43
After a whole night without sleep, the two men
remained in the same place, their eyes fixed on the lobby door
through which the old man had disappeared many hours before. They
maintained the same alert, watchful attitude, especially the one
sitting next to the driver.
“I’m beat,” the more alert one complained.
“Cars weren’t designed for sleeping,” the other
replied.
They had some coffee and doughnuts that the first
one had gone out to buy from a coffee shop no more than a block
away. Given his companion’s taciturn nature, he had a lot of extra
time to think. He thought about stores that stayed open all night
and about more important matters. Payne, for example, the famous
Jack. He condemned what the man had done and yet admired him. It
took a lot of courage—real balls—to make a move like that. He had
to put his ass on the line to play a double role inside the Guard
and, even more important, not to be exposed, until he decided the
time was right. Good old Jack Payne. A fox. And speaking of old men
and foxes . . .
“The target just came out,” the driver said.
“I saw him, too.”
“Are you going to follow him?”
“No. You are.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to take a look around his place.”
“Now you’re talking,” the driver said, satisfied.
Finally, a bit of action.
“Don’t let him out of your sight. When I’m
finished, I’ll give you a buzz to find out where you are.”
The driver slid smoothly out of the car and
followed the old man’s steps, walking up Seventh Avenue toward
Central Park. He turned toward Broadway and headed for Times
Square. Taking walks delighted the old man, and it simplified the
work of the one trailing him.
Why don’t we just put a bullet between his eyes and
be done with this whole business? the driver wondered. What makes
him special? Why should we treat him any differently from everybody
else?
Barely fifteen minutes later, the other man managed
to get into the old man’s flat. He did a professional job and was
extremely careful, now that he had exceeded the limits of his
assignment. His boss’s clear instructions did not include entering
the apartment. Moreover, they expressly prohibited any action that
could jeopardize the overall plan. Why was he placing himself in
such danger? He was risking all of his previous accomplishments and
taking his life in his hands, knowing that the Master’s hand did
not tremble at the moment of exacting punishment. But he was trying
to gain an edge, something that could please the old boss, whose
arrival was imminent.
He’d had everything planned, waiting at a prudent
distance from the residence. Less than ten minutes had gone by when
a car stopped in front of it and the doorman went to open the car
door for the lady and her children ready to climb in. The man
wasted no time, already finding himself in the service elevator, on
his way to the seventh floor. No one had seen him go in.
Now, inside the apartment, he inspected it with
precision. The decor was modest, with old furniture and nothing too
luxurious. Dark tones were predominant and there were many crosses,
dispersed through all the rooms. The faith of the man living there
was also evidenced by a humble wooden altar with enough extra space
facing it to say Mass for ten or fifteen people, and by various
copies of the New Testament, in different editions, sizes, and
bindings.
During his hourlong inspection, the man made three
phone calls to keep track of the tenant’s jaunt, well into Central
Park, to the despair of the driver, who was already fed up with
following him around. By the time he had completed his task, he had
no doubt that what he had hoped to find wasn’t there. He had
searched in the darkest nooks and hidden corners. Cautiously poking
his head out the window, he saw the endless traffic on Sixth
Avenue. He glanced at his car, still neatly parked. He tried to
compose himself, for he couldn’t go out in an agitated state.
With a thoughtful expression, he sighed deeply.
“Nothing.”