The Lion

I gave it ten minutes, and I was about to move on when Stark said, "Someone approaching from the north."

"Copy."

I drew my Glock and held it in my lap.

I heard footsteps coming from my right and I glanced at the far corner of the boathouse.

A male figure-tall-stood in the glare of a lamppost. He was watching me, then took a few steps forward and walked slowly across the patio toward me.

He wore a long black topcoat that was too heavy for this time of year, and he was carrying a big bag, the way homeless people do, and as he got closer I could start to make out his features.

I kept an eye on him as he approached, but it was not Asad Khalil-though it could have been one of his pals.

He sat on the bench next to mine and said to me, "How ya doin'?"

"My wife is dead and I'm going to drown myself in the pond."

"Yeah? Sorry 'bout that, man." He added, "Hey, it ain't that bad."

Stark said to me, "Who are you talking to?"

I replied, "I don't know. Hold on." I asked the gentleman, "What's your name?"

"Skip. What's yours?"

"Tom Walsh. Hold on." I said to my condenser mic, "It's Skip."

"Skip who?"

Before I could ask Skip for more info, he asked me, "Who you talkin' to?"

"Myself. Don't you talk to yourself?"

"Hell, no. Crazy people talk to theirselves."

"Hunter," asked Stark, "who is that?"

I asked Skip, "Are you an Arab terrorist?"

He replied, "Yeah. I'm an Arab terrorist."

I said to my mic, "He says he's an Arab terrorist."

"What the hell are you doing? Get rid of that guy."

"Ten-four." I said to Skip, "You gotta leave."

"Says who?"

"The voice in my head."

"Can you spare a few bucks?"

I said to Stark, "I'll give him a few bucks, but you might want to check him out when he leaves." I added, "Get my money back."

I heard a few laughs from the surveillance team in my earphone.

Skip asked again, "Who ya talkin' to, man?"

"Aliens." I pulled two dollars out of my pocket, but Skip was up and gone.

I decided to do the same, and I said, "SO One, Hunter is mobile."

"Copy."

I headed toward another body of water, Belvedere Lake, which was about a third of a mile farther north and west.

I walked slowly across the area called the Ramble, which is heavily treed, and a good place for an ambush, though I seemed to be the only person around. But, you know, sometimes you get that feeling you're being watched.

I reached Belvedere Lake, and Stark said to me, "Take a walk around the lake."

So I took a slow walk around Belvedere Lake, also known as Turtle Pond, or perhaps tonight as Sitting Duck Lake.

I completed the walk without meeting anyone interesting, and I stopped near a building called Belvedere Castle, where I sat on a wet bench and looked at the pond.

I said, "Hunter at rest."

Stark replied, "We have visual." He added, "No one followed you. But sit awhile."

So I sat for fifteen or twenty minutes, then Stark said, "We're thinking that if you had company, we'd know by now. So maybe we'll cancel the Reservoir."

I replied, "I'm having too much fun."

I thought I heard a few groans in my earpiece, then Stark said, "Your call."

I stood and replied, "Hunter mobile." I asked, "How do you want me to go?"

He replied, "Around the Great Lawn, to the west."

"Copy."

I began walking, skirting the Great Lawn along a path that passed beside a treed area. There was no one around except a guy on a bicycle coming toward me. I kept walking and as he got closer I could see he was looking at me, and I put my hand on the Smith Wesson.

A voice in my earphone said, "Hunter, I'm the guy on the bike."

"Ten-four."

He passed me, gave a quick nod, and continued on.

I, too, continued on. Off to my left, in the trees, I saw a guy walking his dog. The dog was sniffing around, the way dogs do when they're supposed to be taking a crap, and the guy was talking on his cell phone, probably saying to his wife or significant other, "Why do I have to walk the dog every time it rains? It's your dog." And so forth. Been there, done that.

I continued on, but I glanced back at the dog walker to be sure he and the dog were not terrorists.

I could see the apartment buildings on Central Park West, and I pictured Vince Paresi sitting in his nice warm apartment having a glass of vino and trying to remember what was happening tonight that was keeping him on call. Actually, Paresi had a base station in his apartment, and he could monitor all radio traffic, including my wire, so I said, "Captain, I can see your house from here. Wave."

There were a few chuckles in my earpiece, but no response from the boss.

Anyway, it was now about 11:30, and the drizzle persisted. It was getting colder, and I was wet, and the only thing that would make me happy now was Asad Khalil. And on that subject, I was fairly certain I could filet his throat before the surveillance teams could interfere.

I crossed Transverse Road at 86th Street, and to my right I could see the lights of the Central Park Precinct, which sits in the park. This was not bad duty if you like the outdoors. On the other hand, there is winter. No job is perfect. Not even this one.

Anyway, up ahead I saw the Reservoir, which is a large body of water, nearly a half mile across. There is a running track that circles it, and I saw two people jogging together. I mean, who jogs in the rain at midnight?

Stark said, "Hunter, we have some people up there at the Reservoir, and they report that there are only a few joggers, and no one has followed you, so I think it's time to call it quits."

I replied, "I'm going to jog around the Reservoir."

Again, a few groans, but more this time and louder. Hey guys, I'm the one trying to get mugged by a terrorist.

I got on the jogging track and began running in a counterclockwise direction, which is the rule. My running shoes and socks were wet, and I could hear squishing coming from my feet.

The track is about a mile and a half around, and after about five minutes I was starting to enjoy it, which is the first creepy step toward becoming a jogger zombie.

By now, of course, I'd given up any hope of meeting up with Asad Khalil, but if one of his goombahs was watching, he'd be calling Khalil now saying, "This man will die of pneumonia or a heart attack before you can kill him. Come quickly."

Anyway, I circumnavigated the Reservoir in about twenty minutes, which is not too bad, and I was so jazzed, I took a deep breath and said to Stark, "I'm going to do that again."

Stark replied, "Hold on-I'm trying to talk the SWAT team out of shooting you."

"Come on. Just one more-"

"It's over. The operation is over. Surveillance and countersurveillance all report no sightings. Time to go home."

"All right… but I'll walk back through the park." I gave him my route along the east side of the park and began my two-mile walk back to my apartment.

I headed south, along a path that took me past the rear of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was on my left, and the Egyptian obelisk on my right. I looked up at the towering stone obelisk, which was about 3,500 years old, and a profound thought took hold in my mind, which was, "That's pretty fucking old."

Anyway, I continued on, disappointed, but also strangely elated. It was like Paresi said-we were doing something, which was better than doing nothing; better than waiting around for that asshole to make his next move.

Tonight's operation was over, but I was still alert and I hoped my team hadn't gone home while I was still in the park.