I thought about what Kate had said, but I didn’t have enough facts to draw any conclusions. A few things stuck out, however, such as the political orientation of the Custer Hill Club and the upscale membership. The crazies on the right who actually engage in criminal activities are almost always of the lower-class variety. Their clubhouse, if they have one, is a gas station or a shack in the woods. This group was apparently something quite different.

And that’s about all I had at the moment, and if I was smart, that’s all I needed to know, and if I wanted to know more, I could ask Harry in the morning.

Kate said, “I think you’re annoyed at me for not mentioning that Tom and I discussed sending you on the assignment.”

“Not at all. I’m happy that my career is in such good hands. In fact, it’s sort of touching to think of you and Walsh discussing if little Johnny should go away for the weekend.”

“John-”

“Maybe you should have said it was okay with you, but he should check first with his wife to see if it was okay with her.”

“Stop being an idiot.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.”

“Just drop it. It’s totally unimportant. Go tell Walsh that I told you, and that you’re not happy with his management style.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Don’t be confrontational. Try being diplomatic.”

“I’ll be very diplomatic.” I asked, “Can I put him in a headlock?”

We drove in silence awhile. I realized I should speak to Harry before I confronted Walsh in the morning. I dialed Harry’s cell number on my hands-free phone.

Kate asked, “Who are you calling?”

“My emotional-stress counselor.”

After six rings, Harry’s voice came on the line. “This is Detective Harry Muller. At the tone, leave me a message and a phone number where I can reach you.” Beep.

I said, “Harry, it’s Corey. Kate wants to make hunter’s stew. I got potatoes, vegetables, and red wine. One of us has to run over a deer for the rest of the recipe. Call me ASAP.”

I hung up and said to Kate, “That surveillance could have been a career builder, if I didn’t get eaten by a bear.”

“Maybe that’s why Tom wanted you to go.”

“To help my career, or get me eaten by a bear?”

“Do you have to ask?”

I smiled. We held hands, and she turned on the radio to an easy-listening station. We made small talk on the way back to the city.

As we approached the Midtown Tunnel, the lit skyline of Manhattan came into view. Neither Kate nor I commented on the missing Twin Towers, but we both knew what we were thinking.

I remember that one of my first coherent thoughts after the towers were hit was that a man who pulls a knife on you doesn’t have a gun, and I recall saying to a cop next to me, “Thank God. This means they don’t have a nuclear bomb.”

The cop replied, “Not yet.”

PART VIII

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was Columbus Day, a special day to celebrate a dead white male stumbling onto a continent on his way to someplace else. I’ve had similar experiences coming out of Dresner’s bar.

We were dressed casually today; I had on comfortable loafers, black jeans, a sports shirt, and a leather jacket. Kate was also wearing jeans, with boots, a turtleneck, and a suede jacket. I said, “Your handbag doesn’t match your holster.”

“Well, then, I need to buy a new handbag today.”

I should learn to keep my smart mouth shut.

Kate and I exited our apartment house on East 72nd Street, and Alfred, our doorman, hailed us a cab.

Holiday traffic in Manhattan was light, and we made good time down to 26 Federal Plaza.

It was a beautiful, clear, crisp fall day, and I hummed a few bars of “Autumn in New York.”

Kate asked me, “Do you know if Tom Walsh will be in today?”

“No, but if you hum a few notes, I might recognize it.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“I think that’s well established.”

The taxi driver, a fellow named Ziad Al-Shehhi, was speaking on his cell phone in Arabic.

I put my finger to my lips and leaned forward. I whispered to Kate, “He’s talking to his Al Qaeda cell leader… he’s saying something about Columbus Day sales at Bergdorf’s.”

She sighed.

Mr. Al-Shehhi signed off, and I asked him, “Do you know who Christopher Columbus is?”

He glanced in his rearview mirror and replied, “Columbus Circle? Columbus Avenue? Where you want to go? You say Federal Plaza.”

“You never heard of the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María?”

“Sir?”

“Queen Isabella, for God’s sake? Are you marching in the Columbus Day Parade?”

“Sir?”

“John. Stop it.”

“I’m just trying to help him with his citizenship test.”

“Stop it.”

I sat back and hummed “Autumn in New York.”

It being a Federal holiday, the Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force was not fully open for business, but Kate had decided to go in anyway to keep me company and catch up on paperwork. We’d have lunch together, then she’d leave to catch the Columbus Day sales.

Even when we’re working the same schedule, we don’t always travel to work together. Sometimes, one of us takes too long with our makeup, and the other one gets impatient and leaves.

Kate had the Times in her briefcase, and I asked her for the Sports section, but she gave me Section A instead.

The front page headline read: RUMSFELD FAVORS FORCEFUL ACTIONS TO FOIL AN ATTACK. The story went on to explain that the U.S. needed to act early during the “pre-crisis period” to foil an attack on the nation. It seemed to me that if Saddam was reading the Times, he’d call his bookie and bet on an invasion in late January.

The other big story was the car bombing of a nightclub frequented by Westerners on the Indonesian resort island of Bali. This seemed to be a new front in the war of global terrorism. The death toll stood at 184 with more than 300 injured, the largest loss of life since September 11, 2001.

The Times acknowledged that the attack was probably the work of Islamic “extremists.” Good guess. Good New York Times word, too. Why call them terrorists or murderers? That’s so judgmental. Adolf Hitler was an extremist.

We weren’t going to win the war on terrorism until we won the war of the words.

I turned to the Times crossword puzzle and asked Kate, “What’s the definition of a moderate Arab?”

“I don’t know.”

“A guy who ran out of ammunition.”

She shook her head, but Ziad laughed.

Humor really bridges the gap between different cultures.

Kate observed, “This is going to be a long day.”

As it turned out, she was right.