“It’s yours now.”
Even with cover of nightfall, Elliot and Lorimer wanted some fast distance between that Hilton hotel room and themselves; Alongside Night
195
they settled for a quick march over to the Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge at Eighth Avenue. A hand-lettered sign on the booths proclaimed telephone service temporarily interrupted. Elliot claimed a booth anyway, Lorimer standing just outside to block the view of anyone wondering about the use of dead telephones.
As an experimental control, Elliot inserted a vendy, received a call tone, and punched in the Cadre number. A busy signal, as expected.
He retrieved and reinserted the vendy, got another call tone, then punched in the number as before. This time, however, he held the telephone key up to the handset mouthpiece and just after punching the number pressed its red button: the key emitted a series of audible, multifrequency tones. Nonetheless the substantive result was identical—another busy signal.
“Try it before the number,” Lorimer suggested. Vendy, call tone, key tones, number. It worked; the number started ringing. The Cadre relay station answered as before, its tape requesting a recorded message in return. Elliot said,
“‘Queen takes pawn, Mate,’“ then recorded his pay booth’s number. “If I don’t receive a callback within two minutes,”
Elliot continued, “I’ll call again later with another message.”
He hung up. “Now we find out how sharp our friends really are.”
They were sharp enough; Elliot broke a fingernail answering in the first instant of ringing. A familiar voice said, “Joseph Rabinowitz?”
“Right,” said Elliot. “Is this—?”
“Shut up,” Chin cut in. You do recognize my voice, though?
Answer only yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Good, that saves time. Why didn’t you come in as planned?”
“Come in? I don’t know what you mean.”
“You didn’t get our message? We left it at your home early 196
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this afternoon.”
“Lor and I haven’t been there since noon.”
“All right,” said Chin. “Listen carefully. There isn’t much time. I don’t know how you got telephone use—no, don’t tell me now—but you’ve placed yourself in great danger. All permitted calls are relaying through the Federal Telecommunications System. Just stay right where you are. Don’t argue. We know where that is—and we’ll pick you up.”
“How will I know—?”
“The usual way. Don’t worry.”
Chin hung up.
In under five minutes, a tough-looking giant wearing a pea jacket spotted Elliot and Lorimer near the telephones and flashed a ring banner. Elliot responded, the man approached.
“I’ve got a hack in front. C’mon—and hurry.”
The couple grabbed their parcels and followed the man—
he said to call him Moose—through the lobby out to a battered wreck of a car standing at the curb, engine running, four-ways flashing. Elliot took one look at it and muttered to Lorimer,
“What a piece of junk!”
“She may not look like much,” Moose said, unlocking the doors “but she’s got a million-dollar motor. I don’t have time for old routines, though, so if you please, get in the goddam car.”
Moose had slid into the front seat, Lorimer following Elliot into the back, when a pair of headlights pulled up behind. Lorimer first noticed them when the front passenger door opened the inside light revealing a black sedan with four passengers, one man climbing out. “Bureau,” she advised Moose quietly, shutting her door to cut off their own light. “I recognize that one getting out. SAC—Special Agent in Charge, I mean—New York field office.”
Elliot glanced back into the FBI sedan and turned white.
“Get us out of here—fast.”
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197
Moose turned on headlights, easing the car into light uptown traffic. Suddenly, the SAC did an about-face back into his car. The sedan pulled out onto Eighth Avenue just behind them.
“They still might not be sure,” said Moose.
“They’re sure,” Elliot said. “I don’t know all the pieces yet, but they have to know. She saw me.”
“What are you—”
“See the woman driving that sedan? I don’t know what her real name is, but up until last week I knew her as Mrs. Tobias. She was my current-events teacher at school.”
Moose glanced into the rearview mirror, first at the sedan, then at Elliot, and took the microphone from his transceiver, holding it low. “Tau to Omicron. Do you have me?”