‘Don’t move,’ the tall black man said. ‘They could drive back by to see what’s going on.’
Jack Ming left his eyes half open. ‘He bought it,’ he mumbled through closed mouth.
‘It helped that you pulled and died by your own weapon. I think it worked, yes. He wants you dead and sometimes the eye sees mostly what it wants to see. My name is Bertrand. I’m a friend of Sam’s. We’re going to get you to safety.’
Jack stayed still. Through his half-mast eyes he could see a woman standing behind Bertrand, holding a video camera. ‘When it looks like you’re shooting a YouTube video, no one thinks you were actually shot,’ Bertrand reminded him. The woman was a small pixie-faced type, very pretty, with big sunglasses shoved up to her dark hair.
Ten, twenty minutes passed. A couple of people strolling by gave them curious glances, but the presence of the woman shooting video answered unasked questions. ‘Okay, get up,’ Bertrand said. ‘We walk. Quickly.’
The woman murmured to Bertrand, he couldn’t quite hear what, but her accent sounded Russian or something.
Bertrand said, ‘Good luck and be careful.’
He and Bertrand headed one way, the woman the other.
And if they’re watching us right now, if this wasn’t enough, Sam is a dead man, Jack thought, and I’ve given them back what they wanted most, and my mother died for nothing.
Bertrand hurried him through the park; they went in the opposite direction of Zviman and Sam, toward Belvedere Castle and the 79th Street Transverse.
‘Wait,’ Bertrand said. ‘Wait.’ Jack thought his heart would explode, suddenly scared that their ruse had been discovered.
A Ford sedan pulled up next to them. At the wheel, August of the CIA.
And in the back seat, impossibly, Ricki.
‘We thought it best to get her to safety,’ Bertrand said, ‘but I didn’t want you distracted by knowing she was close. Sorry. We have a private jet… ’
Jack hardly heard him. He was in the back seat, embracing Ricki, who kept covering his face with kisses. Safe. She was safe.
The car pulled away. Bertrand gave a quick wave and vanished back into the park.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said to August.
‘Thank Sam and his friends,’ August said.
He thought of that crazy Sam Capra, and his baby, and Jack’s heart felt heavy.
‘Jack, we’re going to get you and Ricki to Langley. You’ll be safe there. And I understand you made a paper copy of the notebook… ’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But you can’t have it. Not yet.’
The car stopped. August turned. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Sam promised to give you me, August,’ Jack said. ‘Not the notebook. He needs the original notebook to get his son back. If he makes it back with his son, you get the notebook. If he doesn’t get his son back, then the copy I have is his, to do with what he wants.’
August stared.
‘Think of it,’ Jack said, ‘as the map of Sam’s revenge.’