last resort-if we can't find Khalil using standard methods and procedures.'
She stayed silent for a while, then said, 'You don't have to do that. That's not in anyone's job description.'
I reminded her, in case she forgot, 'We have a personal interest in apprehending Asad Khalil.'
She stayed silent again, then said, 'Why don't you wait until I get out of here? Then I can be part of that operation.'
She's a big girl, and she's in the business, so I said, bluntly, 'Why do you think you're still here? You're here so you're safely out of the way while Khalil and I see who finds who first.'
Again she stayed silent, then asked me, 'Do you have a good plan?'
Well, I thought the plan seemed okay, and I trust the surveillance teams, and I know that my execution of the plan will be, as always, flawless. But as an old Army guy once told me, even the best battle plans rarely survive the first contact with the enemy.
'John?'
'It's a standard and safe surveillance and countersurveillance, with a SWAT team added in case an arrest is not possible.' In fact, I would make sure an arrest was not possible.
She asked, 'When are you doing this?'
I really didn't want her losing any sleep over this, so I lied, 'I told you-when we've exhausted everything else.'
She nodded and said, 'Let me know.'
'I will.'
She informed me, 'If I'm not out of here by Sunday, I'm going to call my lawyer and get a habeas corpus.'
'Get one for me, too. And a pepperoni pizza.' I advised her, 'Don't screw up your career.'
Anyway, it was lunchtime and Kate insisted I have lunch with her. I looked at the menu and said, 'I'll have the prison-striped bass with the stir-crazy vegetables.'
She smiled, which was a good sign.
Over lunch, which wasn't too bad, I filled her in on most of what had happened in the last day or two, and she asked me, 'Have the State Police found my gun and cell phone yet?'
'Still looking.'
She said, without mincing her words, 'Khalil could kill you with my gun.'
'No, I'll kill him with my gun.' Actually, I wanted to use my knife. Maybe my hands.
She said, 'If he calls you, I want you to pass on a message for me.'
'I can't. You're dead,' I reminded her.
'Well… when we capture him, I want him to see me alive. I want to interview him… I want to see him strip- searched.'
Obviously, Special Agent Mayfield was still pissed off, and that was a healthy attitude-though a few days ago she wanted Khalil dead. Now she'd toned down her revenge fantasy and wanted him humiliated and incarcerated for life. I'd like to help her fulfill this wish, but I was still on Plan A-kill him. I said to her, however, 'That would be fun to watch.'
She nodded, then asked me, 'Have you told Tom about Boris?'
I knew I couldn't lie because she'd check with Walsh, so I replied, 'I have not.'
'Why not?'
Good follow-up question. And I couldn't finesse this, and I didn't want to tell her the truth, so I retreated into the last refuge of husbands and boyfriends and said, 'Trust me.'
'What is that supposed to mean?'
'Trust me.'
She looked at me, and after a few seconds she said, 'You're going to wind up either dead or in jail.'
'Neither.'
She then asked me, 'Have you called Dick Kearns like you always do when you're going around the FBI?'
I didn't reply.
We made eye contact and she said, 'Tell me about Boris.'
I took a deep breath, and told her about my trip to Brighton Beach and Svetlana, leaving nothing out-except Veronika. I concluded with, 'Boris convinced me to give him a week, and I agreed. And now I want you to do the same.' I added, 'He sends his regards.'
She processed all this very quickly and asked me, 'Are you crazy?'
'Yes, but that's not relevant.'
She retreated into some deep thinking, then said, 'I did not hear this.'
I nodded.
She advised me, 'Call Tom.'
I stood and bent over to kiss her, and she took my head in her hands and gave me a long, hard kiss, then said, 'I know you'll be looking for Khalil tonight. Be careful. Please. We have a long life ahead of us.'
'I know we do.' I squeezed her hand and said, 'I'll call you later.'
Back in my apartment, I spent the rest of the afternoon doing paperwork.
I spoke to Paresi again, who didn't have much new to say except, 'Everyone is revved up about tonight.'
'Let's not get too excited.'
'Yeah… but at least we're doing something-not just reacting.'
'Right. The best defense is a good offense.'
I'd noticed that Tom Walsh wasn't calling me, and I guessed that he wanted to distance himself from me, or from this operation, in case it went south. If, however, I nailed Khalil tonight, Walsh was waiting in his apartment with a car running outside so he could share the moment with me.
I said to Paresi, 'If it goes well tonight, I'll see Tom with his photographer in the park.'
Paresi did not respond to that, but said, 'Good luck and good hunting.'
At 5 P.M., I cleaned my Glock and took three extra magazines of 9mm rounds. I also cleaned my off-duty weapon, which is an old.38 Smith Wesson Police Special. The high-performance automatics like the Glock sometimes jam, and though I've never had a jam, it was possible, so the second weapon should be a basic revolver, which is less likely to go click, click when you want to hear bang, bang.
I rummaged through my closet and found some clothes for my walk in the park, then I found an old Marine K-bar knife that's been in my family since Uncle Ernie served in the Pacific. The knife, according to Uncle Ernie, had drawn blood, so it was not just any knife; it had been baptized.
It also needed sharpening, which I did with a honing stone from the kitchen drawer. And while I was sharpening the big knife, I understood a little of how ancient warriors must have felt on the eve of battle-or modern soldiers, who sharpened their bayonets before an attack. The sharpening of the steel was less about the cutting edge of the blade than it was about the cutting edge of the soul and psyche; it was an ancient communion with every man who ever faced battle and death, and who stood with his comrades, but stood alone, with his own thoughts and his own fears, waiting for the signal to meet the enemy, and to meet himself.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
At 10 P.M., I went down to the lobby where a Special Operations supervisor, FBI Special Agent Bob Stark, was waiting for me. I knew Bob, and he was one of the good guys.
I was wearing khaki pants, white running shoes-but no flashing lights on them-and a white pullover jersey. It was drizzling on and off, so I had on a tan windbreaker and a tan rain hat. It was kind of a dorky outfit, and I hoped I didn't run into anyone I knew. Except, of course, the Libyan guy. More importantly, I hoped that Khalil or his pals didn't realize I was dressed to be seen in the dark.
Stark and I went over the assignment, and I took a park map from him in case I got lost, which I sometimes
