gait of the exercise-minded fanatics who continuously strode past. When he rested on a bench he was immediately accosted by someone who wanted to compose a poem in his honor for five bucks. He said grouchily that he'd already heard enough poetry for one day and the poet spat on his shoe.
He tried some creative work of his own, devising scenarios in which Naomi's mother had given up her research as a result of getting disillusioned with the drugs industry; or that she had become a whistle-blower on malpractices in Man-flex; or even a victim of some drug experiment that had failed. He still couldn't work out why she had been parted from her child if she was still alive.
About six, no further on in his conclusions, he took the subway south and found his way to Battery Park. The Statue of Liberty was already a blue silhouette fading in the evening light. A ferryboat came in and he watched the procedure as the iron trellis snapped back and the passengers disembarked. With a strong breeze blowing, he was glad of his raincoat-which he'd never thought of as anything like Lieutenant Columbo's. It was a trenchcoat really, well lined and with flaps that could button across the chest With the hat, it was definitely more Bogart than Peter Falk.
He watched the ferry fill up and depart and then strolled across to the ticket office. Just after seven, too soon to be looking out for Flexner. The benches were fast filling up with passengers for the next ferry. Guessing that he might face a wait of twenty minutes or more, he claimed a seat.
Ten minutes passed. A mother brought her fractious toddler to the place beside Diamond and waged a noisy battle of wills over some chocolate that was certain, the mother said, to make the child very sick indeed after all he'd eaten. When junior had screamed enough to get his way, Diamond decided maybe the mother had not been bluffing. To safeguard the trenchcoat-which in his size wouldn't be easy to replace- he got up and moved away.
Nobody matching young Flexner's description was in sight
'Are you Mr. Peter Diamond, by any chance?'
He turned. Someone he must have seen and mentally dismissed had stepped over to talk to him, a pretty, dark-haired young woman in a cherry-colored bomber jacket and jeans.
'That's my name.'
'Mr. Flexner sends his apologies. He had a problem escaping from the press, so the meeting-place had to be changed. I'm Joan. I'm going to drive you there.'
'Drive me where, exactly?'
'I'm sorry but I can't tell you yet There's a phone in the car. He's going to let us know.'
'You want me to come with you now?' What was being suggested sounded reasonable enough. He checked his watch and saw that it was already past the time Flexner had suggested that they meet
'It must be such a burden for him, all this pressure from the media,' she remarked, leading Diamond across the park towards a place where several cars were parked.
'I appreciate that,' he said. 'Are you his PA or something?' She smiled. 'Or something-I've no idea what you could possibly mean by that.'
'So you're on the payroll?'
'I drive a car. That's all.'
It was a smart car, a long, black limousine, the sort that would cause heads to turn in England but make no impression in New York. From some distance away, Joan used a remote control to disengage the security system. The indicator lights flashed briefly and the locks clicked. Just as automatically, Diamond went towards the left side.
Shes-said quickly, 'I'm driving.'
He came to his senses. 'My mistake.'
Inside, she picked up the phone and pressed out a number. 'This won't take a minute,' she told him.
He sat back casually, trying to listen without appearing interested, but the voice on the end of the line was inaudible.
She said into the mouthpiece, 'We got here… Sure, he was… Yes, Mr. Flexner, I know it. You want to speak to him?… Fine, we won't be long.' She replaced it between them and started up. 'Talk about cloak and dagger. You won't believe where we're going.'
Deviously, he suggested, 'The Trump Tower?'
It made no visible impression. 'No.'
'Where, then?'
'It's on the West Side.'
'You're being mysterious yourself. Is it anywhere I'm likely to know?'
'I shouldn't think so, but it's one of the
He had a depressing image of a trendy nightclub, the sort of venue a wealthy young hotshot like David Flexner might frequent. 'Am I dressed all right?'
'Just fine.'
She would keep this going indefinitely, and he didn't know New York well enough to pin her down. He didn't like secrecy when he was the one being kept in ignorance. They were heading north, along the Hudson River waterfront. Occasionally they had glimpses of the lights of New Jersey. A diversion sent them away from the river, and they picked up their northward route on 10th Avenue. The Lincoln Tunnel was signposted, but they passed the approach roads and soon after slowed. Joan the driver was obviously counting streets, so Diamond helped.
'Forty-seventh.'
'Thanks.'
'Which one are we looking for?'
'Forty-ninth will do.'
They turned left and tracked the street to its limit, under the girders of the highway. Soon they were back in a dockland area. Presently she turned onto a tarmac stretch between warehouses. Red hazard lights marked the tops of some cranes.
'He's
'I told you it was cloak and dagger,' she said. She flashed the headlights a couple of times.
A figure came from the shadows of one of the warehouses. 'Doesn't look like David Flexner,' Diamond commented as if he knew him well.
'This is one of his team,' she said, touching the control to let the window down on Diamond's side.
'I hope you'll be waiting,' Diamond remarked to Joan as he prepared to get out 'I wouldn't want to walk back to my hotel from here.'
'I'm in no hurry,' she said.
The man stooped to look in. 'Mr. Diamond?' The face was unshaven and smelt of liquor. As the face of an executive's personal aide, it wasn't convincing.
Diamond turned to look at the woman who called herself Joan. Even at this stage she returned a level look without a trace of perfidy. If this was a setup-and he now believed that it was-she had played her part immaculately. She'd disarmed him with her poise.
The man outside reached for the door handle. Diamond snapped down the lock.
Joan said, 'Why did you do that?' And before she'd got out the words she had released the lock from the central control at her side.
The man outside swung open the door. He was built like the stevedore he probably was.
Joan shrilled, 'Take him!'
Diamond jerked away from the door and made a grab for the steering wheel, whereupon Joan stabbed the sharp end of the keys into the back of his hand. The searing pain weakened his grip. She opened her door and leapt out on her side, yelling something across the quayside.
At the same time the thug leaned inside the car and put an arm lock around Diamond's throat. It was painful and disabling, but it wasn't enough to eject him. He braced his legs to press his back against the seat and groped for the man's face, which was close to his own. He found a handful of hair, but he knew better than to work on that. You go for the eyes and ears.
He slid his hand across the surface of the face, got bitten badly in the fleshy area under his thumb, but succeeded in thrusting the same thumb hard into a fold of soft, moist flesh that could only be the man's eyesocket.
