If you can hear me, do not go out the front door, or you’ll
be killed too. Go out the back and turn left. Remember what I said, turn left. It’s
the only way I can help you!” She turned her head and stared straight through him
– at someone else. “What was his time of death?” She listened for a moment,
then spoke to the empty table again. “You’ll be killed in less than one minute!
Get out of there now!”
“What the hell are you talking
about?” Craig asked, then he looked to the front of the cafe and locked eyes
with Nogorev, who was peering in through the window, staring straight at him.
Craig turned and ran towards the
back of the restaurant. Nogorev charged in through the front door, pushing
Giorgio Romano aside and knocking a waiter to the ground as he raced towards
the rear of the restaurant. He saw a woman standing beside the booth, facing an
empty table, and swept his arm at her, intending to knock her aside. Instead, his
arm passed right through her as if she wasn’t there. He stumbled off balance, confused
for a moment, then the woman vanished.
Only a few meters away, Craig
burst out into the alley behind the restaurant. The sound of traffic drew his
attention to the right, towards the main road, then he remembered Mariena’s instruction
to go left. He hesitated then ran left, down the alley towards a narrow side
street.
Behind him, a holographic wall
appeared across the alley, too high to climb, perfect in every detail: graffiti,
grime, shadows, chipped concrete and flaking paint. The wall created the
illusion that the alley came to an end, and the only direction Craig could have
gone was right. When Nogorev charged into the alley, he sprinted to the right
without a second thought, towards the main street where he was certain he would
find Craig.
A block away, Craig ran through
back streets, thinking the assassin was close behind him. Soon he reached a
road, waved down a cab and climbed in. When the cab drove off, his heart sank
as he remembered the table had been reserved in his name, linking him to the
murder.
“Where to, buddy?” the driver
asked.
“Just drive around Central Park
for a while.”
“What?” The driver gave him a confused
look.
“Central Park,” Craig said
sharply.
The driver shrugged. “OK, it’s
your money.”
The cab pulled into traffic and
began doing the long circuit around Central Park as Craig examined the dead man’s
wallet. It contained a few hundred dollars and a small identity card with a
picture of the dead SK officer wearing a light grey business suit. The writing on
the identify card was in an unintelligible foreign script. He turned his
attention to the cell phone. It was a cheap prepaid device with only two
numbers in its call history, one of which was his work number. He was tempted
to call the other number, but the taxi driver would have heard every word.
He gave the driver his office
address and pocketed the cell phone until he could call in private.
* * * *
Nogorev used a burner cell phone to
call the offices of Goldstein, McCormack & Powell. He was furious with
himself for losing contact with Craig Balard, unable to understand how his
quarry had disappeared so fast.
When the receptionist answered, Nogorev
said, “Hello. I have a letter to send to Mr Balard, but I don’t know his full
name. Could you tell me what it is, please?”
“Yes of course, sir. It’s Craig
J. Balard. He’s not in right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll
have him return your call.”
Nogorev hung up, then dialed a
number in the Russian Embassy. He read out a recognition code, then said, “I
want the address of Craig J Balard, New York City.
“I have a C. J. Balard sir,” The
operator said, then read out Craig’s number and home address.
“Put a trace on that phone. I
want to know every call made from that number.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * *
Captain Ridley had a ruddy complexion
and a nose for politics. When Harriman
be killed too. Go out the back and turn left. Remember what I said, turn left. It’s
the only way I can help you!” She turned her head and stared straight through him
– at someone else. “What was his time of death?” She listened for a moment,
then spoke to the empty table again. “You’ll be killed in less than one minute!
Get out of there now!”
“What the hell are you talking
about?” Craig asked, then he looked to the front of the cafe and locked eyes
with Nogorev, who was peering in through the window, staring straight at him.
Craig turned and ran towards the
back of the restaurant. Nogorev charged in through the front door, pushing
Giorgio Romano aside and knocking a waiter to the ground as he raced towards
the rear of the restaurant. He saw a woman standing beside the booth, facing an
empty table, and swept his arm at her, intending to knock her aside. Instead, his
arm passed right through her as if she wasn’t there. He stumbled off balance, confused
for a moment, then the woman vanished.
Only a few meters away, Craig
burst out into the alley behind the restaurant. The sound of traffic drew his
attention to the right, towards the main road, then he remembered Mariena’s instruction
to go left. He hesitated then ran left, down the alley towards a narrow side
street.
Behind him, a holographic wall
appeared across the alley, too high to climb, perfect in every detail: graffiti,
grime, shadows, chipped concrete and flaking paint. The wall created the
illusion that the alley came to an end, and the only direction Craig could have
gone was right. When Nogorev charged into the alley, he sprinted to the right
without a second thought, towards the main street where he was certain he would
find Craig.
A block away, Craig ran through
back streets, thinking the assassin was close behind him. Soon he reached a
road, waved down a cab and climbed in. When the cab drove off, his heart sank
as he remembered the table had been reserved in his name, linking him to the
murder.
“Where to, buddy?” the driver
asked.
“Just drive around Central Park
for a while.”
“What?” The driver gave him a confused
look.
“Central Park,” Craig said
sharply.
The driver shrugged. “OK, it’s
your money.”
The cab pulled into traffic and
began doing the long circuit around Central Park as Craig examined the dead man’s
wallet. It contained a few hundred dollars and a small identity card with a
picture of the dead SK officer wearing a light grey business suit. The writing on
the identify card was in an unintelligible foreign script. He turned his
attention to the cell phone. It was a cheap prepaid device with only two
numbers in its call history, one of which was his work number. He was tempted
to call the other number, but the taxi driver would have heard every word.
He gave the driver his office
address and pocketed the cell phone until he could call in private.
* * * *
Nogorev used a burner cell phone to
call the offices of Goldstein, McCormack & Powell. He was furious with
himself for losing contact with Craig Balard, unable to understand how his
quarry had disappeared so fast.
When the receptionist answered, Nogorev
said, “Hello. I have a letter to send to Mr Balard, but I don’t know his full
name. Could you tell me what it is, please?”
“Yes of course, sir. It’s Craig
J. Balard. He’s not in right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll
have him return your call.”
Nogorev hung up, then dialed a
number in the Russian Embassy. He read out a recognition code, then said, “I
want the address of Craig J Balard, New York City.
“I have a C. J. Balard sir,” The
operator said, then read out Craig’s number and home address.
“Put a trace on that phone. I
want to know every call made from that number.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * *
Captain Ridley had a ruddy complexion
and a nose for politics. When Harriman
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