Gideon’s Sword

data, no secret microchips, nothing.”

“What about the string of numbers I gave you?”

“Those are a lot more interesting. I’m still working on them.”

Gideon turned south. It was now dusk, and the park was emptying.

“Interesting why?”

“Like I told you before, lot of patterns in here.”

“Such as?”

“Repeated numbers, rows of decreasing numbers, stuff like that. Right now it’s hard to say what they mean. I just started in on them. It’s definitely not code.”

Central Park Reservoir loomed ahead, and he stepped onto the jogging path. The water lay dark and still. Far to the south, over the tops of the trees, Gideon could see the skyline of Midtown, the lights in the buildings glowing against the fading sky.

“How do you know?”

“Any decent code yields a string of numbers that look random. They aren’t, of course, but all the mathematical tests for randomness will show that they are. In this case, even the simplest test shows they’re not random.”

“Test? Such as?”

“Tallying up the digits. A truly random string has roughly ten percent zeros, ten percent ones, et cetera. This one is way heavy on the zeros and ones.”

There was a silence. Gideon took a deep breath and tried to speak casually. “And the CT scans I gave you?”

“Oh yeah. I passed them along to a doctor like you asked.”

“And?”

“I was supposed to call him this afternoon. I forgot.”

“Right,” said Gideon.

“I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”

“You do that,” said Gideon. “Thanks.” He wiped his brow. He felt like shit.

And then all of a sudden — for the second time that day — he had the distinct impression he was being followed. He looked around. It was almost dark, and he was in the middle of the park.

“Hello? Anyone home?” asked O’Brien.

Gideon realized he hadn’t hung up. “Yeah. Listen, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”

“Not before noon.”

He closed the phone and stuck it in his pocket. Maintaining a brisk stride, he headed west past the tennis courts, still keeping to the jogging path. What made him feel he was being followed this time? He hadn’t heard or seen anything…or had he? Long ago, he’d learned to trust his instincts — and they’d saved his ass again just that morning.

He realized that, by following the jogging path, he was making it easy for his follower — if there was one. Better turn back to the north, get off the paths, and cut through the wooded area around the courts. The pursuer would have to stay closer. And then Gideon could figure out a way to double around and come up behind.

He cut off the path and entered the woods below the courts. There were dead leaves underfoot that rustled as he walked. He continued for a moment, then stopped abruptly, pretending to have dropped something — and heard the crunch of leaves behind him cease abruptly as well.

Now he knew he was being followed, and his stupidity began to dawn on him. He didn’t have a weapon, he was in the middle of the empty park — how had he allowed this to happen? He’d been upset about Orchid, who’d turned out to have feelings as tender as a damn teenager’s. He’d been worrying about Glinn and his medical folder. And as a result he’d let down his guard.

He started up again, walking fast. He couldn’t let them know that he knew. But he had to get out of the park as soon as possible, get among people. He swung around the tennis courts and took a sharp left, walked along the court fence and then, in a bushy area, briefly reversed direction and made a quick ninety-degree dogleg, angling back toward the reservoir.

That would, he hoped, confuse the bastard.

“Move and you’re dead,” spoke a voice from the darkness, and a figure with a gun stepped out in front of him.

28

Gideon halted, tensed to spring, but held his ground. It had been a woman’s voice.

“Don’t be stupid. Raise your hands. Slowly.”

Gideon raised his hands, and the figure took another step forward. She had a Glock trained on him with both hands, and he could see from her stance that she was thoroughly trained in its use. Slender, athletic, her mahogany hair was pulled back in a heavy, loose ponytail, and she wore a dark leather jacket over a crisp white blouse and blue slacks.

“Put your hands against that tree and lean out, legs apart.”

Jesus, thought Gideon. He did as he was told and the woman hooked one foot inside his and patted him down. She stepped back.

“Turn around, keeping your hands raised.”

He complied.

“Name is Mindy Jackson, Central Intelligence Agency. I’d show you my ID but my hands are full at the moment.”

“Right,” said Gideon. “Now, look, Ms. Jackson—”

“Shut up. I’ll do the talking. Now, I’d like you to tell me who you’re working for and what the hell you think you’re doing.”

Gideon tried to relax. “Couldn’t we discuss this—”

“You don’t follow directions well, do you? Talk.”

“Or what? You’re going to shoot me here in Central Park?”

“Lots of people get shot in Central Park.”

“You fire that gun and in five minutes this place will be swarming with cops. Just think of the paperwork.”

“Answer my questions.”

“Maybe.”

There was a tense silence. “Maybe?” she said, finally.

“You want me to talk? Fine. Not at gunpoint and not here. All right? If you’re really CIA, we’re on the same side.”

He could see her thinking. She relaxed, holstered the gun under her thin jacket. “That would work.”

“Ginza’s over on Amsterdam has a nice bar, if it’s still around.”

“It’s still around.”

“So you’re a New Yorker?”

“Let’s dispense with the chitchat, shall we?”

29

Sitting at the bar, Gideon ordered sake, Mindy Jackson a Sapporo. They said nothing while waiting for the drinks to arrive. In the light, with the coat off, he was able to see her better: full lips, a small nose, just a hint of freckles, thick brown hair, green eyes. Thirty, maybe thirty-two. Smart. But maybe too nice for her line of work—? although, he reminded himself, you never could tell. The important thing was, even though he had no idea what it