He realized that, by following the jogging path, he was making it easy for his follower — if there was one. Better turn back to the north, get off the paths, and cut through the wooded area around the courts. The pursuer would have to stay closer. And then Gideon could figure out a way to double around and come up behind.
He cut off the path and entered the woods below the courts. There were dead leaves underfoot that rustled as he walked. He continued for a moment, then stopped abruptly, pretending to have dropped something — and heard the crunch of leaves behind him cease abruptly as well.
Now he knew he was being followed, and his stupidity began to dawn on him. He didn’t have a weapon, he was in the middle of the empty park — how had he allowed this to happen? He’d been upset about Orchid, who’d turned out to have feelings as tender as a damn teenager’s. He’d been worrying about Glinn and his medical folder. And as a result he’d let down his guard.
He started up again, walking fast. He couldn’t let them know that he knew. But he had to get out of the park as soon as possible, get among people. He swung around the tennis courts and took a sharp left, walked along the court fence and then, in a bushy area, briefly reversed direction and made a quick ninety-degree dogleg, angling back toward the reservoir.
That would, he hoped, confuse the bastard.
“Move and you’re dead,” spoke a voice from the darkness, and a figure with a gun stepped out in front of him.
28
Gideon halted, tensed to spring, but held his ground. It had been a woman’s voice.
“Don’t be stupid. Raise your hands. Slowly.”
Gideon raised his hands, and the figure took another step forward. She had a Glock trained on him with both hands, and he could see from her stance that she was thoroughly trained in its use. Slender, athletic, her mahogany hair was pulled back in a heavy, loose ponytail, and she wore a dark leather jacket over a crisp white blouse and blue slacks.
“Put your hands against that tree and lean out, legs apart.”
Jesus,thought Gideon. He did as he was told and the woman hooked one foot inside his and patted him down. She stepped back.
“Turn around, keeping your hands raised.”
He complied.
“Name is Mindy Jackson, Central Intelligence Agency. I’d show you my ID but my hands are full at the moment.”
“Right,” said Gideon. “Now, look, Ms. Jackson—”
“Shut up. I’ll do the talking. Now, I’d like you to tell me who you’re working for and what the hell you think you’re doing.”
Gideon tried to relax. “Couldn’t we discuss this—”
“You don’t follow directions well, do you? Talk.”
“Or what? You’re going to shoot me here in Central Park?”
“Lots of people get shot in Central Park.”
“You fire that gun and in five minutes this place will be swarming with cops. Just think of the paperwork.”
“Answer my questions.”
“Maybe.”
There was a tense silence. “Maybe?” she said, finally.
“You want me to talk? Fine. Not at gunpoint and not here. All right? If you’re really CIA, we’re on the same side.”
He could see her thinking. She relaxed, holstered the gun under her thin jacket. “That would work.”
“Ginza’s over on Amsterdam has a nice bar, if it’s still around.”
“It’s still around.”
“So you’re a New Yorker?”
“Let’s dispense with the chitchat, shall we?”
29
Sitting at the bar, Gideon ordered sake, Mindy Jackson a Sapporo. They said nothing while waiting for the drinks to arrive. In the light, with the coat off, he was able to see her better: full lips, a small nose, just a hint of freckles, thick brown hair, green eyes. Thirty, maybe thirty-two. Smart. But maybe too nice for her line of work—although, he reminded himself, you never could tell. The important thing was, even though he had no idea what it might be, she had information he needed—he was sure of that. And to get it, he’d have to give.
The drinks arrived and Jackson took a sip, then turned to him, a hostile look on her face. “All right. Now who are you and why are you interested in Wu?”
“Just as I’m sure you can’t tell me all the details of your assignment, I can’t tell you mine.” The walk over had given Gideon time to work up a story; but he had always felt that the best lie was the one closest to the truth. “I don’t even have a badge, as you do. Oh, by the way, as a professional courtesy I’d like to see yours.”
“We don’t have badges. We have IDs.” She brought hers out and quickly flashed it at him under the bar. “So. Who do you work for?”
“I know this is going to frustrate you, Mindy, but I work for a private contractor with the DHS. They wanted me to get the plans for the weapon from Wu.”
She stared at him and he could see she was pissed. “DHS? What the hell are they doing meddling in our affairs? With a privatecontractor?”
He shrugged.
“What do you know?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Wu spoke to you right after the accident. He said something to you. I want to know what it was.”
“He told me to tell his wife he loved her.”
“That’s not even a decent lie. He doesn’t have a wife. He gave you some numbers. I want to know what those numbers are.”
Gideon gazed into her face. “Um, what makes you think that he gave me numbers?”
“Witnesses. Said they saw you writing down numbers. Look,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You said it yourself. We’re on the same side. We should be working together, pooling our resources.”
“I haven’t noticed you pooling with me.”
“You give me the numbers and I’ll pool with you.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“Don’t be an ass. Give me the numbers.”
“What do the numbers signify?”
She hesitated, and he sensed that maybe she didn’t know. But numbers were always stimulating to a CIA agent.
“I’ve got a question for you,” he continued, pushing just a little harder. “What is CIA doing working domestically? Isn’t that FBI turf?”
“Wu was coming from overseas. You know that as well as I do.”
“That’s not answering my question.”
“I can’t answer your question,” she said, looking increasingly irritated. “It’s not my place to do so, and it sure as hell isn’t any of your business.”
“If you want to know anything more, you’re going to have to answer it. You can’t force me to talk. I haven’t broken any laws. Talking to an injured man, inquiring about his condition, isn’t illegal.” He wondered where Mindy had been during the firefight at the police vehicle yard. Cutting somebody’s head off, perhaps?
“If it’s in the interests of national security, I can damn well make you talk.”
“What, are you going to waterboard me right here at the bar?”
He saw her smile despite herself. She sighed. “This was too sensitive to hand off to the FBI. Wu was our honey pot. We set it up.”
“You set up the honey trap?”
She hesitated. “Wu went to a scientific conference in Hong Kong, and we learned he had the plans with him. We set it up.”
“Tell me about it.”
She hesitated again, seemed to come to a private decision. “Okay. But if you’d like a behind-the-scenes tour of Guantánamo, just try telling somebody— anybody—what I’m telling you now. We hired a local call girl to have a chance encounter with Wu in the bar at the conference hotel. She brought him up to her room and satisfied his every fantasy—and we got the goods on him, video and audio and stills.”