"I wouldn't leave you a message like that."
"This is not funny."
"Sorry, but I can't get through the switchboard after midnight."
"Tom sent me a new cell phone this morning, so you can call me direct now."
"Good."
She then asked me, "Where did you go last night?"
"A walk in Central Park." I added, "I'm a despondent widower, thinking about drowning myself in the lake."
She had no comment, but she may have thought that was not a bad idea.
I said, "I was covered. Maybe too covered. And maybe Khalil and his pals are on to our game."
She didn't respond for a while, then said, "He's come here with his own game."
"Right."
She asked me, "Are you going out tonight?"
"Yeah. I'm starting at 26 Fed, then the WTC site, then Battery Park, then… maybe I'll do a hookah bar crawl."
She said, "I'd give anything to see John Corey drinking tea with Arabs in a hookah bar."
"Somebody has to do it."
Kate stayed silent awhile, then said, "It's a little disturbing to think there could be cells living and working here-I mean, real cells with competent and dangerous people."
"Right." We'd never discovered any such organized activity here in New York, but there were a number of individuals and small groups of suspects who were so incompetent and outright dumb that we just kept an eye on them, hoping they'd lead us to someone or some group that was actually dangerous. But Asad Khalil, if he had help, would not be using the gangs that couldn't shoot straight that we'd been watching for years.
In fact, Kate said, "It would be good if all this led to a real cell-maybe Al Qaeda-that we could round up." She reminded me, "That's why we need to take Khalil alive."
"Right." But Khalil, if taken alive, was not going to talk-unless, of course, the CIA took him out of the country and interrogated him in an enhanced manner. But there was no guarantee that would happen. And if it did, we would never know what Khalil said. Also, I'm not comfortable with using torture to get information. So my plan was still the best-cut his fucking throat.
But I'm also not a big fan of cold-blooded murder… so it would be good if Khalil put me in a position where I had no choice-or the choice wasn't so clear. I mean, he wasn't thinking about taking me alive.
"John?"
"Right. We need him alive."
On the subject of sticking to the letter of the law, FBI Special Agent Kate Mayfield asked me, "Have you spoken to Tom about Boris?"
"I'm drafting a memo."
"Call him."
I informed her, "Tom has done a disappearing act on me."
"He has a phone."
"Kate, I will handle this. Subject closed."
She changed the subject. "Do you think that Tom, George, and Vince are in danger?"
I asked her, "What does Tom think?"
She replied, "He's not discounting it, but he's also not totally believing he could be a target."
"Right." The cemeteries are full of people like that. I said to her, "Tell Tom you want a gun."
She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "There's a uniformed officer outside my door twenty-four/seven."
"Even cops have to take a leak. Get a gun. If Tom says no, I'll give you one. They don't count guns on the way out."
"All right."
I told her, "I can't come tonight-I need to be at 26 Fed at six."
"I understand." She gave me her new cell phone number and said, "Call me tonight with good news."
Well, if it was bad news, I wouldn't be the one calling.
Back in my apartment, I worked on my incident report, then I began drafting a long memo about this case, starting from the beginning three years ago. The memo contained all I knew that was classified, and also my own thoughts and theories about things like the CIA's involvement in the original case. I had no idea who this memo was addressed to-but maybe it was addressed to posterity; to whoever worked this case in the event of my death.
Under the heading of "Khalil II," I revealed my recent meeting with Boris Korsakov, which reminded me that I hadn't heard from him since I'd left him at Svetlana contemplating a reunion with his star pupil. This might mean that he was dead, but I think I might have heard about that on the news, or maybe through official channels. More likely Boris had nothing more to say to me. Or, as I said, he'd skipped town, which was the smart move, but maybe not what an egotistical former KGB guy would do. And as I'd discovered long ago, the most common cause of death among alpha males was ego. I should know.
I used my ATTF cell phone to dial Boris, hoping he'd recognize the number that I'd given him and that he'd take the call. Or another voice would answer, "Khalil here."
Boris Korsakov answered. "Good afternoon, Mr. Corey."
"And to you." I asked him, "Where are you?"
"Where I was when I last saw you."
Of course he could be anywhere, and I said to him, "I thought I heard a Swiss yodeler in the background."
He laughed and replied, "No, you are hearing the Red Army Chorus singing 'Kalinka.'"
"No kidding?" I suggested, "Tell them to take a break."
"Hold on."
The Red Army Chorus packed up and left, and Boris said to me, "One becomes nostalgic as one gets older."
"Right. I've got an old German deli guy down the block who misses the hell out of the Third Reich. So, what have you been up to?"
"Nothing. And you?"
"Same. And where is Mrs. Korsakov?"
"Moscow."
"Lucky girl. Look, I'm rethinking what I said to you about not having your place put under surveillance. What do you think?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "You promised me a week."
"Boris, I made no such promise, or if I did, I've come to my senses and I hope you have, too."
He informed me, "We both came to the right decision about this. You should not rethink it."
"Well, I am." I asked him, "What do you think you'll accomplish by locking yourself in your office?"
"Maybe nothing more than staying alive while you find Khalil. But we will see."
I said, "He's not going to come for you if he knows you're barricaded in there. In fact, that's a tip-off to him that you know he's here."
He informed me, "I often spend days living in my office when my wife is not here. So this is not unusual."
"Yeah? What do you do all day?"
"Come visit and you can see."
He laughed and it was that kind of laugh. Men are pigs.
I got back to the subject and said to him, "Look, Boris, you don't have much chance of killing or capturing Khalil. I'm thinking you need my help. I want to put your place under surveillance, and I also want you to let me set up a trap." I explained, "You leave your fort there, go back to your apartment, take long walks on the boardwalk, go about your normal business, and I'll have people around you who can protect you and also grab Khalil if he makes an attempt on your life." I assured him, "I've done this a thousand times. Haven't lost anyone yet." Not even myself.
He seemed to be thinking about that, then said, "I will consider that."
I knew he was stalling so I asked him, "Why do you want to kill him?"
He replied, "I did not say I wanted to kill him."
"Okay, so you want to reason with him?"
"There is no reasoning with that man."
"So, what's your goal? Your objective?"
"To defend myself until you capture him. Or I may capture him here."
"And then you'll turn him over to the police or the FBI."