een given to contact Rycart but the one I’d brought from London。 Needless to say； I’d forgotten to switch it off。
“Don’t answer it；” warned Rycart。 “It’ll lead them straight to us。”
I looked at the incoming number。 “It’s Amelia Bly；” I said。 “It could be important。”
“Amelia Bly；” repeated Rycart； his voice a blend of awe and lust。 “I haven’t seen her for a while。” He hesitated； it was obvious he was desperate to know what she wanted。 “If they’re monitoring you； they’ll be able to fix your location to within a hundred yards； and this hotel is the only building where you’re likely to be。”
The phone continued to throb in my outstretched palm。 “Well； to hell with you；” I said。 “I’m not taking my orders from you。”
I pressed the green button。 “Hi；” I said。 “Amelia。”
“Good evening；” she said； her voice as crisp as a matron’s uniform。 “I have Adam for you。”
I mouthed； “It’s Adam Lang；” at Rycart and waved my hand at him to warn him against saying anything。 An instant later the familiar； classless voice filled my ear。
“I was just speaking to Ruth；” he said。 “She tells me you’re in New York。”
“That’s right。”
“So am I。 Whereabouts are you？”
“I’m not sure exactly where I am； Adam。” I made a helpless gesture at Rycart。 “I haven’t checked
in anywhere yet。”
“We’re at the Waldorf；” said Lang。 “Why don’t you come over？”
“Hold on a second； Adam。” I pressed Mute。
“You；” said Rycart； “are a fucking idiot。”
“He wants me to go over and see him at the Waldorf。”
Rycart sucked in his cheeks； appraising the options。 “You should go；” he said。
“What if it’s a trap？”
“It’s a risk； but it’ll look odd if you don’t go。 He’ll get suspicious。 Tell him yes； quickly； and then
hang up。”
I pressed Mute again。
“Hi； Adam；” I said； trying to keep the tension out of my voice。 “That’s great。 I’ll be right over。”
Rycart passed his finger across his throat。
“What brings you to New York； in any case？” asked Lang。 “I thought you had plenty to occupy
you at the house。”
“I wanted to see John Maddox。”
“Right。 And how was he？”
“Fine。 Listen； I’ve got to go now。”
Rycart’s throat slashing was becoming ever more urgent。
“We’ve had a great couple of days；” continued Lang； as if he hadn’t heard me。 “The Americans
have been fantastic。 You know； it’s in the tough times that you find out who your real friends are。”
Was it my imagination； or did he freight those words with extra emphasis for my benefit？
“Great。 I’ll be with you as fast as I can； Adam。”
I ended the call。 My hand was shaking。
“Well done；” said Rycart。 He was on his feet； retrieving his coat from the bed。 “We have about
ten minutes to get out of here。 Get your stuff together。” Mechanically； I began gathering up the photographs。 I put them back in the case and fastened it
while Rycart went into the bathroom and peed noisily。
“How did he sound？” called Rycart。
“Cheerful。”
He flushed the lavatory and emerged buttoning his fly。 “Well； we’ll just have to do something
about that； won’t we？”
The elevator down to the lobby was crammed with members of the Church of Latter…Day Online Traders； or whoever the hell they were。 It stopped at every floor。 Rycart grew more and more nervous。
“We mustn’t be seen together；” he muttered as we stepped out at the ground floor。 “You hang back。 We’ll meet you in the car park。”
He quickened his pace； drawing ahead of me。 Frank was already on his feet—presumably he had been listening and knew of our intentions—and the two of them set off without a word： the dapper； silver Rycart and his taciturn and swarthy sidekick。 What a double act； I thought。 I bent and pretended to tie my shoelace； then took my time crossing the lobby； deliberately circling the groups of chattering guests； keeping my head down。 There was something now so ludicrous about this whole situation that； as I joined the crush at the door waiting to get out； I actually found myself smiling。 It was like a Feydeau farce： each new scene more far…fetched than the last； yet each； when you examined it； a logical development of its predecessor。 Yes； that was what this was： a farce！ I stood in line until my turn came； and that was when I saw Emmett； or at least that’s when I thought I saw Emmett； and suddenly I wasn’t smiling anymore。
The hotel had one of these big revolving doors； with compartments that hold five or six people at a time； all of whom are obliged to lunge into it and shuffle forward to avoid knocking into one another； like convicts on a chain gang。 Luckily for me； I was in the middle of the outgoing group； which is probably the reason Emmett didn’t see me。 He had a man on either side of him； and they were in the compartment that was swinging into the hotel； all three pushing at the glass in front of them； as if they were in a violent hurry。
We came out into the night and I stumbled； almost falling over； in my anxiety to get away。 My suitcase toppled onto its side and I dragged it along after me； as if it were a stubborn dog。 The car park was separated from the hotel forecourt by a flower bed； but instead of going round it I walked straight through it。 Across the parking lot； a pair of headlights came on and then drove straight at me。 The car swerved at the last moment and the rear passenger door flew open。
“Get in；” said Rycart。
The speed with which Frank accelerated away served to slam the door shut after me and threw me back in my seat。
“I just saw Emmett；” I said。
Rycart exchanged looks in the mirror with his driver。
“Are you sure？”
“No。”
“Did he see you？”
“No。”
“Are you sure？”
“Yes。”
I was holding onto my suitcase。 It had become my security blanket。 We sped down the access road and pulled into the heavy traffic heading toward Manhattan。
“They could have followed us from LaGuardia；” said Frank。
“Why did they hold back？” asked Rycart。
“Could be they were waiting for Emmett to arrive from Boston； to make a positive ID。”
Up to that point； I hadn’t taken Rycart’s amateur tradecraft too seriously； but now I felt a fresh surge of panic。
“Listen；” I said； “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go and see Lang right now。 Assuming that was Emmett； Lang must surely have been alerted to what I’ve been doing。 He’ll know that I’ve driven up to Boston and shown Emmett the photographs。”
“So？ What do you think he’s going to do about it？” asked Rycart。 “Drown you in his bathtub at the Waldorf…Astoria？”
“Yeah； right；” said Frank。 His shoulders shook slightly with amusement。 “As if。”
I felt sick； and despite the freezing night； I lowered the window。 The wind was blowing from the
east； gusting off the river； carrying on its cold； industrial edge the sickly tang of aviation fuel。 I can still taste it at the back of my throat whenever I think of it； and that； for me； will always be the taste of fear。
“Don’t I need to have a cover story？” I said。 “What am I supposed to tell Lang？”
“You’ve done nothing wrong；” said Rycart。 “You’re just following up your predecessor’s work。 You’re trying to research his Cambridge years。 Don’t act so guilty。 Lang can’t know for sure that you’re on to him。”
“It’s not Lang I’m worried about。”
We both lapsed into silence。 After a few minutes the nighttime Manhattan skyline came into view； and my eyes automatically sought out the gap in the glittering fa。ade； even though we were at the wrong angle to see it。 Strange how an absence can be a landmark。 It was like a black hole； I thought： a tear in the cosmos。 It could suck in anything—cities； countries； laws； it could certainly swallow me。 Rycart
seemed equally oppressed by the journey。
“Close the window； would you？” he said。 “I’m freezing to death。”
I did as he asked。 Frank had turned the radio on； a jazz station； playing softly。
“What about the car？” I said。 “It’s still at Logan Airport。”
“You can pick it up in the morning。”
The station switched to playing the blues。 I asked Frank to turn it off。 He ignored me。
“I know Lang thinks it’s personal；” Rycart said； “but it’s not。 All right； there’s an element of getting my own back； I’ll admit—who likes to be humiliated？ But if we carry on licensing torture； and if we judge victory simply by the number of the enemy’s skulls we can carry back to decorate our caves—well； what will become of us？”
“I’ll tell you what will become of us；” I said savagely。 “We’ll get ten million dollars for our memoirs and live happily ever after。” Once again； I found that my nervousness was making me angry。 “You do know this is pointless； don’t you？ In the end he’ll just retire over here on his CIA pension and tell you and your bloody war crimes court to go screw yourselves。”
“Maybe he will。