Kate gave the driver the address, and we were off through the tiny streets of Chinatown, then up Bowery.
We rode mostly in silence, and within twenty minutes were in front of Kate's building, a modern high rise with a doorman. Even if she had a studio apartment, this was a little pricey, her cost-of-living allowance notwithstanding. But in my experience, Wendy Wasp from Wichita would choose a good building in a good neighborhood and cut down on luxuries such as food and clothes.
So, we stood there a moment on the sidewalk, and she said, 'Would you like to come in?'
New Yorkers say 'up,' people from the hinterlands say 'in.' In any case, my heart got the message and began racing. I've been here before. I looked at her and said, 'Can I take a rain check?'
'Sure.' She smiled. 'See you at five.'
'Maybe a little after five. Like eight.'
She smiled again. 'Good night.' She turned and the doorman greeted her as he held the door open.
I watched her move through the lobby, then turned and got into my cab. ' East Seventy-second Street,' I said and gave him the number.
The cabbie, a guy with a turban from someplace else, said to me in good English, 'Maybe not my business, but I think the lady wanted you to go with her.'
'Yeah?'
'Yeah.'
I stared out the window as we drove down Second Avenue. Strange day. Tomorrow would be totally unpleasant and tense. Then again, maybe there wouldn't be any tomorrow, or any day after. I considered telling the cabbie to turn around and go back. I said to the cabbie, apropos of his turban, 'Are you a genie?'
He laughed. 'Yeah. And this is a magic carpet, and you get three wishes.'
'Okay.' I made three wishes to myself, but the genie said, 'You have to tell me, or I can't make them come true.'
So I told him, 'World peace, inner peace, and an understanding of women.'
'The first two are no problem.' He laughed again. 'If you get the last one, give me a call.'
We got to my condo, and I overtipped the genie, who advised me, 'Ask her out again.'
He drove off.
Alfred was still on duty for some reason. I can never figure out these doormen's schedules, which are more erratic than mine. Alfred greeted me, 'Good evening, Mr. Corey. Did you have a good day?'
'I had an interesting day, Alfred.'
I took the elevator up to the twentieth floor, opened my door, and went inside, taking minimal precautions, and, in fact, hoping I'd be knocked over the head like in the movies and wake up next month.
I didn't check my answering machine, but got undressed and fell into bed. I thought I was exhausted, but I discovered that I was wound up like a clock spring.
I stared at the ceiling, contemplating life and death, love and hate, fate and chance, fear and bravery, and stuff like that. I thought about Kate and Ted, Jack and George, the people in blue suits, a genie in a bottle, and finally Nick Monti and Nancy Tate, both of whom I was going to miss. And Meg, the duty officer, who I didn't know, but whose family and friends would miss her. I thought about Asad Khalil, and I wondered if I would have the opportunity to send him straight to hell.
I got to sleep, but I had one nightmare after the other. The days and nights were becoming the same.
CHAPTER 35
Asad Khalil found himself on a busy road lined with motels, car rentals, and fast food restaurants. A huge aircraft was landing at the nearby airport.
They had told him in Tripoli to find a motel near the Jacksonville International Airport, where neither his appearance nor his license plate would attract attention.
He saw a pleasant-looking place called Sheraton, a name he recognized from Europe, and he pulled into the parking lot, then drove up to the sign that said MOTOR INN-REGISTRATION.
He straightened his tie, brushed his hair with his fingers, put on his glasses, and went inside.
The young woman behind the registration counter smiled and said, 'Good evening.'
He smiled and returned the greeting. He could see that there were passageways in the lobby, and one of them said BAR-LOUNGE-RESTAURANT. He heard music and laughter coming through the door.
He said to the woman, 'I would like a room for one night, please.'
'Yes, sir. Standard or deluxe?'
'Deluxe.'
She gave him a registration form and pen and said, 'How would you like to pay for that, sir?'
'American Express.' He took out his wallet and handed her the credit card as he filled out the registration form.
Boris had told him that the better the establishment, the fewer problems there would be, especially if he used the credit card. He hadn't wanted to leave a paper trail, but Boris assured him that if he used the card sparingly, it would be safe.
The woman handed him a credit card slip with the impression of his card on it and gave him back his American Express card. He signed the slip and pocketed his card.
Khalil completed the registration form, leaving blank the spaces concerning his vehicle, which they had told him in Tripoli he could ignore in the finer establishments. He was also told that, unlike Europe, there was no space for his passport number on the registration form, and the clerk would not even ask to see it. Apparently, it was an insult to be taken for a foreigner, no matter how foreign one looked. Or perhaps, as Boris said, 'The only passport you need in America is American Express.'
In any case, the desk clerk glanced at his registration form and asked nothing further of him. She said, 'Welcome to the Sheraton, Mr…'
'Bay-dear,' he pronounced.
'Mr. Bay-dear. Here's your electronic key card to Room One-Nineteen, ground floor, to your right as you leave the lobby.' She went on in a monotone, 'This is your guest folder and here's your room number on the folder. The bar and restaurant are right through that door, we have a fitness center and a swimming pool, checkout time is eleven A.M., breakfast is served in the main dining room from six to eleven A.M., room service is available from six A.M. to midnight, the dining room is closing for dinner shortly, the bar and lounge are open until one A.M., and light snacks are available. There is a mini-bar in your room. Would you like a wake-up call?'
Khalil understood her accent, but barely understood all this useless information. He did understand wake-up calls and said, 'Yes, I have a flight at nine A.M., so perhaps six A.M. would be good.'
She was looking at him, openly, unlike a Libyan woman, who avoided eye contact with men. He maintained eye contact with her, as he was told to do to avoid suspicion, but also to see if she showed any hint that she knew who he was. But she seemed completely unaware of his true identity.
She said, 'Yes, sir, wake-up call at six A.M. Would you like express checkout?'
He had been told to say yes if asked that question, that this type of checkout would mean he did not have to return to the desk. He replied, 'Yes, please.'
'A copy of your bill will be placed under your door by seven A.M. Is there anything else I can help you with?'
'No, thank you.'
'Have a pleasant stay.'
'Thank you.' He smiled, took his folder, turned and left the lobby.
This had gone well, better than the last time he checked into the motel outside of Washington, he reflected, and had to kill the desk clerk. He smiled again.
Asad Khalil got into his car and drove to the door marked 119 where a parking space sat empty. He retrieved his overnight bag, got out of the car, locked it, and went to the door. He put his keycard into the slot, and the door lock hummed and clicked as a green light came on, reminding him of the Conquistador Club.
