'It's taking time he said.
'My father kept important records very secretively. There yier-e file references which only he could understand. I've got to go through everything to locate it' She dicht appear pleased.
'Then we're at a standstill,' she said impatiently.
'No' The play moved back to center ice,
'I'm building a case for you. I'm looking for witnesses' 'What are you talking about?'
'I talked to Adolph Zenger, my father's former-' 'I know who he is.
What did he say?'
'He told me the story of your father's background. The family. The activity during the war, or at least leading up to the war.' He paused.
She was nervously glancing around, looking down into the aisles through the crowd. He continued,
'In a roundabout way, he confirmed a lot. it's slow, but it's progress' ' She looked back to him, her eyes wide and extremely angry now.
'Do you trust him?' she snapped.
'Who?'
'Zenger! Who else are we talking about?'
'I think so,' he said.
'Who could he have talked to?' she snapped.
'About me?'
'He never talks to anyone anymore. And we talked in total confidence.'
'Well someone' she said angrily, pronouncing each syllable at a time, 'has a big mouth. We're followed' She motioned to the walkway down below them. Standing at least forty feet apart were two men, neither of whom was watching the hockey game. They were looking away from the ice, back up into the spectators. Directly toward Leslie and Thomas.
'The one on the left,' she said, acting as if she hadn't seen them yet, 'has a camera.'
Thomas watched the man from the corner of his eye. The man indeed had a small concealed camera in his palm. It was aimed up toward the two of them.
'How,' she asked him bitterly, 'does a thing like that happen?'
He was speechless.
'They can't do anything in here' he offered weakly 'Too many people.'
'Mr. Daniels,' she intoned, 'you underestimate people' He glanced around again and couldn't tell if a third man was with the other two.
The crowd began to roar again as the Rangers worked the puck into the attacking zone. For those seconds they were fully in control, the Boston team only trying to knock the puck back to center ice.
'Obviously,' she said, 'we'll have to meet again at another time and place. Somewhere more private. Like your home office' There was a scramble in front of the goal. The din had increased to such a point that he hadn't heard her.
The collective voice of the fans suddenly erupted. The red lights beneath the scoreboards flashed and the crowd came rudely roaring to its feet. Ranger goal.
Thomas looked to the far end of the ice to see the crowd of five white shirts in front of the enemy goal. The scorer was being mobbed. A dejected goaltender swept the puck out of the net.
Thomas turned back to Leslie, began to speak loudly, to be heard above the din, and stopped short before speaking a single word.
An empty seat. She was gone.
He looked to her end of the row, knowing she hadn't crossed in front of him. He could just see her stepping away from the final seat in the row and moving back up the aisle between sections.
'Leslie!' he called after her. His voice was lost in the roar as the Rangers skated slowly back to center ice for the next face-off. Those around him took amusement from the fact that his 'girl' had seemingly walked out on him.
He called after her again, then pursued. He pushed rudely through the row, more aggressively as she disappeared -through a gateway and from his sight. He was jostled in return by those whom he struggled to get past.
At that moment, the eyes of the men who'd followed them returned from the ice. They saw that she was gone. They saw that Thomas was leaving. Quickly, the three of them followed.
He ran back up the steps and knew that she was way ahead of him now. He ran to the escalator, craned his neck over its side to see two flights below, and saw her running down. He called again to her. She only moved faster.
He tore down the escalator behind her and momentarily was aware of the three heavy sets of feet behind him, pursuing him just as he ran after her. Thomas couldn't believe how fast she moved.
She was out the Eighth Avenue entrance to the Garden. He had no idea which way she'd turned until fifteen seconds later when he ran out the same exit. He looked each way. He saw nothing. But he knew that the three men were not many seconds behind him.
He looked north again, south again, in desperation. Then, through the traffic, on the opposite side of eighth Avenue, he saw her to the south. Still running, passing bemused pedestrians and attracting the leering catcalls endemic to that section of the city.
Thomas looked at the traffic. The light was changing. He saw the traffic south of him, given a green light, start to move toward the center of the block where he stood. He heard the men behind him reach ground level. Thomas ran out across the avenue as the lead car screeched its tires and its horn shrieked its complaint. Other cars screeched their suddenly slowing tires into the asphalt and other horns blared their disapproval.
Halfway across the avenue his left foot caught a pothole. His arms waved wildly as he tried to catch his balance. Then, quickly steady again, he continued. One car roared in front of him and he darted in front of another which abruptly slowed. He crossed the last lane of the avenue and was on the sidewalk of the opposite side, in front of the Thirty-third Street post office, its giant steps and columns.
Neither rain, nor snow… Everywhere, the Federal government intruding.
He looked south. He saw her enter a building beneath a yellow sign with giant blue letters. PA-R-K. Leslie McAdam had escaped, if that was what she was doing, into a five-story self-service parking lot a block and a half away.
Thomas ran after her. When he crossed Thirty-second Street he was aware again of the three men on the opposite side. They were waiting for the traffic to allow them to cross. They had Thomas in full view and they followed him southward on the opposite side.
The green WALK sign had changed to flashing DON'T WALK.
In fifteen seconds they, whoever they were, would be on his side of Eighth. One of them carried something black in his thick fist.
He fled into the parking lot, stood at a frenzied halt at its entrance way and looked in every direction.
Nothing.
He looked to the man behind a glass, the man whom a driver would pay on the way out. The man's face was quizzical as he watched Thomas.
'Did you see a girl?' Thomas called frantically.
The quizzical expression creased into a knowing grin.
'I seen lots of girls!' The accent was singsong and Jamaican.
'This Eighth Avenue, mon!' As if that explained everything.
'A woman ran in here ten seconds ago!'
The man laughed and nodded toward the only stairwell.
'She go upstairs, mon. Happy evening!'
Thomas listened. He could now hear the footsteps of someone running-one flight up. Leslie! But he could also hear the footsteps pursuing him.
He turned. The men who were chasing him burst into the parking garage.
They froze, staring at him. First three men, then a fourth.
Thomas Daniels recognized Shassad, the last to arrive. He whirled again and ran not upstairs but straight to
