Tower of Terror

'Give me the details in person. Keep moving, let's try to keep the D.F. between us.'

Lyons broke the connection, punched the code for the phone with Mr. Smith in Little Italy. 'You still parked, Mr. Smith?'

'Yes, sir. Waiting for instructions.'

'We're driving north on Allen Street. Make some speed, come up behind us. I'm in the yellow cab. When you get here, Hardman Three has a D.F. receiver for you. Further instructions when you make it up here. Hit it!'

The D.F. beeps came faster and faster, became a buzz. Lyons pointed to the curb. 'Pull over! We must be within a hundred feet of them.'

Even as the driver swerved, the signal slowed. Looking back, Lyons saw traffic stop at a red light. The D.F. signal held a steady beep-beep-beep-beep. The lines of traffic at the light included a meat truck, an old Plymouth stationwagon, and a florist's van, in addition to the many passenger cars.

'Make a U-turn!' Lyons shouted.

'You want me to call for Bureau backup? We could use some more cars.'

'No!' Lyons punched Gadgets' code on the secure phone. 'We reversed direction. We're coming up behind some trucks. Signal very strong.' Then he punched Smith's code. 'Smith, Smith!Park. Wait for us to pass.'

'Parking now. You got our man in sight?'

'Maybe. Watch for us.'

The phone buzzed. 'Hardman Three here. I'm on the Bowery, that's a block or two west of you. I'm continuing south.'

'Get Smith's cross street,' Lyons told Gadgets. 'He's parked. Try to get there and give him that D.F. receiver. I think we're bumper-to-bumper with them.'

The traffic light changed to green. Weaving the cab past slower vehicles, the driver brought them up behind the meat truck. Lyons stayed low in the seat. The D.F. signal shrieked.

'Stay behind this truck,' Lyons glanced out the window, but he could not see the florist's van or the old stationwagon. 'Just keep it on the truck's bumper until something changes. Any chance you got a periscope in the trunk?'

'No, sir. But I'll call for one...'

'That was a joke!' Lyons exclaimed, wide-eyed. 'You Bureau guys crack me up. What happens when you can't get exactly what you need, right away?'

The cabbie-agent laughed. 'Never happens. If we don't have it, we make a call. Like you guys. We called you.'

Lyons smiled coolly, slid lower in the taxi's back seat as the Plymouth came up on their left. A white-haired black man was driving. Newspapers and card-board filled the back of the car. Through the taxi's open window, Lyons heard Chinese phrases coming from the stationwagon. The old man repeated each Chinese phrase. Lyons glanced over, saw the old man look at a three-by-five flash card, then say a Chinese phrase.

'I don't think that old man's with the FALN,' Lyons told his driver. 'Pull ahead of him, there's a flower-shop truck up there.'

'What about this truck?' The cabbie indicated the meat truck.

'Keep it in the rearview mirror, we'll maybe follow it if it makes a turn.'

His driver whipped the taxi past the stationwagon. Ahead of them, the florist's van raced through the intersection to beat a yellow light. The shriek of the D.F. signal modulated, became a fading beep-beep-beep as the truck sped away.

'That's the van!' Lyons grabbed the secure phone.

'Want me to run the light?' the cabbie asked.

'Stay back. I'm calling the others.' In a second, he had Gadgets. 'You've got a white and green florist's truck coming down on you. I didn't see the driver. There's no windows in the back of it. It's the truck we want.'

'I see it!' Gadgets shouted, then the line cut off.

Suddenly Lyons' phone buzzed. 'This is Smith. Your partner — he just pulled a screaming U-turn through four lanes of traffic. What's going on? What do you want me to do?'

'He gave you a D.F. receiver?'

'Yes, sir. I had a signal, but it's fading.'

'Stay where you are. I think Hardman Two is going to be doing some circles.'

'What if he takes one of the bridges into Brooklyn?'

'If he does, Hardman Three is on him. You stay where you are.' Lyons leaned forward to his driver. 'Drive over toward East Side Drive. That'll put us right under the bridges, right?'

'On my way.'

The D.F. signal became a distant beeping. Lyons buzzed Gadgets. 'Where are you? You staying behind them?'

'It's the truck, no doubt about it,' Gadgets told him. 'He's pulling turns and stops, trying to spot us.'

'Is he heading toward either of the bridges?'

'Nope. Not yet. We just circled a block. Hey, he's going back up Allen. He's going north on Allen. Can you take him? He might have spotted my car.'

'Smith's still on Allen, where you left him. You fall back. What kind of car do you have?'

'A Volkswagen beetle — with a Porsche engine and transmission. These feds have all the toys.'

'Don't get a speeding ticket. Off.' Lyons keyed Smith's code. 'Smith! They're coming your way, get ready to move. You got the description? A green and white florist's truck, no windows in back.'

'Yes, sir! Behind him already. Keeping a half-block distance behind him. He turned east, he's on Delancy. He could be headed for the Williamsburg Bridge. I'm on Delancy. He's turned again. South now.'

'Don't turn. We'll be there in a minute. Stay near the bridge, he might be doing a last loop or two before going over the river.'

'Parked and waiting, sir. Signal's holding steady.'

The phone buzzed when Lyons broke the connection. 'Hardman Three here. I think the signal's holding steady. I mean, I'm moving east, but I don't think itis moving at all.'

'He was on Delancy. He turned south.' Lyons glanced at his pocket street map of Manhattan. 'Get out to Grand, and head west. I'll be one street north, criss-crossing. Off.'

Smith buzzed him. 'He passed me! But there's no signal from the van. Do I follow?'

'Get behind him! Stay with him until we can figure this out.'

'Moving!'

Lyons turned up the volume on the minimike. The faint traffic and truck sounds were gone. Now, nothing. He listened, the speaker pressed to his ear.

Clang! The metallic sound made him almost drop it. He held the minimike's receiver away from him, turned down the volume. He heard what sounded like steel on concrete. Footsteps. Then more sounds of steel. The sounds faded to almost nothing. Lyons buzzed Gadgets.

'You monitoring the minimikes?'

'Too faint for me. You get something?'

'I think the boy dropped him someplace, then took off. He passed Smith, on Delancy, but he had no signal. Nothing. Smith followed him over the Williamsburg Bridge. I don't know where they are now.'

'Let's pull some circles around that block. On my way up.'

'Head toward the Williamsburg Bridge,' Lyons told his driver. 'You have some equipment with you in this cab?'

'Yes, sir. Two Uzis, ammunition. Four Army-issue tear gas grenades. Two walkie-talkies. First aid kit. If there's anything else that you need...'

'I know, you can call.' Lyons punched the code for Smith. 'Where are you now?'

'He's taking me for a scenic tour of Brooklyn. He turns once in a while. Nothing serious. I'm staying a block back.'