“Can you get them to me today, Irene? I’d really like to pay the guy.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Why?”
“Lockwood is on special assignment, and he’s unreachable for administrative matters.”
“For how long?”
“Another month, six weeks. It’s impossible to put a date on it.”
“All right, I’ll mark his record as such, but I’m going to rely on you to get him up-to-date when he returns.” She’d be gone by then.
“I’ll ride herd on him. Where are you sending his paychecks?”
“Let me check,” she said, shuffling some papers. “An account in the Caymans,” she replied, finally.
“That sounds like our Charlie,” Irene said. “Thanks, Miriam. Bye-bye.” She hung up. It was unlike Teddy to be greedy, but she supposed that if he had created Lockwood-and after all, it had been her suggestion-the man would have to be paid in order to be credible.
She was relieved that she had announced her retirement to Hugh English, because she had just painted herself into a very tight corner. She had used her authority to authenticate Lockwood and thus, to protect Teddy, and Miriam Walker was certainly going to remember every detail of their conversation. She would remember that Irene had sounded as if she had known Charles Lockwood well. Maybe that “Our Charlie” had been a mistake.
She fed the memo from payroll into her shredder, which immediately reduced it to ash, then she logged on to the Agency mainframe and began looking at any assets they might have in St Barts. To her relief, there weren’t any: no station, no resident, no stringers. How many places were there left in the world where the Agency didn’t have, at the very least, a stringer? She wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into somebody she knew while she and Teddy were walking on the beach. Except in the unlikely event that Hugh English followed through on his retirement threat. She shuddered again.
AS IRENE WAS LEAVING the office that evening, Hugh English shouted at her as she passed his office.
“Yes, Hugh?”
“It’s going to be Bergin; you can start on him tomorrow morning.”
“Right”
“Did you get that payroll thing sorted out?”
“Yes. Turns out he’s an analyst in Intelligence. Somebody in payroll had entered the wrong division code on his pay record. You won’t hear from them again.”
“Thanks, Irene. Good luck on the house hunt.”
“Good night, Hugh.”
FIFTY-THREE
TEDDY WAS BACK in his shop with a spray bottle of Windex and a cloth, wiping everything down. He was going to have to move, soon; he was seeing way too many people on the streets who were looking for him. He had been very lucky to get out of the Rockefeller Center imbroglio without getting collared.
He went carefully over every doorjamb, every work surface, every piece of equipment, erasing any trace of himself. It took him more than two hours, and when he had finished he got into latex gloves. He would wear them whenever he was in the shop from now on. His apartment was next. He left the shop and walked back toward his building on Park, looking forward to a good dinner from Restaurant Daniel, served in his suite, and maybe a movie on TV.
As he approached the building he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a woman in the lobby, talking to the doorman and the super. He turned and walked back toward Lexington. The woman was the one with the baby carriage outside Saks earlier in the day. Had they traced him to the building, or were they just canvassing?
He went back to his workshop, donned his latex gloves, looked up the number for the doorman and dialed it. “Hello, William? It’s Mr. Foreman.”
“Good evening, Mr. Foreman.”
“Have I had a package delivered in the last hour or so, or anybody looking for me?”
“No, sir, but we had a lady from some government agency in here looking for somebody, she wasn’t sure who.”
“What was it about?”
“She wouldn’t say. She showed me a sketch of some guy that didn’t look like anybody I know. The super, neither. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Teddy thought quickly. Was there anything in the apartment he needed? Fingerprints-he needed to wipe the place down. “No, William. See you later.” He hung up and walked back to the building, holding his breath as he walked in, waiting for somebody to shout “That’s him!” He made it to the elevator and went upstairs.
He ordered dinner from downstairs, then put on his gloves and began wiping down the suite. He stopped for dinner, then went back to work. When he was satisfied, he began packing his clothes; he certainly wasn’t going to give them DNA from the sweat on a hatband or from his dirty underwear.
When he was nearly done, he called the doorman. “William, the building has a car service, doesn’t it?”
“Yessir. Can I get you a car?”
“Yes, going to Kennedy Airport.” He looked at his watch. “I have a flight for London at ten o’clock.”
“I’ll have a car for you in twenty minutes, sir,” William said. “I’ll buzz you when it’s here.”
Teddy changed into a business suit and packed the remainder of his clothes. He set his two suitcases and briefcase by the front door and sat down to wait for the car to arrive, increasingly nervous.
They must be canvassing every building in the neighborhood, he thought. It’s what he would have done, if he were Lance Cabot. From what the doorman had said, though, he and the super had given the agent nothing. The phone buzzed.
“Yes?”
“Your car is here, Mr. Foreman. Do you need any help with your luggage?”
“No, just meet me at the elevator.” Teddy collected his two bags and briefcase and went down in the elevator, where William met him. A black Lincoln was idling at the curb.
“How long will you be away, sir?” William asked as he put Teddy’s bags into the trunk.
“A week or so. Please hold my mail.”
“You never get any mail, Mr. Foreman. You’re the only one in the building that doesn’t.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Teddy said, chuckling. “It goes to my office. Would you let the people at Daniel know that they can pick up my room service dishes?”
The doorman held the car door open, and Teddy got in. “Have a good trip, Mr. Foreman.”
“Thank you, William,” Teddy said, slipping him a fifty.
“Thank you, sir!”
The car drove away. “Which airline?” the driver asked.
“British Airways,” Teddy replied and settled in for the ride.
AS THE DOORMAN WALKED back into the building, the super emerged from his ground-floor apartment. “Willie,” he said, “I just thought of something.”
“What’s that, Rich?”
“That agent who was here earlier this evening. The sketch didn’t look familiar, but you know, the description she gave sounded kind of like Mr. Foreman.”
William shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I guess it could describe a lot of guys.”
“Only one in this building, though,” the super said. “Have you still got her card?”
William rummaged in a drawer and came up with it. “Here it is,” he said, handing it over.
The super went back into his apartment, looking at the card.
Twenty minutes later the woman agent, accompanied by a dozen other men and women, flooded into the lobby of the building.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” William asked.
“What’s the apartment number for Albert Foreman?” she asked.
“Fourteen B,” William replied, “but Mr. Foreman left about twenty, twenty-five minutes ago.”
“Do you know where he was going?”
“Yes, ma’am, I got him a car from our service; he was going to Kennedy Airport to catch a ten o’clock flight for London.” He looked at his watch. “That means he’ll be taking off in about an hour and a half.”