village. They gossiped and nibbled on snacks brought in plastic containers as they played mah-jongg and an occasional game of chess.
Hollis Wilson sat on a park bench wearing a black leather jacket that concealed a .45-caliber automatic purchased from Dimitri Aronov. When Maya first met Hollis in Los Angeles, he had shoulder-length dreadlocks and wore stylish clothes. In New York, Vicki had cut his hair short and he had learned the Harlequin rule of concealment: always wear or carry something that conveys a false identity. That afternoon he had pinned two buttons to his jacket that announced: WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT? TRY THE HERBAL SOLUTION! The moment New Yorkers saw the lapel buttons, they turned their eyes away.
As Hollis guarded Gabriel, he studied a loose-leaf copy of The Way of the Sword, the meditation on combat written by Sparrow, the legendary Japanese Harlequin. Maya had grown up with the book, and her father was constantly repeating Sparrow’s famous statement that Harlequins should “cultivate randomness.” It annoyed her that Hollis was trying to take possession of this key part of her training.
“So how long have you been here?” she asked.
“About two hours.”
They looked across the park to another row of benches where Gabriel was playing chess at a park table with an elderly Chinese man. The Traveler had also changed his looks during their time in New York. Vicki had given him a very short haircut, and he usually wore a knit cap and sunglasses. When they first met in Los Angeles, Gabriel had long brown hair and the casual manner of a young man who spent his time skiing in the winter and surfing in the summer. He had lost weight in the last few months and now had the drained appearance of someone who had just recovered from a long illness.
Hollis had picked a good defensive position with clear sightlines to almost every area of the park. Maya gave herself permission to relax for a moment and enjoy the fact that they were still alive. When she was a little girl, she had called these moments her “jewels.” The jewels were those rare times when she felt safe enough to appreciate something pleasant or beautiful— a sky pink from a sunset or the nights her mother cooked a special meal like lamb rogan josh.
“Did anything happen this afternoon?” she asked.
“Gabe read a book in the sleeping area, then we talked for a while about his father.”
“What did he say?”
“He still wants to find him,” Hollis said. “I understand how he feels.”
Maya watched carefully as three elderly women approached Gabriel. The women were fortune-tellers who sat at the edge of the park and offered to predict your future for ten dollars. Whenever Gabriel walked past them, they would extend their hands slightly— palms facing upward, the right hand beneath the left— like beggars asking for alms. This afternoon, the fortune-tellers were merely showing their respect. One of them placed a cardboard cup of tea on the folding table used for the chess game.
“Don’t worry,” Hollis said. “They’ve done this before.”
“People are going to talk about it.”
“So what? Nobody knows who he is. The fortune-tellers just sense he has some kind of power.”
The Traveler thanked the women for the tea. They bowed to him, and then walked back to their post near the fence. Gabriel returned to his chess game.
“Did Aronov show up for the meeting?” Hollis asked. “His text message said he was offering a new piece of equipment.”
“He tried to sell me a ceramic handgun that we could carry through metal detectors. It was probably manufactured by a Russian security agency.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I haven’t made up my mind. I’m supposed to meet him at seven o’clock tonight. We’ll drive to New Jersey so I can fire it a few times.”
“A weapon like that could be useful. How much does he want for it?”
“Nine thousand dollars.”
Hollis laughed. “I guess we don’t get a ‘good
Hollis Wilson sat on a park bench wearing a black leather jacket that concealed a .45-caliber automatic purchased from Dimitri Aronov. When Maya first met Hollis in Los Angeles, he had shoulder-length dreadlocks and wore stylish clothes. In New York, Vicki had cut his hair short and he had learned the Harlequin rule of concealment: always wear or carry something that conveys a false identity. That afternoon he had pinned two buttons to his jacket that announced: WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT? TRY THE HERBAL SOLUTION! The moment New Yorkers saw the lapel buttons, they turned their eyes away.
As Hollis guarded Gabriel, he studied a loose-leaf copy of The Way of the Sword, the meditation on combat written by Sparrow, the legendary Japanese Harlequin. Maya had grown up with the book, and her father was constantly repeating Sparrow’s famous statement that Harlequins should “cultivate randomness.” It annoyed her that Hollis was trying to take possession of this key part of her training.
“So how long have you been here?” she asked.
“About two hours.”
They looked across the park to another row of benches where Gabriel was playing chess at a park table with an elderly Chinese man. The Traveler had also changed his looks during their time in New York. Vicki had given him a very short haircut, and he usually wore a knit cap and sunglasses. When they first met in Los Angeles, Gabriel had long brown hair and the casual manner of a young man who spent his time skiing in the winter and surfing in the summer. He had lost weight in the last few months and now had the drained appearance of someone who had just recovered from a long illness.
Hollis had picked a good defensive position with clear sightlines to almost every area of the park. Maya gave herself permission to relax for a moment and enjoy the fact that they were still alive. When she was a little girl, she had called these moments her “jewels.” The jewels were those rare times when she felt safe enough to appreciate something pleasant or beautiful— a sky pink from a sunset or the nights her mother cooked a special meal like lamb rogan josh.
“Did anything happen this afternoon?” she asked.
“Gabe read a book in the sleeping area, then we talked for a while about his father.”
“What did he say?”
“He still wants to find him,” Hollis said. “I understand how he feels.”
Maya watched carefully as three elderly women approached Gabriel. The women were fortune-tellers who sat at the edge of the park and offered to predict your future for ten dollars. Whenever Gabriel walked past them, they would extend their hands slightly— palms facing upward, the right hand beneath the left— like beggars asking for alms. This afternoon, the fortune-tellers were merely showing their respect. One of them placed a cardboard cup of tea on the folding table used for the chess game.
“Don’t worry,” Hollis said. “They’ve done this before.”
“People are going to talk about it.”
“So what? Nobody knows who he is. The fortune-tellers just sense he has some kind of power.”
The Traveler thanked the women for the tea. They bowed to him, and then walked back to their post near the fence. Gabriel returned to his chess game.
“Did Aronov show up for the meeting?” Hollis asked. “His text message said he was offering a new piece of equipment.”
“He tried to sell me a ceramic handgun that we could carry through metal detectors. It was probably manufactured by a Russian security agency.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I haven’t made up my mind. I’m supposed to meet him at seven o’clock tonight. We’ll drive to New Jersey so I can fire it a few times.”
“A weapon like that could be useful. How much does he want for it?”
“Nine thousand dollars.”
Hollis laughed. “I guess we don’t get a ‘good
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