At five o’clock, Teddy dressed in black coveralls over his clothes, checked his makeup and went downstairs for the scooter. With the helmet and goggles, plus the makeup, he would be unidentifiable. He wiped the scooter for prints, then put on his driving gloves and pushed it into the street.
Twenty minutes later he was driving past the Iranian embassy to the U.N. and checking out the block. No doubt the embassy was under surveillance, and the second time around the block, he spotted two bored-looking men in a green Chevrolet sedan. They were dressed too neatly for NYPD detectives, so he reckoned they were FBI.
He went around the block again, then parked at the end of the street, some distance behind the surveillance vehicle, and waited. At five minutes before six, a black Lincoln with diplomatic plates drove up and double-parked in front of the embassy. At exactly six o’clock, the front door of the building opened and a middle-aged man in a pin-striped suit came down the front steps and got into the car. While the driver was holding open the door, Teddy checked his face against the photograph Irene had e-mailed him. A moment later, the driver was behind the wheel, and the car was moving. The FBI guys were moving, too.
Teddy stayed behind the two cars waiting for rush-hour traffic to do half his job for him. This took less than five minutes. Everything came to a halt because of some obstruction ahead. And Teddy saw the head of the diplomat’s driver come out the window, checking out the traffic.
Driving between lanes, Teddy accelerated around the FBI car and kept moving forward, his feet occasionally touching the pavement to help with his balance. The driver’s window was still open as he pulled alongside.
AT THE BARN, Holly and Ty were making their presentation to Lance and Kerry.
“There are a dozen candidates,” Holly said, “but we’ve narrowed the field to three for our purposes.”
“What criteria did you use for narrowing?” Kerry asked.
“Nothing more than a gut feeling,” Holly said, “because that’s what we think Teddy will use to make his choice.”
“Why?”
“We think this process is emotional for Teddy. He’s doing this out of hatred for people he believes are enemies of his country.”
“Okay, let’s hear the three candidates,” Kerry said.
“Two men and a woman,” Holly said. First there’s Ali Tarik, who is a thug whose specialty is tracking down Syrian defectors to the States and beating them up or killing them. Then there’s Carla Mujarik, who is in charge of buying materials for the Iranian nuclear weapons program. She buys what she can get, either in the U.S. or abroad. It’s a tough job, but she’s had some success. We haven’t cut her off yet, in the hope of catching some big rats among the sellers.“ She held up another picture. ”This is Hadji Asaam, an assassin, pure and simple, who’s only been in the country for a week or so, but who we think has been brought in to kill some specific person as yet unknown to us. As you know, we’ve got this heads-of-state meeting at the U.N. coming up, and that makes him worrying to us.“
“Ugly bastard, isn’t he?” Lance said.
“That’s why he’s our number-one candidate,” Holly said. “We think Teddy will have the same reaction you did when he sees his picture.”
“You’re operating on the premise that Teddy still has access to Agency files?”
“Yes.”
“But all the codes have been changed, and there’s a big internal investigation run by Irene Foster in Hugh English’s office underway. How could he possibly get into the mainframe again?”
“We don’t know, but we have to operate on the premise that Teddy is smart enough to figure out a way to know what we know.”
Lance shook his head. “That’s a mighty big assumption,” he said.
“Why?” Holly asked. “He was at the Agency long enough to figure out ways into the computers, and he may even have inside help among the people he knew and worked with before he retired. Some of them may feel some sympathy with what he’s doing. To be perfectly frank, I feel some sympathy with what he’s doing. Don’t you?”
“I’m not answering that,” Lance said. “All right, let’s follow your hunch and see where it leads us.”
“God knows,” Kerry said, “we don’t have anything else to go on.” He opened a file and looked through it. “Looks like the New York field office of the Bureau has round-the-clock surveillance of Asaam.”
“How much surveillance?” Lance asked.
“Two men.”
“All right, let’s triple that,” Lance said. “Let’s put Holly and Ty on him, and we’ll assign another team, as well.”
A secretary knocked and opened the door. “Lance, there’s a Lieutenant Bacchetti on the phone for you; he says it’s important.”
Lance picked up the phone and pushed the blinking button. “Dino? What’s up?” He listened for a moment. “How long ago?” He listened again, then thanked the caller and hung up, shaking his head.
“What?” Kerry asked.
“A man on a motor scooter shot Hadji Asaam fifteen minutes ago, while your two agents watched. He got away in the rush-hour traffic”
Holly and Ty exchanged a glance.
“Well, Holly,” Kerry said, “it looks like your theory of how Teddy chooses targets might be pretty good.”
Holly felt a warm glow inside. “If it is, then we’d better beef up surveillance on Ali Tarik and Carla Mujarik.”
“Done,” Kerry said.
FORTY
HOLLY STOOD AND WATCHED the young man through the one way mirror of the interrogation room. He looked worried and baffled; the contents of his pockets lay on the table before him. She opened the door, walked into the room and sat down, opening a thin file folder and regarding it for half a minute before speaking.
“Your name is Bernard Taylor?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Bernard, you own a Vespa motor scooter with the New York State tag number 1059, is that correct?”
“Yeah, uh, or at least it was until earlier today.”
Holly tried to look disgusted. “Come on, Bernard, you’re not going to tell me it was stolen earlier today.”
“No. Uh, I sold it. Earlier today.”
Holly shook her head. “Let me put you straight, Bernard.”
“You can call me Bernie; everybody does.”
“Listen to me, Bernard. You’re about to be arrested as an accessory to a murder. Do you know what sentence you could get as an accessory?”
“No. Uh, I mean, I didn’t commit any murder.”
“We’re not saying you pulled the trigger, Bernard, just that you supplied the motor scooter. As an accessory, you get the same sentence the murderer does, and in New York, that’s the death penalty.”
“All I did was sell my motor scooter!” Bernie wailed.
Holly poked among the pile of his pocket contents on the table and her finger stopped on an envelope. “What does this envelope contain?” she asked, though she already knew.
“The money from the sale of the scooter,” Bernie replied.
Holly opened the envelope, removed the contents and quickly counted thirty one-hundred-dollar bills. “Three thousand dollars,” she said. “Bernard, is that your price for participation in a cold blooded murder? You came cheap.”
“No, ma’am,” Bernie said, “It’s my price for my scooter. That’s what the guy paid me.”
“All right,” Holly sighed. “Tell me your story for the record. Just for your information, you’re being recorded.”
Bernie related the details of the sale of his motor scooter, while Holly took notes.
“His name was Jeff Snyder?” Holly asked.
“That’s what he said.”
“What I.D. did he show you?”
“Nothing. I didn’t ask for nothing. He had the money; that was all the I.D. I cared about.”
“Describe this Jeff Snyder.”