"Understood." He went on with his mission briefing. "At your various destinations in the park, there will be backup people-SWAT teams-concealed with night-vision devices and sniper rifles."
"Don't forget to tell them what I'm wearing."
Without even a chuckle, he continued, "The places where you will stop and linger are waterside spots-the Kerbs Boathouse, then a prearranged spot on Belvedere Lake, and then maybe up at the Reservoir." He informed me, "The surveillance and SWAT teams want to use waterside locations because that limits the possible avenues of approach for Khalil, and it also narrows down the area that needs to be covered by the SWAT team, and by the surveillance teams." He added, "In other words, you're covered on one side by the water." Then a joke. "Can you swim?"
"No. But I can walk on water." I asked, "What am I supposed to do at these locations at that hour, other than look like I'm bait in a trap?"
"Good question. And I don't have a good answer, but I'm thinking you just lost your wife… and you can just be taking a long walk. You know? Head down, sit on a bench, put your face in your hands… or maybe carry a bottle of booze-not real, of course-and act a little drunk. You know how to do that."
"Maybe I should look like I'm going to drown myself in the lake."
"Yeah… you can do that… I guess. Anyway, what you won't do is jog. You'll walk slowly, and follow the planned route and listen to instructions on your earphone." He added, "You'll go through this with the Special Operations boss in your lobby."
"Right."
"And remember, John, as you said, if anyone is watching your building and waiting for you to come out, it might not be Khalil himself. So if the bad guys are on the street, or in vehicles, or as you suggested in a building overlooking your street, it could take some time for them to get hold of Khalil while they're following you." He again assured me, "The countersurveillance team will pick up anyone tailing you, and we'll know if we've got a game going. Okay? And remember, the most critical part of this, if it's going to work, is them picking you up as you leave your lobby. Right? So, linger without being obvious."
"Obviously."
"Any questions?"
"Nope."
Then the pep talk. He said, "This is above and beyond, John, and we appreciate your willingness to put yourself in harm's way. You may feel alone tonight, but rest assured, you will not be alone. Tom and I, and everyone on the Task Force and in the Special Operations Group, will be thinking of you and praying for your safety and your success."
"Thank you." I inquired, "Where will you be thinking of me and praying for me?"
"I'm home on call." He reminded me, "I'm on Central Park West, and I can be in the park within minutes."
"Good. We can both pose for photos with the dead lion."
He also reminded me, "We want to take him alive, if possible."
"Of course." I asked him, "Where will Tom be?"
"Also home, waiting to hear."
"Where's your wife, Captain?"
"Out of town."
"Good." I would have asked him where Tom's girlfriend was, but she wasn't in any danger. Why not? Well, she's a barracuda, and Khalil would not harm her out of professional courtesy. Should I share this with Paresi? Maybe not.
Anyway, we seemed to have covered all the points, and I said, "I'm off to the hospital."
"Give my regards to Kate. We'll speak later before you go out."
I hung up and, ignoring Paresi's advice, walked out to the balcony and looked at the buildings across the street. Indeed, there were thousands of windows that all had a good view of me and my balcony, and also the front doors of this building, plus there were dozens of rooftops, many of them higher than my balcony. A very easy way to kill John Corey was to have a sniper on a roof or in any of those apartments or offices-and he didn't even have to be a particularly good shot. But if that was going to happen, it would have already happened.
From here, I could see Central Park at the end of 72nd Street, over eight hundred acres of open fields, woods, ponds and lakes, park structures, and lots of dark spaces at night. It was a good place for this game-but maybe too obvious.
Like the lion for whom he was named, Asad Khalil could smell danger, but a hungry lion will take a risk for a meal, and by now, The Lion must be very hungry.
CHAPTER FORTY
Alfred was on duty, and I wished him good morning and confessed, "I can't find the freight elevator key."
"Oh…"
"I'll keep looking, but in the meantime…" I pushed five twenties across the counter. "If you need to have one made…"
"Yes, sir. I do have a spare, but if you can't find it, I'll see a locksmith."
"I'm sure I'll find it, but you keep that for your trouble."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't mention it." And I mean don't mention it.
I saw there was a new surveillance person in my lobby, a female this time, sitting in an armchair reading the Times, with a Bloomies bag beside her.
I didn't know her, and I went over and introduced myself. She introduced herself as "Kiera Liantonio, Special Operations."
She was an attractive, well-dressed woman in her mid-twenties, maybe older, but I can't tell anymore. In any case, she was too young to be an NYPD detective, so I asked her, "FBI?"
"Does it show?"
"I'm afraid it does." Where do they get these kids? Well, right out of law school and Quantico. Like Lisa Sims. I suppose this kind of assignment was good on-the-job training for a rookie FBI agent. Why assign a pro to guard my life?
I said to Special Agent Liantonio, "I'll probably be out for two or three hours. You can take a break if you want."
She nodded.
FYI, it's never a good idea to ask a female cop or agent if they're wearing a vest-it's like asking them if they're pregnant, and they might take it the wrong way. But I'm slick, and I said to her, "Why aren't you wearing a vest?"
She replied, "I am."
"Oh… good." See?
Anyway, she seemed very self-assured, the way most of these new agents are when they get out of Quantico-the way I was when I got out of the Academy. I mean, you're in great physical shape, you listened in class, and you have a gun that you know how to use and a badge or shield that carries authority. The only thing you don't have is a clue.
I said to Ms. Liantonio, "My wife is with the Bureau."
"I know."
"Do you know where she is, and why she's there?"
"I've heard something."
"Good. She doesn't need or want a roommate." I added, "Stay alert. This is a very bad guy."
She didn't reply, but she nodded.
I left the building and stood under the canopy with my shotgun rider-Ed Regan again-while the Highway Unit SUV pulled up closer.
I got in the vehicle and off we went. The driver was someone new, and his name was Ahmed something. I mean, there's like fifty Mideastern cops on the whole thirty-five-thousand-person force, and I get one of them.
We all chatted as we made our way down to Bellevue, and Ahmed was a good guy, and he made some good jokes, like, "I'm kidnapping you." Well, if you're a Muslim on the NYPD, post-9/11, you really need a sense of humor.
Ed Regan demonstrated his interest in Ahmed's culture by asking him, "What's the definition of a moderate Arab?"
Ahmed replied, "Someone who ran out of ammunition."
I knew a couple of good ones, but I didn't want to be perceived as culturally insensitive. Well, okay, just one. I asked, "How do you blind an Arab?"