Neither of them said that, of course, but you have to explain why you're in the apartment without a warrant. It's easier with a corporate tenant, but even if the lease said "Al Qaeda Waste Management," you need a search warrant.
I looked around again, and there was nothing in the apartment to suggest that it was anything but a druggie shooting gallery, or maybe a crash pad for illegal aliens. But not in this neighborhood. And not, coincidentally, within sight of my building.
Paresi said to me, "There's a wet sponge in the sink, so… how long does it take for a sponge to dry?"
"What color is it?"
"Blue."
"Six hours."
I walked around the mattresses and went to one of the two windows, which I opened. I looked to the left and saw my building, and I spotted my balcony. Easy shot. Also, close enough to mount a video surveillance camera here somewhere, pointed at my front door.
I stepped back and looked at the windowsill.
Paresi said, "Over here."
I went to the second window and looked at the wide, painted sill. There was a layer of dust on most of the sill, but in the center was a spot where the dust had been disturbed. I speculated, "This is where they set the wine bucket down."
"Yeah. And the lead wire from the wine bucket ran to the TV."
We both walked to the television, a fairly new model, and though there were no video wires attached, the TV was equipped to accept a video camera input. The John Corey Show. Reality TV.
Paresi said, "So, if these guys were here to watch you, then they saw you leave your apartment on your walks." He added, "And they watched us having wine and pizza."
"Right." And they chose to do nothing about that. Because Khalil has his own plan. Also, they saw me getting in a vehicle a few times a day, but I couldn't know if I'd ever been followed to the heliport, or to Bellevue. But I really think the trail vehicle would have picked that up. Still, it was kind of disturbing and creepy.
Paresi was thinking and he said, "Okay, so we got three or four foreign-looking guys who enjoy Mideastern cuisine, and they happen to have a view of your building, and we know that Asad Khalil is trying to kill you. So can we assume that the people who were living here were Arab terrorists watching you? Or is this just a coincidence?"
"The coincidence," I agreed, "is suspicious. And here's another coincidence-the tip came just before these guys pulled out. I draw your attention to the wet sponge. Therefore-follow me on this-the tipster was one of Khalil's guys."
"That's brilliant, John. And now we're supposed to believe that Khalil and his pals have gone back to Sandland."
"Correct." I added, "And why would this tipster call the Terrorist Task Force and not the cops or the FBI field office? Makes no sense."
He reminded me, "I told you these people are stupid."
"They do often miss the subtleties of deception," I agreed, "but they have now put some doubts in our minds."
He nodded and said, "As much as this looks like a ruse to make us think Khalil and his pals are gone, we have to take it into consideration, and act accordingly."
This might be the time to tell Captain Paresi that I'd recently chatted with the scumbag in question, and the scumbag had also hinted that he was leaving town. But did I want to reinforce that possibility?
Also, I was supposed to report that in a timely manner-just as I was supposed to report my contact with Boris Korsakov when it happened. So now I had a problem, albeit of my own making, but this was not the time to come clean; I'd do that when I was in the wilds of Minnesota where being threatened with disciplinary action would be a welcome relief.
Plus, if I came clean now, I'd be removed from the case immediately for misconduct. And I still had about twenty-four hours before I was exiled.
On that subject, I said to Paresi, "You didn't return my call yesterday."
He asked, "Which call was that? The one where you were pissy about being sent out of town?"
"That's the one."
He looked at me and said, "John, I have to agree with Walsh that this is best for us, and best for you, and especially best for Kate."
"Vince, it is not best for the investigation. It is not best for the war on terrorism, and not best for the country or the American public."
He suggested, "You have a very high opinion of your importance."
"Indeed, I do." Well, apparently my fate was sealed, but I said to Paresi, "Obviously you want to keep me informed, and that's why I'm standing here."
"I was getting a little bored here by myself, and you were in the neighborhood." He added, "Plus, this seems to have something to do with someone who wants to kill you."
"Right. So why don't we stay in touch while I'm enjoying a few weeks' rest? And I'll make myself available for a quick trip back to New York if you think you're on to something."
He thought about that and replied, "I'll take it up with Walsh." He informed me, "Subject closed."
We poked around the apartment awhile, being careful not to touch or disturb anything that would throw the forensic people into a fit, and I reminded Paresi that we did have Khalil's prints in the FBI databank, along with some of his DNA that was collected in Paris three years ago at the American Embassy.
Paresi commented, "By the looks of this place, there's enough DNA here to create life and arrest it."
Good one, Vince. Wish I'd thought of it.
In any case, forensic people like dirty houses, and I was fairly certain that they'd be able to establish the presence of Asad Khalil here.
Paresi asked rhetorically, "What the hell did these people do here all day and night?"
Good question. I was going stir crazy in an apartment about five times this size, filled with creature comforts, a balcony with a view, and a well-stocked bar. These people, however, were not interested in comfort or entertainment; they were patient, single-minded, and on a holy mission. This did not necessarily make them better equipped for this fight-they lacked freedom of thought and they underestimated ourdedication and willingness to fight-but they were proving to be tougher than we thought.
I replied to Paresi's rhetorical question, "They sat here and watched my apartment building on TV, twenty-four/seven, they prayed, they discussed politics and religion, and they read from the Koran."
"What did they do for fun?"
"I just told you."
"Right." He suggested, "They should have had a house-cleaning contest." He checked his watch, and again asked a rhetorical question. "How long does it take to get a fucking search warrant?"
"It's Sunday," I reminded him. "Did you go to church?"
"I was on my way when I got the call. How about you?"
"Saint Pat's." I asked him, "Where's Walsh?"
"He and his lady went upstate for the weekend."
"Skydiving?"
He said under his breath, "Let's hope." He then assured me, "He's reachable."
Unless his Caller ID comes up "John Corey."
We chatted for a few more minutes, then a Task Force detective, Anne Markham, showed up with a search warrant. Anne took a look around and said, "I want this pigpen cleaned before the forensic team gets here."
Funny. Anyway, two FBI guys from the Evidence Recovery Team arrived-they don't want to be left out-and a few minutes later the NYPD forensic team arrived and kicked everyone out.
Down in the lobby, Paresi said to me, "You know, John, Khalil really may be gone. So don't feel too bad about going on vacation."
I replied, "I'm fairly certain this is a ruse. Sometimes known as a trick. And the purpose of the trick is to make us all drop our guards and scale down our manhunt. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get it. But maybe it just got too hot for them with us knocking on doors." He informed me, "We'll have a supervisors' meeting tomorrow A.M. to discuss it."
"What time should I be there?"