On that subject, I said to Paresi, 'You didn't return my call yesterday.'
He asked, 'Which call was that? The one where you were pissy about being sent out of town?'
'That's the one.'
He looked at me and said, 'John, I have to agree with Walsh that this is best for us, and best for you, and especially best for Kate.'
'Vince, it is not best for the investigation. It is not best for the war on terrorism, and not best for the country or the American public.'
He suggested, 'You have a very high opinion of your importance.'
'Indeed, I do.' Well, apparently my fate was sealed, but I said to Paresi, 'Obviously you want to keep me informed, and that's why I'm standing here.'
'I was getting a little bored here by myself, and you were in the neighborhood.' He added, 'Plus, this seems to have something to do with someone who wants to kill you.'
'Right. So why don't we stay in touch while I'm enjoying a few weeks' rest? And I'll make myself available for a quick trip back to New York if you think you're on to something.'
He thought about that and replied, 'I'll take it up with Walsh.' He informed me, 'Subject closed.'
We poked around the apartment awhile, being careful not to touch or disturb anything that would throw the forensic people into a fit, and I reminded Paresi that we did have Khalil's prints in the FBI databank, along with some of his DNA that was collected in Paris three years ago at the American Embassy.
Paresi commented, 'By the looks of this place, there's enough DNA here to create life and arrest it.'
Good one, Vince. Wish I'd thought of it.
In any case, forensic people like dirty houses, and I was fairly certain that they'd be able to establish the presence of Asad Khalil here.
Paresi asked rhetorically, 'What the hell did these people do here all day and night?'
Good question. I was going stir crazy in an apartment about five times this size, filled with creature comforts, a balcony with a view, and a well-stocked bar. These people, however, were not interested in comfort or entertainment; they were patient, single-minded, and on a holy mission. This did not necessarily make them better equipped for this fight-they lacked freedom of thought and they underestimated ourdedication and willingness to fight-but they were proving to be tougher than we thought.
I replied to Paresi's rhetorical question, 'They sat here and watched my apartment building on TV, twenty- four/seven, they prayed, they discussed politics and religion, and they read from the Koran.'
'What did they do for fun?'
'I just told you.'
'Right.' He suggested, 'They should have had a house-cleaning contest.' He checked his watch, and again asked a rhetorical question. 'How long does it take to get a fucking search warrant?'
'It's Sunday,' I reminded him. 'Did you go to church?'
'I was on my way when I got the call. How about you?'
'Saint Pat's.' I asked him, 'Where's Walsh?'
'He and his lady went upstate for the weekend.'
'Skydiving?'
He said under his breath, 'Let's hope.' He then assured me, 'He's reachable.'
Unless his Caller ID comes up 'John Corey.'
We chatted for a few more minutes, then a Task Force detective, Anne Markham, showed up with a search warrant. Anne took a look around and said, 'I want this pigpen cleaned before the forensic team gets here.'
Funny. Anyway, two FBI guys from the Evidence Recovery Team arrived-they don't want to be left out-and a few minutes later the NYPD forensic team arrived and kicked everyone out.
Down in the lobby, Paresi said to me, 'You know, John, Khalil really may be gone. So don't feel too bad about going on vacation.'
I replied, 'I'm fairly certain this is a ruse. Sometimes known as a trick. And the purpose of the trick is to make us all drop our guards and scale down our manhunt. Get it?'
'Yeah, I get it. But maybe it just got too hot for them with us knocking on doors.' He informed me, 'We'll have a supervisors' meeting tomorrow A.M. to discuss it.'
'What time should I be there?'
'How about never? Is never good for you?'
I had some advice for him, and I said, 'Don't drop your guard, Vince.'
He had no reply to that, but he did extend his hand and said, 'Thanks for being bait.' He also said, 'Have a good trip. Take it easy. Regards to Kate. We'll stay in touch.' He added, 'See you in a few months.'
If not sooner.
Back in my apartment, with my Sunday afternoon Bloody Mary in hand, I went out to the balcony. They were gone-right? But a stupid ruse is often a cover for a smart ruse.
Or were they and Asad Khalil really on their way back to Sandland? Mission accomplished? Mission aborted? Or mission continues?
Asad Khalil came halfway around the world to cross names off his list, and he hadn't gotten to my name yet. Or Boris's.
And what happened to that big finale we were expecting? Have they already poisoned the water supply? Have they spread anthrax? Is there a bomb ticking somewhere?
This is one of those cases where the silence is deafening.
I looked down the street at the window that had looked back at me for two or three weeks. They weren't there any longer-but where were they? Where was Asad Khalil?
I didn't have much time left, so the ball was actually in his court. Make a move, asshole.
I spent the late afternoon packing, which made this trip finally real for me.
Time was slipping by, and I thought about working the phone, which is another way of saying bugging people who had less information about Asad Khalil than I did-and who didn't want to be called on a Sunday by an obsessed nutcase whose wife was in the hospital and who was under house protection with nothing to do.
Nevertheless, I decided to call Tom Walsh, hoping he'd come to his senses, or maybe he'd gotten eaten by a bear, clearing the way for me to come back to work Monday morning.
I started to dial his cell phone, but then I pictured him in some romantic lodge upstate with his girlfriend, trying on her clothes while she was napping, so I decided to text him: Discovery of safe house on E. 72nd changes the situation-let's discuss new strategy Monday A.M.
Sounds good. If I was a supervisor, I'd bite on that.
I also thought about going to 26 Fed to work the Automated Case System, and to see if there was anything new there in the Khalil file-something other than his name and rows of Xs. This is called clutching at straws.
Mostly, though, I waited for my phone to ring, hoping that something would break.
At about 5 P.M., I decided to call Boris again on the theory that if he was still alive, that meant that Khalil hadn't begun his final cleanup operation.
Boris didn't answer his cell phone, but neither did Asad Khalil nor a homicide detective, so I left another message with the maitre d' for Boris to call me. This time I said 'urgent.' I pictured Boris with some devitsa-that's a girl, right? Not a guy. And he was plying her with champagne and impressing her with his KGB exploits while the Red Army Chorus set the mood.
About ten minutes later, my house phone rang, and it came up 'Anonymous Caller' so I answered it.
A familiar male voice said, 'John, we are so delighted that you and Kate are coming to visit.'
I said to Mr. Mayfield, 'Hold on, sir, I'm just putting my gun in my mouth.'
Actually, I said, 'We're looking forward to it.'
He inquired, 'How does Kate look to you? Is she really feeling well?'
'I've never seen her looking better.' I'm okay, too.
And so forth.
About twenty minutes later, my parents called from Florida-they were all in on this together-and it was my mother who was on the line, and she let me know, 'It's hot and humid here, and it's going to be worse when you get here. Bring comfortable clothes. We have plenty of suntan lotion. You know how easily you burn. And you're going to eat healthy here-lots of fish and vegetables.'
