“I confess my ignorance along with my love,” he said with a smile. “Tonight you can educate me.”
“You’re impossible. You won’t listen and you have no common sense at all.”
“Sound like a man in love, don’t I? If it helps any, Lisa, I don’t understand why you should have this effect on me, either. But isn’t that what love’s all about?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve never really loved anyone.”
“Until now,” he said, taking her abruptly into his arms. The kiss lasted longer than he intended, certainly longer than she intended. When they finally parted there was a glimmer of something new and wonderftul in her eyes. The uncertainty was still there, the old taboos and regulations, but mixed now with a faint hope and desire to believe in him, as she’d never believed in anything before. He saw it clearly and knew he couldn’t let her down. Not now, not ever.
IX
He walked all the way back to his hotel, disdaining the robocabs and public transport, enjoying the light rain that was falling. He didn’t feel it. He felt nothing but joy and delight in being alive.
She’d found him attractive, had said as much. She’d said she could love him. The confrontation had turned out better than in his wildest imaginings. Where he’d been prepared to find indifference or distrust, he’d discovered warmth and love. If that one brief glimpse of her in Phoenix had captured him, her actual presence had imprisoned him forever.
No longer was she a fading, distant image. She was a real person now, one with fears and troubles of her own. They only intensified his feelings for her. Here was someone who needed not only all the love he’d kept buried inside all his life but who also needed his help and protection. She was a prisoner, there was no question of it. Though of what he still wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she cared for him, if only to the point of concern for his welfare. He would settle for concern now and wait for the love he was certain would follow.
Time passed with agonizing deliberation, but he made himself hew to the schedule he’d planned. What would they do tonight besides talk? Perhaps he could get her out of that crystal-and-white cell. Dinner? No doubt she’d already dined at Nueva York’s most exclusive restaurants.
What about the lower levels of Forty-second Street? Had she ever been there? Ever had a hot dog on a cold street, or satay on a stick, or rumaki by the basketful? He would try to find out tonight.
He was full of plans and forcing himself not to run as he reentered his hotel. Though he was hungry, he passed by the coffee shop. Before he did anything else he was going to lay out the new suit he’d purchased to replace the one he’d ruined during his inexplicable escape from the Harlem Tower.
The suit waited, neat and clean, on its hanger. He took it out of the closet and laid it flat on the bed, turned to go to the bathroom, hesitated. Something was wrong with the pants. He inspected them closely, couldn’t find the problem. Only when he ran fingers up one trouser leg and bent over it did his euphoria evaporate and his excitement turn to apprehension.
An expert had done the work. It was very subtle, almost undetectable. The original laser stitch had been opened. Checking the other leg, he saw that it had been similarly treated, threads removed and hastily resealed. The fabric was still stiff. In another hour all signs of tampering would have disappeared.
A check of the matching jacket revealed similar treatment. There was no outward damage or signs of manipulation, only a stiff, crinkly feel to the material where it should have been soft and flexible.
Why would anyone search the seams of his clothing? He stood staring at the suit that suddenly smelled of an alien presence, then commenced a careful inspection of his room. His toiletry articles appeared untouched, except for his razor. He’d shaved twice since cleaning it last. There should be hairs in the receptacle. There were none. Someone had made another revealing mistake.
He went through the entire bathroom without finding anything else, then moved to the bedroom. Where would be the logical place, he thought? He started with the underside of the bed, found nothing, switched his attention to the small desk and its chair. They were clean, as was the opto screen and tuner. So was the back of the single picture bolted to the wall.
He found what he was looking for inside the window jamb. Very tiny, smaller than his thumbnail and about as thick as a dime. Four inches of nearly invisible wire ran from the device and clung to the outside of the aluminum window frame.
It was a marvelous bit of miniaturization, and he wondered which company was responsible for it. Wouldn’t it be funny if under a microscope he found SV for Selvem imprinted somewhere on the device? Oh, very funny indeed! He might even, at some time, have aided in the design of the circuitry. It was not comforting in the least to know that the bug might be part of the family.
Another was secured to the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Its tiny antenna ran up the side of the lighting element and curled around the tube. But the choicest surprise of all awaited him when he rechecked the desk. He’d overlooked it on first inspection because he’d been hunting for something else.
There were two pens attached to the hotel writing pad. That seemed extravagant for so modest an establishment. Both were the same shade of blue, but one had the hotel name stamped on its side and the other did not. Other than that they matched perfectly, except that the unstamped instrument’s stylus was not visible. Nor was it retracted. A glance showed a tiny plastic lens. As he picked up the tiny opto camera he wondered if anyone on the other end was watching. If so, would the sudden movement of the peeper set off an alarm?
He dropped the peeper, feeling a desperate urge to get out of the room, out of the city.
Yes, get out, a loud voice screamed at him inside his head. Get out like she told you, while you still have a chance!
He fled from the room, the suit forgotten along with his other possessions. Down the hall now, ignoring the elevators again lest they be full of the owners of the bugs in his room. Having discovered him, they were likely to come for him in person now.
But who were they? Someone was going to extraordinary lengths to insure the total privacy of a very confused and, he was convinced, very unhappy young woman. Someone with access to sophisticated technology and plenty of money.
He thought again of the underworld. They utilized modern surveillance technology as readily as did the government and private industry. But usually their methods weren’t as subtle as the available instrumentation. Of course, what did he know of the real underworld? He was a junior designer, a law-abiding citizen. Everything he knew he’d seen on the optotext.
Whoever they were, how had they tracked him to his room? If they’d been watching all along they would have known when he’d left Phoenix. They might have tracked him to Nueva York. But to trace him here—seemed impossible, since he’d used his altered credit card. To find him so soon meant access to city-wide search facilities and enormous resources. And why not confront him directly? Why this sham with the spy bugs in his room?
It didn’t matter now. He was out on the street and running through the afternoon crowds. Other pedestrians ignored him. People in Nueva York ran a lot.
Seeing no hint of pursuit he finally slowed to a walk. Maybe they were tracking him with relays. He found himself staring suspiciously at anyone gazing too long into store windows or at nothing in particular. Yes, a different man and woman to watch him every three or four blocks, a whole series set up to monitor his position.
But why? Why such close attention? It made no sense, no sense at all. Lisa Tambor was truly beautiful, yes, unique in many ways and everything he’d hoped she might be, but hardly worthy of this kind of shielding.
Had he pricked the jealousy of some unimaginably wealthy industrialist who wanted her for himself? Yet Lisa implied she’d had liaisons with many men. Even so, what harm could there be in her meeting once or twice with some innocent, love-struck engineer from the Southwest?
Something didn’t add up. Several somethings. Usually such puzzles were glass to Eric, who amazed his friends at parties and gatherings with his uncanny ability to solve the most complex new game or riddle in minutes. A quirky talent useful only for amusing one’s friends and making life a little easier. It failed him now. He had no idea what was happening.
Is this what it feels like to be hunted?
He turned a corner and in the same movement slipped into a restaurant under the cover of the busy lunchtime crowd. Hunted … it sounded like something from a cheap opto. If anything, he still felt more confused than pursued. Take it one thing at a time, he told himself.
If they’d located his hotel, then it was likely they knew he’d visited Lisa. She didn’t know, he was certain, or she would have said something to him. Had she been trying to do that every time she’d told him to leave? He wasn’t sure.
He relaxed a little as he settled into a chair behind a back corner table. How much did she feel for him? He chose to believe what he’d seen in her eyes as they’d parted instead of what she’d said with her words. Love was possible. As long as he had that hope to cling to, no one and nothing was going to drive him out of this city.
Someone was standing in front of his table. Eric knew instantly it wasn’t one of the waiters.
The man was stocky and dark and of indeterminate age. He might be thirty-five … or fifty-five. His black hair was wavy and combed straight back from forehead and temples. The sideburns were cut short and peppered with white, as was the thin, heavily waxed moustache. Chubby cheeks and a round nose gave him the appearance of Santa Claus the morning after.
His accent was thick and vaguely Middle Eastern, each word accented as distinctively as its owner’s appearance. His attire was neat and inconspicuous.
“How do you do, Mr. Abbott? My name is Kemal Tarragon.” He nodded toward the empty chair opposite Eric. “May I please sit down?”
