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At the corner, Gates suddenly turned right instead of left. He began hurrying up Seventh Avenue. And the traffic ran downtown only.

Here we go!

Rob found another hydrant on the corner and pulled in next to it. He jumped out and sprinted after Gates.

The doctor had a half-block lead. At the corner of Seventh and Twenty-second he got into the rear of a waiting cab. It lurched away, heading east on Twenty-second.

Rob grinned. That sly bastard! Must have called from his home and had a radio cab waiting for him! Rob paused long enough to get the cab's number off the roof light, then he searched Seventh Avenue for a cab of his own. None in sight. He kept running, past Twenty-second on to Twenty-third which was a two-way. Better chance to find a cab there.

He did. He flagged it down and flashed his shield as he leaped inside.

"Police. Put on your 'Not in Service' sign and move it up to Sixth! Fast!"

The driver was dark, his voice thickly accented.

"Begging your—"

"You'll get paid. Move it!"

The driver moved it. The card on the visor said his name was Achmed Moustaffah. Rob didn't care if he was Colonel Qadaffi as long as he could handle his rig and knew the streets.

The light was green ahead at Sixth. Rob directed Achmed to the curb at the corner. Now the hard part. Was Gates continuing east or turning uptown? When the red came, he watched. He'd give the other cab twenty seconds to—

Suddenly a radio cab went by on Sixth, heading uptown.

"See that cab?" Rob said. "Forget the light and follow it."

Achmed turned to him and grinned.

"Really? This is true what you say? 'Follow that cab?' Four years I have driven and so many movies have seen and have prayed that someone would say this to me! You are making me so happy!"

"If you don't shut up and start driving, we'll lose him!"

With a screech of balding tires, Achmed wheeled through the red light onto Sixth.

"Have no fear! We shall not be losing him!"

Rob slid over on the back seat until he was behind Achmed. He crouched down and watched Gates' cab ahead through the space between the driver and the window post.

The smart way to do this, of course, would have been to have a back-up ready. But Gates was not officially a suspect, so there was no back-up to be had. And even if there were, Rob wouldn't have used it. This was between him and Gates. Anybody else would get in the way.

Okay, Doc. You've made your move. Let's see where it takes us.

You look through the rear window of the cab and see no one following. A delivery truck, an off-duty cab. Easy to spot a tail at this hour of the morning.

You face front and settle back in the lumpy seat. You're disappointed. That was too easy. You almost wish for a decent challenge. This is like beating a street urchin at chess.

Well, no sense in following through with the rest of the route you had planned. No need for it now. You've achieved checkmate on the first move.

You tell the driver to let you off at the Plaza. He drops you on the Central Park Side. You walk in the bar entrance, past the stairway down to Trader Vic's, and into the Oak Bar with its dark paneling, the ornate white ceiling, the tiny lamps in sconces on the walls and pillars. You notice the sign. "Occupancy by more than 240 persons is dangerous and unlawful." You can't imagine sharing this room with 239 people.

You take a table by the window where you can see the park, and order a snifter of Remy Martin. You swirl it in the glass and inhale the vapors as the liquid warms, savoring the irony of sitting completely unnoticed in a place where only weeks ago, in a different body, you were notorious.

You are about to drain your snifter when the waiter sets another on your table.

"I didn't order this," you say.

The waiter smiles and nods his head toward the other end of the room.

"Compliments of the gentlemen at the bar, sir."

Startled, you scan the bar. Your eyes freeze on a man in a brown leather jacket standing with his foot resting casually on the brass rail. He smiles and hoists a glass of beer in your direction.

Harris!

The insolent pup! How did he find you? You were certain you left him gawking on that street corner back in Chelsea.

Well, never mind that now. He was lucky this time. And you did want a challenge tonight, didn't you?

Time for the second phase of your plan to elude him.

You leave enough money for the drink and a tip, then you exit the bar and rush through the small lobby toward the main entrance, the one by the fountain, facing Fifth Avenue. You turn left toward Central Park South. As soon as there's a break in the traffic, you hurry across the street toward the Park.

Rob watched Gates enter Central Park's southeast corner.. He couldn't believe Gates wanted to spend any real time in there. Too risky. He could run into a bunch of wilding kids and be left as hamburger along the side of the path. He guessed from Gates' soft look that he wasn't in great shape, which placed another mark against a long trot through the Park.

A diversion, I'll bet.

Rob moved to his left along Central Park South until he was half way between Fifth and Sixth. He pressed himself back into the darkened, canopied doorway of Mickey Mantle's and waited.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Gates emerged from the park at the head of Sixth Avenue and crossed back to the downtown side of Central Park South. He disappeared as he hurried down Sixth.

Rob cut through the alley near Mickey Mantle's, emerging on 58th Street, then he ran full tilt up to Sixth and turned downtown. He spotted Gates immediately on the far side of the avenue. Rob hugged the store fronts, keeping to the shadows. His big worry now was Gates grabbing a cab and leaving Rob in the dust.

Rob watched Gates cross 57th, saw him pause, look around, then duck down the steps of the subway entrance on the far corner.

Rob stayed in the shadows by his own subway entrance, catercornered from Gates'.

Good for you, Doc. Never would have thought of you taking the subway.

Rob allowed himself to relax a little. He had practically grown up on the subway. He knew it inside and out.

Gates had just entered Rob's realm.

You buy a token and wait near the foot of the steps, watching for Detective Harris to appear. Suddenly there are footsteps descending but it is a tall lanky black man wearing what looks like a soft leather fez. His eyes challenge you as he passes. You look away. When you hear the rumble of an approaching train on the level below, you dash down the stairs to the platforms. You don't care where the train is going because you're only going to take it one stop. The wind gushes from the downtown side. Excellent! You run for it. The doors open at your approach, as if they've been expecting you. You find a car near the middle and step inside. But you don't sit down. Instead, you peer up and down the platform. You're taking no chances this time. There is no sign of Detective Harris. You watch until the doors close, sealing you in.

You smile as the train lurches forward. You've done the unexpected. Normally a man of your stature would not stoop to riding the subway. But you thrive on doing the unexpected.

The first stop is almost immediate. Forty-ninth Street. That's too close to where you got on. You decide to take the train one more stop.

See? Sometimes you even surprise yourself—you've changed your own plans in mid-play.

Let Harris try to catch you now.

Rob crouched near the top of the stairway furthest uptown on the platform. He'd come underground via the other entrance. Apparently the doctor was unaware of the multiple stairways to and from street level at each stop.