m not an expert.”
“So you’re sure there were no engines?”
“Yes, sir. No engines there. Or the control apparatus they would need to fly.”
“Good,” said Blitz. He’d thought of having the President mention the weapons in his speech as an example of the North Korean threat-evidence that they were much more advanced than the intelligence community gave them credit for being — but now it seemed unwise. The project was obviously just another boondoggle. It would be interesting to see where the design had come from: Russia was the leading candidate, but it would be months if not years before it was tracked down.
“Tell me about North Korea. What’s the situation on the ground there?” asked Blitz. He listened as the Army major told him more or less what he had expected: The people for the most part were anxious and hungry. There were still bands of resisters, as his experience at the airfield attested. And there was a great deal of animosity between North and South, making for friction.
“Putting the two halves together won’t be easy,” Blitz said when Tyler finished.
“No, sir.”
“Has to be done, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you mind if I mention what you’ve told me to the President?”
“No, sir. I, uh, I’d be flattered.”
“He was asking about you,” said Blitz. “He knows you did a hell of a job.”
“Thank you.”
“You sound tired, Major. I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I hope to see you soon,” added Blitz as he hung up.
Chapter 4
Howe spent all of the morning and a good deal of the afternoon recounting the kidnapping for investigators. They were spare with their own details, but it was clear from their questions that they connected it with the Korean operation, an attempt by the Korean he had rescued to tie up loose ends.
Howe asked one of the investigators — a DIA officer named Kowalski — point-blank why they’d bother. Kowalski blinked a few times and then shrugged.
A long queue of messages awaited him both at the motel and on his cell phone’s voice mail when he was finally done with the interviews. He sat in the motel lobby systematically listening and recording the numbers and callers on a pad. Before he decided who to call back, however, he phoned his mother for the second time that day, just to reassure her that he was all right.
“Jimmy called you,” she said, mentioning his friend. “He’s hoping you’re all right.”
“Yeah, he called my cell phone too,” he told her.