FIFTY-THREE

TEDDY WAS BACK in his shop with a spray bottle of Windex and a cloth, wiping everything down. He was going to have to move, soon; he was seeing way too many people on the streets who were looking for him. He had been very lucky to get out of the Rockefeller Center imbroglio without getting collared.

He went carefully over every doorjamb, every work surface, every piece of equipment, erasing any trace of himself. It took him more than two hours, and when he had finished he got into latex gloves. He would wear them whenever he was in the shop from now on. His apartment was next. He left the shop and walked back toward his building on Park, looking forward to a good dinner from Restaurant Daniel, served in his suite, and maybe a movie on TV.

As he approached the building he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a woman in the lobby, talking to the doorman and the super. He turned and walked back toward Lexington. The woman was the one with the baby carriage outside Saks earlier in the day. Had they traced him to the building, or were they just canvassing?

He went back to his workshop, donned his latex gloves, looked up the number for the doorman and dialed it. “Hello, William? It’s Mr. Foreman.”

“Good evening, Mr. Foreman.”

“Have I had a package delivered in the last hour or so, or anybody looking for me?”

“No, sir, but we had a lady from some government agency in here looking for somebody, she wasn’t sure who.”

“What was it about?”

“She wouldn’t say. She showed me a sketch of some guy that didn’t look like anybody I know. The super, neither. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Teddy thought quickly. Was there anything in the apartment he needed? Fingerprints-he needed to wipe the place down. “No, William. See you later.” He hung up and walked back to the building, holding his breath as he walked in, waiting for somebody to shout “That’s him!” He made it to the elevator and went upstairs.

He ordered dinner from downstairs, then put on his gloves and began wiping down the suite. He stopped for dinner, then went back to work. When he was satisfied, he began packing his clothes; he certainly wasn’t going to give them DNA from the sweat on a hatband or from his dirty underwear.

When he was nearly done, he called the doorman. “William, the building has a car service, doesn’t it?”

“Yessir. Can I get you a car?”

“Yes, going to Kennedy Airport.” He looked at his watch. “I have a flight for London at ten o’clock.”

“I’ll have a car for you in twenty minutes, sir,” William said. “I’ll buzz you when it’s here.”

Teddy changed into a business suit and packed the remainder of his clothes. He set his two suitcases and briefcase by the front door and sat down to wait for the car to arrive, increasingly nervous.

They must be canvassing every building in the neighborhood, he thought. It’s what he would have done, if he were Lance Cabot. From what the doorman had said, though, he and the super had given the agent nothing. The phone buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Your car is here, Mr. Foreman. Do you need any help with your luggage?”

“No, just meet me at the elevator.” Teddy collected his two bags and briefcase and went down in the elevator, where William met him. A black Lincoln was idling at the curb.

“How long will you be away, sir?” William asked as he put Teddy’s bags into the trunk.

“A week or so. Please hold my mail.”

“You never get any mail, Mr. Foreman. You’re the only one in the building that doesn’t.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Teddy said, chuckling. “It goes to my office. Would you let the people at Daniel know that they can pick up my room service dishes?”

The doorman held the car door open, and Teddy got in. “Have a good trip, Mr. Foreman.”

“Thank you, William,” Teddy said, slipping him a fifty.

“Thank you, sir!”

The car drove away. “Which airline?” the driver asked.

“British Airways,” Teddy replied and settled in for the ride.

AS THE DOORMAN WALKED back into the building, the super emerged from his ground-floor apartment. “Willie,” he said, “I just thought of something.”

“What’s that, Rich?”

“That agent who was here earlier this evening. The sketch didn’t look familiar, but you know, the description she gave sounded kind of like Mr. Foreman.”

William shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I guess it could describe a lot of guys.”

“Only one in this building, though,” the super said. “Have you still got her card?”

William rummaged in a drawer and came up with it. “Here it is,” he said, handing it over.

The super went back into his apartment, looking at the card.

Twenty minutes later the woman agent, accompanied by a dozen other men and women, flooded into the lobby of the building.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” William asked.

“What’s the apartment number for Albert Foreman?” she asked.

“Fourteen B,” William replied, “but Mr. Foreman left about twenty, twenty-five minutes ago.”

“Do you know where he was going?”

“Yes, ma’am, I got him a car from our service; he was going to Kennedy Airport to catch a ten o’clock flight for London.” He looked at his watch. “That means he’ll be taking off in about an hour and a half.”

The super emerged from his apartment. “Please take these people up to Mr. Foreman’s apartment,” she said to him.

The super handed her the key, and she handed it to another agent. “You take the group up there and go over the place with a fine-toothed comb. I’m calling this in.” She turned to William. “How was Mr. Foreman dressed?”

“He was wearing a dark business suit, a topcoat and a gray hat, a fedora,” William replied.

The agents headed for the elevator, and Martin called Lance.

“Cabot”

“Lance. It’s Martin. We’re at the building, and Foreman left twenty-five minutes ago for Kennedy Airport. Said he was taking a ten o’clock flight to London.”

“Then he’ll be arriving there in ten or fifteen minutes, with decent traffic,” Lance said. “I’m on it. You and your people do the apartment”

“We’ve already started.” She gave Lance Foreman’s description.

LANCE TURNED to Kerry Smith. “This guy, Foreman, who sounds like Teddy, is going to be at Kennedy airport shortly. How many people do you have there?”

“Half a dozen agents,” Kerry replied, “but we can mobilize the NYPD unit out there, plus airport security.”

“Good. Have them go directly to the departing-passenger set-down and the departure lounge for every airline with a London flight tonight. He’s traveling as Albert Foreman, and he’s wearing a dark suit, a topcoat and a fedora. Go!”

AT KENNEDY, Teddy got out of the car, paid the driver and carried his own luggage into the terminal. He took the escalator down one floor and emerged at the curb where passengers from arriving flights waited for taxis. Upstairs, unknown to him, FBI, the police and airport security were flooding the departure areas, looking for him.

Teddy waited in line patiently for a cab, and ten minutes later, he was headed back to the city. He gave the driver the address of his Lexington Avenue shop. He didn’t feel like carrying his luggage anymore.

“Where you in from?” the driver asked.

“London,” Teddy said without thinking.

“London flights don’t arrive this time of night,” the man said. “They get in during the afternoon.”

“We had the mother of all flight delays,” Teddy said.

FIFTY-FOUR

LANCE AND HOLLY WALKED into the Foreman apartment on Park Avenue and looked around. “Looks like nobody lives here,” Holly said. An agent came up to them.

“Clean as a whistle,” he said. “Not so much as a partial on any surface.”