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?"
"How about never? Is never good for you?"
I had some advice for him, and I said, "Don't drop your guard, Vince."
He had no reply to that, but he did extend his hand and said, "Thanks for being bait." He also said, "Have a good trip. Take it easy. Regards to Kate. We'll stay in touch." He added, "See you in a few months."
If not sooner.
Back in my apartment, with my Sunday afternoon Bloody Mary in hand, I went out to the balcony. They were gone-right? But a stupid ruse is often a cover for a smart ruse.
Or were they and Asad Khalil really on their way back to Sandland? Mission accomplished? Mission aborted? Or mission continues?
Asad Khalil came halfway around the world to cross names off his list, and he hadn't gotten to my name yet. Or Boris's.
And what happened to that big finale we were expecting? Have they already poisoned the water supply? Have they spread anthrax? Is there a bomb ticking somewhere?
This is one of those cases where the silence is deafening.
I looked down the street at the window that had looked back at me for two or three weeks. They weren't there any longer-but where were they? Where was Asad Khalil?
I didn't have much time left, so the ball was actually in his court. Make a move, asshole.
I spent the late afternoon packing, which made this trip finally real for me.
Time was slipping by, and I thought about working the phone, which is another way of saying bugging people who had less information about Asad Khalil than I did-and who didn't want to be called on a Sunday by an obsessed nutcase whose wife was in the hospital and who was under house protection with nothing to do.