him, but, no, the other man didn’t budge from his perch at the top of the stairs. Looks like I’ve still got a shadow, she realized. He’s probably waiting to see what I do next.
It was kind of a frustrating situation. Roberta would have liked to run after Takagi and tail him back to the conference, if that indeed was where he was heading, but that was hardly an option while she [41] was under observation herself. A mental image of King Kong following her following Takagi produced a rueful smile. Nobody ever said international espionage was going to be easy.
Instead she had no choice but to play it cool and let the idealistic young scientist go, confident that they would meet again as planned. If he wanted to make a break for it, she assured herself, he didn’t need to make an appointment with me first — unless that was just to lull me into a false sense of security.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly one P.M. Over six hours to go before she hooked up again with Takagi. She sighed loudly; it was going to be a long, anxious afternoon, most likely with the world’s largest secret admirer for company. Washing down one last bite of pizza with a swallow of Fresca, she started down the steps. Producing a compact from the depths of her macramé purse, she peeked in the mirror at Magilla Gorilla. Sure enough, he started moving again as soon as she did, thrusting a handful of lira at a surprised artist and leaving his unfinished portrait behind.
Just to play it safe, she turned left when she reached the Bernini fountain at the foot of the stairs, heading off in the opposite direction than Takagi had. The distinction between roadway and sidewalk turned out to be a blurry one, and she had to step briskly to avoid collisions with the ever-present Vespa motor scooters. Not too surprisingly, her large and silent pursuer managed to keep up with her. Yep, she thought. Definitely a long day ahead.
CHAPTER FOUR
811 EAST 68TH STREET, APT. 12-B
NEW YORK CITY
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
MAY 14, 1974
THE SIGN ON THE OUTER DOOR now read Aegis Scientific Supplies, Inc., a small but essential detail in the sting operation Gary Seven had taken pains to set into motion over the past two months. Now, if fortune was on his side, his efforts were about to bring him one step closer to the answers he sought.
“Mr. Offenhouse to see you, sir,” his newly hired temporary receptionist informed him over the intercom. Unlike Roberta, this young woman, whom he’d hired for the morning primarily to maintain appearances, had no idea that Seven and his business were anything more than they appeared.
“Thank you, Allison,” he replied. “I’ll be right out.” He depressed a concealed switch on his desk and the nearby Beta 5 computer station, all gleaming steel and brightly flashing display panels, swung inward, vanishing into a hidden recess in the wall. As the futuristic terminal disappeared, an ordinary-looking bookcase rotated into place, concealing the Beta 5 entirely from sight. Scientific manuals and catalogues now occupied the bookshelves that had, up until recently, held encyclopedias and reference tomes: yet another part of the misleading facade Seven had carefully constructed.
[43] He took a moment to survey the office, confirming that its trappings were all 1974-standard, then straightened his tie and headed out to the foyer to greet his visitor.
“Good morning, Mr. Offenhouse,” he said. A clock on the wall revealed that it was exactly 9:05 A.M. The newcomer was punctual, if nothing else. “Thank you for coming by.”
“Let’s hope it’s worth my time,” the other man answered brusquely An American businessman in his late thirties, Ralph Offenhouse strode forward and took Seven’s hand, squeezing it forcefully. Standard alpha-male behavior, Seven recalled, not unlike a Klingon greeting ritual, although somewhat less bloody. He squeezed back with equal force, as the customs of this era expected him to.
It was kind of a frustrating situation. Roberta would have liked to run after Takagi and tail him back to the conference, if that indeed was where he was heading, but that was hardly an option while she [41] was under observation herself. A mental image of King Kong following her following Takagi produced a rueful smile. Nobody ever said international espionage was going to be easy.
Instead she had no choice but to play it cool and let the idealistic young scientist go, confident that they would meet again as planned. If he wanted to make a break for it, she assured herself, he didn’t need to make an appointment with me first — unless that was just to lull me into a false sense of security.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly one P.M. Over six hours to go before she hooked up again with Takagi. She sighed loudly; it was going to be a long, anxious afternoon, most likely with the world’s largest secret admirer for company. Washing down one last bite of pizza with a swallow of Fresca, she started down the steps. Producing a compact from the depths of her macramé purse, she peeked in the mirror at Magilla Gorilla. Sure enough, he started moving again as soon as she did, thrusting a handful of lira at a surprised artist and leaving his unfinished portrait behind.
Just to play it safe, she turned left when she reached the Bernini fountain at the foot of the stairs, heading off in the opposite direction than Takagi had. The distinction between roadway and sidewalk turned out to be a blurry one, and she had to step briskly to avoid collisions with the ever-present Vespa motor scooters. Not too surprisingly, her large and silent pursuer managed to keep up with her. Yep, she thought. Definitely a long day ahead.
CHAPTER FOUR
811 EAST 68TH STREET, APT. 12-B
NEW YORK CITY
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
MAY 14, 1974
THE SIGN ON THE OUTER DOOR now read Aegis Scientific Supplies, Inc., a small but essential detail in the sting operation Gary Seven had taken pains to set into motion over the past two months. Now, if fortune was on his side, his efforts were about to bring him one step closer to the answers he sought.
“Mr. Offenhouse to see you, sir,” his newly hired temporary receptionist informed him over the intercom. Unlike Roberta, this young woman, whom he’d hired for the morning primarily to maintain appearances, had no idea that Seven and his business were anything more than they appeared.
“Thank you, Allison,” he replied. “I’ll be right out.” He depressed a concealed switch on his desk and the nearby Beta 5 computer station, all gleaming steel and brightly flashing display panels, swung inward, vanishing into a hidden recess in the wall. As the futuristic terminal disappeared, an ordinary-looking bookcase rotated into place, concealing the Beta 5 entirely from sight. Scientific manuals and catalogues now occupied the bookshelves that had, up until recently, held encyclopedias and reference tomes: yet another part of the misleading facade Seven had carefully constructed.
[43] He took a moment to survey the office, confirming that its trappings were all 1974-standard, then straightened his tie and headed out to the foyer to greet his visitor.
“Good morning, Mr. Offenhouse,” he said. A clock on the wall revealed that it was exactly 9:05 A.M. The newcomer was punctual, if nothing else. “Thank you for coming by.”
“Let’s hope it’s worth my time,” the other man answered brusquely An American businessman in his late thirties, Ralph Offenhouse strode forward and took Seven’s hand, squeezing it forcefully. Standard alpha-male behavior, Seven recalled, not unlike a Klingon greeting ritual, although somewhat less bloody. He squeezed back with equal force, as the customs of this era expected him to.
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