by Stuart Woods
“They’ve figured out how you got into the FBI evidence room in New York and got the explosives.”
“I thought they might,” he replied calmly.
“But they’re changing all the log-in codes, so you won’t be able to get into our computers again.”
“That’s not good,” Teddy said. It was worse than not good. “Can you get the new codes?”
“I’ve already got them. I burned them onto a CD this afternoon, and I’ve got it at home. Where can I send it to you?”
That brought Teddy up short. He wasn’t about to give her an address in New York. “Send the disk to John Quinn, care of General Delivery, Fort Lee, New Jersey,” he said. Fort Lee was just across the George Washington Bridge. It wasn’t far enough away, but it would have to do.
“No, that won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have to log on before midnight tomorrow, or you won’t get in, and we’ll have to start over. And I can’t keep burning disks for you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Also, the disk I have is the DDO’s, and when you log in it will automatically identify you as Hugh. You’re going to have to hack into the codes on the disk and change them. Can you do that?”
“Probably, but it will be a bitch. I may have to log in as the DDO once, to get at the codes in the mainframe.”
“That would be very dangerous for me, Mike. They could put me under surveillance, maybe even polygraph me.”
“You’re right; I’ll have to think of something.” He made a decision. “I’ll come and get the disk tonight. Meet me at the motel? I’m dying to see you, anyway.”
“What time?”
“I’ve got to make some stops on the way,” he lied, “but I can be there by midnight.”
“I’ll get the room,” she said. “Call me on this phone when you’re a few minutes away.”
“Will do. See you then.”
He had told her he had stops to make in order to account for the five hours it would take for him to get there. He got his RV out of the garage. It already had good Maryland plates and a registration certificate, and he had an ID to match, so he felt safe. But then, as he drove, paranoia began to creep in. Suppose Irene had had second thoughts and told Hugh English about him? Suppose the new codes on the CD were just a ruse to flush him out?
Irene wouldn’t rat him out; of that he was certain. But what if they were onto her and had created this situation to entrap him? He worried about it all the way to Virginia.
He got to the motel at midnight and drove past it at moderate speed, looking for signs of a setup. Finally, he turned around and drove back, parking in the lot of the diner next door. He went in and ordered some scrambled eggs and coffee, constantly checking the arrivals and departures in the parking lot. Just before midnight, he saw Irene’s car turn in and park. She got out and hurried to the motel office.
He called her cell phone.
“Yes?”
“Are you in the clear?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it. I made sure there was no tail. There’s not much traffic around here this time of night.”
“No vans or RVs in sight?” he asked getting up from the table while continuing to talk. He put a twenty-dollar bill on the table and left.
“There’s an RV in the restaurant side of the lot,” she said.
“That one’s all right; I checked it out. What’s your room number?”
“Ten, all the way at the end.”
He kept walking. “Leave the door ajar.”
“All right.”
He stepped up to the door and opened it.
“Jesus!” she said, pocketing her phone. “You scared me; I didn’t expect you so quickly.”
“I couldn’t wait,” he said, putting his arms around her waist.
“I wanted to be naked and in bed when you walked in,” she said.
“We can fix that right now.” In a moment they were making love.
When they had finished, Teddy had relaxed a little. If they were out there, they wouldn’t have waited this long to break in. “Where’s the disk?” he asked.
“In my handbag, on the desk,” she said.
Teddy retrieved the disk. “I’ve got to get going,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed and kissing her. “I’d love to stay and do it all again, but I really have to go and get to work on this disk.”
“I understand; it’s all right.”
“It’s better if I go first.”
She kissed him again. “You go ahead. Call me when you can.”
Teddy got into his clothes, slipped the disk into his jacket pocket, kissed her and checked outside. All quiet. He stepped out the door and walked slowly toward the parking lot, checking for trouble. His was the only vehicle in the restaurant’s lot; they had closed, and it was dark around the RV. His heart pounding, he got into the RV, started it and drove off. Nobody followed. After a few minutes, he settled down and drove on toward New York.
He had to stop these all nighters; they were wearing. And he had the opera the following evening.
TWENTY-FIVE
HOLLY STOOD OUTSIDE the Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center and watched the flow of people as they arrived for the performance. It was cold, and she snugged her muffler tighter and turned up her coat collar.
She had seen two or three men alone who might have fit the description of Teddy Fay, but they had all met women and had gone in as couples. Ty was over at the New York City Opera, doing the same thing, and she wondered if this was a productive use of their time.
She spotted another candidate for Teddy, a man in a tuxedo who appeared and began loitering around the door, just as she was doing. Too athletic-looking, she decided finally. Probably around fifty.
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said from behind her.
Holly turned to find an elderly gentleman standing there, and she sized him up quickly. Mid-seventies, slim, carrying an aluminum cane and wearing an obvious toupee. Too old.
“Yes?” she asked.
“You’ve been standing here for some time, and I wondered if you were looking for a ticket.” Reedy voice, New York accent. “I have an extra ticket, and I’d be pleased if you’d join me as my guest.”
Why not? Holly thought. Might as well have a look around inside. “Why thank you; that would be very nice.”
He beamed. “Good! Do you mind if I take your arm? I’m a little lame.”
“Please do,” she said.
He took her arm, and they walked slowly into the building. “I had a knee replacement four months ago, and it’s taking hell’s own time to get over it,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“I swear, if my doctor had told me about the recovery, I don’t think I’d have done it. I couldn’t play tennis anymore, you see. By the way, my name is Hyman Baum.”
“I’m Holly Barker.”
They made their way into the huge auditorium, and Holly was delighted to find their seats in row H, on the aisle. “What wonderful seats,” she said.
“Oh, yes, it took me a long time to get them. I’ve been coming to the Met since the late sixties; I started in the second balcony, and each year I improved my seats a little. I’ve had these for four years,” he said, “every Friday night.”
“You’re a lucky man, Mr. Baum.”
“Please call me Hy,” he said. “Everybody does.”
They settled into their seats and put their coats in their laps.
“I never check my coat,” Hy said. “Takes too long to get it back.”
Holly was checking everyone within sight for someone who fit Teddy’s description.
“What sort of work do you do, Holly?”
“I’m sort of retired,” Holly said. “I was widowed a couple of years ago, and I sold my little shop and decided to travel.”
“Is that what brings you to New York?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?”
“With friends. What do you do, Hy?
”
“I’m retired from the dress business. My father had the business before me, and now my son is running it.”
The lights dimmed, and the curtain came up. La Bohème was beginning. In moments, Holly was entranced.
THE FIRST ACT WAS ENDING when Holly’s cell phone began vibrating. As the curtain came down she turned to Hy. “I’ve got to run to the ladies’,” she said, and she raced up the aisle ahead of the crowd.
She stood in a quiet corner of the lobby and opened the phone. “Yes?”
“It’s Ty, where are you?”
“I’m inside the Met.”
“You bought a ticket?”
“I got an invitation.”
“You got picked up?”
“Sort of. An elderly gentleman.”
“Is it Teddy?”
“I don’t think so,” she said dryly. “Too old, too frail. He’s had a knee replacement. He’s wearing an obvious toupee, and I don’t think Teddy would be obvious. How did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You want to get something to eat?”
“No, I’m enjoying the opera; I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, good night.”
“Good night.” She closed the phone, found the ladies’ room, then returned to her seat.
THE OPERA ENDED, and Holly was in tears. She hadn’t expected this.
“Had you seen La Bohème before?” Hy asked, as they made their way up the aisle.
“No, I haven’t been to the opera before.”
“Were you waiting for someone?” he asked.
“Yes, a girlfriend; we were going to try to get last-minute seats, but she didn’t show, and you made me a better offer.”
“How about some dinner?” he asked.
“If you’ll forgive me, I’m pretty tired. I think I’d better get home.”
“Can I drop you?” They were outside now.
“No, it’s not far; I’ll walk.” That should ditch him, with his knee. “Thank you so much for the seat. I loved the opera, and I appreciate it very much.”
“Perhaps again next Friday night?”
“I’m afraid I’ll be in London by then.” He was sweet, but boring and way too old for her.
“Then I wish you a happy trip.”
“Thank you, goodbye.”
He turned and made his way down the steps toward the street, and she used the moment to check out the departing crowd. No Teddy.
Then, as she was turning to go, she saw Hyman Baum jogging toward the curb rather athletically, waving his cane at a taxi. He jumped in, and the cab drove away.
Holly was halfway home in her own cab before the penny dropped.
TWENTY-SIX
HOLLY FOUND LANCE the following morning in the twelfth-floor dining room having breakfast. “Good morning,” she said, “do you mind if I join you? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Please sit down,” Lance said, handing her a menu. She gave the waitress her breakfast order, then turned back to Lance. She was very uncomfortable with this.
“How are you and Ty working out as partners?” he asked.
“I like him,” she said. “He’s bright and willing, even if he is a little stiff.”
“FBI men are often stiffs,” Lance said.
“The difference in our ages bothers me a little,” she said.
“Holly, I didn’t ask you to sleep with him.”
“That’s not what I mean. You see, we can’t work pretending to be a couple, and we don’t look like sister and younger brother, either; we just don’t look right together, and it complicates things a little.”
“I see your point, but I’m sure you’ll find ways around that. What did you want to talk to me about?”
Holly’s breakfast arrived, and she played with it a little, dreading what she had to say. “I think I might have met Teddy last night at the opera.”
Lance set down his coffee cup and stared at her. “You met him?”
“I was standing outside the Met, looking for Teddy, and this elderly man with a bad toupee and a cane walked up to me and asked if I’d like to be his guest for the opera.”
“Teddy’s supposed to be quite a makeup artist,” Lance said. “I should think that if he wanted hair, he’d make it look real.”
“That was my thought, too. He leaned on me going into the hall, said he’d had a knee replacement, and the recovery was taking longer than he’d thought. He said his name was Hyman Baum and he was a retired garment center businessman, a dress manufacturer. He said his father had had the firm before him, and his son had it now. He said he’d been going to the opera there since the sixties, and that’s why his seats were so good.”
“Where were the seats?”
“Row H, two and four.”
“That would take some doing at the Met; the best seats are held by long-time subscribers. What about him made you think he might be Teddy, and if you thought so, why didn’t you call for backup?”
“Once we were inside, it never crossed my mind that he might be Teddy, but after we left the building, after I’d declined dinner or a drink with him, I saw him running after a taxi, waving his cane.”
“Running after a taxi with a new knee replacement? I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I. But I didn’t think of that until ten minutes later, when I was on the way home in a cab.”
“Any idea which way his taxi went?”
“No, it could have gone anywhere—the East Side, the Village, the Bronx.”
“Describe him as accurately as you can,” Lance said, taking out a notebook.
“Blue eyes, close to six feet—I’m five-nine, and I was wearing three-inch heels, and we were eye to eye—fairly slender, maybe one-sixty; pale complexion, bags under his eyes, good teeth (too good for his age, maybe dentures, maybe prosthetic, part of the makeup); curved nose; fastidiously dressed but off-the-rack clothes, I think; liver spots on the back of his hands, and his hands looked strong. And, as I said, bad toupee: too low on the forehead, too thick, and the gray on top didn’t quite match the gray over his ears.”
“We could put you with a sketch artist, but I don’t think it would do us any good. If he wasn’t Teddy, it will just be a distraction; if he was, then the nose, the liver spots, the bags under the eyes could be makeup.”
“Maybe Hyman Baum is the identity he’s using; shall we check it out?”
“I’ll talk to Kerry and get some of his FBI agents on that; they’re more accustomed to background checks than we are. Did he say where he lived?”
“No, though he asked me.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I was a widow, and I was staying with friends, before continuing to London. He also asked me to go to the opera with him the following week; he has seats every Friday night, apparently the same seats.”
“Well,” said Lance, “we’ll certainly be going to the opera next Friday night, and we’ll have seats H two and four surrounded. You were right to tell me about this, Holly. How did you do with the record store…what’s it called?”
“It’s called Aria, on East Forty-third.”
“That’s the one.”
“Ty went in, but I’m afraid the woman in charge reacted poorly to having an FBI agent in her store. I’m planning to go back and see what I can do with her.”
“See if you can soften Tyler up a little, will you? I’m afraid he’s the sort of young agent J. Edgar Hoover would have loved.”
“I’m trying.”
“Anything else you can remember about Mr. Baum?”
Holly thought hard. “That’s it, I think.” She felt humiliated and angry to have come so close to the man and to have let him walk so easily. She was beginning to really want him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
TEDDY HAD WORKED HARD on the new log-in codes for the CIA computers, but he had had to first log on as DDO Hugh English; it was unavoidable. Now, though, he once again had free rein to romp through the mainframe and t
he various servers and to go from there into other government computers, state and federal, all over the country and in many places abroad.
It made him laugh. He could now register a car in Bulgaria or obtain an Idaho driver’s license; he could upload a Florida license to carry a concealed weapon, which worked in twenty-six states. Access to the Agency’s computers was a license to be anybody or to simply vanish into America. And nobody knew he could do it. He spent until early afternoon creating half a dozen new identities for himself, complete with credit reports, licenses and passports and uploading them into state and federal computers. Now he could enter the country or depart through any airport, and his ID would hold up.
After lunch he took a cab to the corner of Fifth Avenue and 43rd Street and walked down the block toward Aria. He was a few feet short of the shop when a woman got out of a cab and walked across the sidewalk to the shop’s front door, passing no more than six feet ahead of him. He felt a physical shock; it was the woman he had taken to the opera the night before—Holly something. He kept walking.
She had not so much as given him a glance, of course, since he looked very different today from last night. He crossed the street and stood behind a parked truck, trying not to tremble, watching the reflection of Aria’s shop front in a store window. What was she doing in Aria? Had they somehow traced his interest in the shop? Of course, she liked the opera, or she wouldn’t have been there last night, but still, this was too much of a coincidence. He fought the urge to run, to go directly to the bus station and leave New York. But no, he had worked too hard to create this existence to simply walk away from it before he was sure how much trouble he was in.
HOLLY WALKED INTO ARIA and stopped when she saw the woman behind the counter. Ty had found her a tough nut to crack, and she looked just as tough now.
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
“Oh, I’d like to find a good recording on CD of La Bohème,” she said.
The woman got down off her stool and led her to a bin of CDs. “My favorite is the Pavarotti,” she said pleasantly. “Did you have a preference as to cast?”
