D.C.
I wet my hair and washed, and we both looked sparkly clean. She put on her new blue coat and sneakers and we were all ready to go. My plan was to get to the vicinity of Pat's apartment. When he rang at six o'clock, we'd be able to meet right away.
What was I going to do with the backup disk? I decided to hide it in the room, because I was going to split my gold; if the backup stayed here and Kelly came with me and we were lifted, at least they wouldn't have the whole enchilada. The long, dark wood sideboard with the TV on top covered a third of the room; it was about two feet high and rested on little half-inch legs. I lifted one corner, gaffer-taped the disk to the underside, and positioned a couple of telltales. One last look around the room and we left.
It was drizzling and slightly colder than earlier in the morning. Kelly was on cloud nine; I gave her the same smiles and happy noises back but underneath I was sweating about Pat. As we crossed the grass to avoid the lobby, I wondered about phoning Euan. I decided not to. Not yet, anyway. I might need him later. He was a card to keep up my sleeve.
The whole area was dotted with hotels. We walked across the road to one about four hundred yards away, and I went into the lobby and ordered a taxi. Kelly waited outside under the awning.
As I came out again I said, "When we get into this taxi I'm going to put your hood up and I want you to rest against me as if you're sleepy. Remember, you promised me you'd do exactly what I said."
The taxi turned up and took us to Georgetown. Kelly leaned against me, and I got her nuzzled in on my lap with her hood up so it hid her.
We got out on Wisconsin. It was four o'clock, and every body around us looked so normal as they chatted, strolled, enjoyed their shopping. Two hours to go before Pat rang. By five-thirty the Georgetown mall where we were sitting was quite warm and we were both feeling sleepy.
I was having a coffee, Kelly was having a milk shake, which she wasn't touching because by now she was full of burger. I looked at the display of my watch every half minute until it was five to six. Then I switched the phone on. Good battery level, good signal strength.
Six o'clock came.
Nothing.
A minute past.
Two minutes past.
I sat there almost paralyzed with disbelief. Kelly was absorbed in a comic she'd picked out for herself.
Four minutes past. This was desperate. Pat wouldn't let me down unless he couldn't help it. He knew as well as I did that on operations, if you're a minute late, you might as well be an hour or a day late, because people's lives might depend on it. The attack might have gone in, unsupported by your covering fire.
There must be a problem. A major problem.
I kept the phone switched on. Finally, at six-twenty, I said, "Come on, Kelly, we're going to visit Pat."
Now the normality stopped. There was serious shit coming down. All hope had evaporated. As we came out of the mall, I flagged down a cab.
Riverwood turned out to be a well-established, upscale area, rows of weatherboarded houses with neat lawns and two European cars in the drive, and smart apartment buildings with underground parking. The shops reflected its wealth, with good bookstores, expensive-looking boutiques, and small art galleries.
I stopped the cab a block past Pat's street. I paid the driver, and he left us in the light rain. It was getting dark, a bit earlier than it should have, but the cloud cover made everything gloomy. Some cars already had their headlights on.
"Let's hope Pat's in," I said.
"Otherwise we'll have to go all the way back to the hotel without saying hello!"
She looked excited about meeting him. After all, this was the man I'd said would help her go back home. I couldn't be sure if what I had said about her family had sunk in. I didn't even know if kids her age understood that death was irreversible.
Looking up the hill, I could see that Pat's street was pure Riverwood, broad and elegant, with houses and shops that had been there for years. Above the skyline one or two new apartment buildings seemed to be taking over, but even they looked very ordered, clean, and wealthy. I wasn't entirely sure which one Pat lived in, but it was easy enough to count the numbers and figure it out. We walked past, and I had a clear view into the secure rear parking lot. I saw the red Mustang, redder than Satan's balls. It was a quarter past seven. If he was there, why the fuck hadn't he phoned?
We went into a coffee shop across the way. The waft of newly ground beans and the blare of rumba music inside La Colombina took me straight back to Bogota; maybe that was why Pat had chosen to live here. We wanted a window seat, which wasn't a problem. The glass was misted up; I cleared a circle with a paper napkin and sat and watched.
Kelly was doing what she had been told, keeping quiet until I told her not to be. Anyway, Girl! magazine seemed the thing to shut kids up with. I checked the phone. Good signal, plenty of power.
A waitress came over to take our order. I was going to ask for food even though I didn't really want any because it would take time to prepare it, and then it would take time to eat it, and that way we could spend more time here without it looking unnatural.
"I'll take a club sandwich and a double cappuccino," I said. "And what do you want, Josie?"
Kelly beamed at the waitress.
"Do you do Shirley Temples?"
"Sure we do, honey!"
It sounded like a cocktail to me, but the waitress went away quite happily to order it. Kelly returned to her magazine, and I just kept looking out the window.
The drinks arrived. When we were alone again, I said, "What is that?"
"Cherries and strawberries, mixed with Sprite."
"Sounds disgusting. Can I have a sip?"
It tasted to me like bubblegum, but it was obviously what kids liked. She was guzzling it down almost frantically.
The sandwich mountain arrived. I didn't need it, but I ate it anyway. In my days in the SAS and since, I'd learned to think of food the way an infantryman thinks of sleep: Get it down you whenever you get the chance.
Things were running their natural course in the coffee shop; it was now coming up to three-quarters of an hour that we'd been sitting there, and you can stay in a place only for so long without arousing suspicion or drowning in coffee.
Kelly made the decision for me as she spoke.
"So now what are we going to do?"
I put some cash on the table.
"Let's zip you up and see if Pat is home."
We went out and walked past Pat's apartment once again.
The car was still there. I was desperate to know one way or another what was going on. If it was just that he didn't want to play anymore, that was fine. But I couldn't really see that; I knew that he wanted to help. There was a problem, without a doubt. But I needed it confirmed; then I could reassess and make a plan without him in it.
As we walked back down the hill, Kelly asked, "Do you actually know where Pat lives?"
"Yes I do, but I know he's not there yet. We've just walked past his place and I couldn't see him."
"Can't you phone him?"
I couldn't contact him directly; if the phone was tapped, I didn't want anyone to make the connection between us. I'd promised not to compromise him. But she'd just given me an idea all the same.
"Kelly, do you want to help me play a trick on Pat?"
"Sure!"
"OK, this is what I want you to do."
We kept on walking and started to do a circuit around the area. We practiced and practiced until she said she was ready to go. We got to a phone booth about three blocks away, an open booth attached to the wall. I brought the receiver down to Kelly's level.
"Ready?"
She gave me a thumbs-up. She was excited; she thought this was great.