Inside the bay he found repair equipment, fiberoptic jumps, powerpacks for supplying energy to temporarily disconnected facilities, and brackets holding dozens of tools. He helped himself to several potentially useful items while searching for the phone.

He lifted the unit and was relieved to hear a normal dialtone. There was always the chance it was a straight- line, connected only to some unknown service exchange. Taking a deep breath, he dialed Lisa’s number, thankful he’d had the presence of mind to note it when he’d first visited her home.

As he waited anxiously, he gazed across the darkness at her building. There were several rings, then a familiar voice, hesitant and soft.

“Hello?”

“Lisa! Can you talk?”

“Is that you?” She was sharp enough not to use his name.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Safe, for now.”

“But where? Tell me and I’ll come to you. I would have the other night but they held me back.”

“I wondered about that. Where’s Tarragon?”

“In the other room, with his people. I’m in the bedroom. They leave me alone in here.” A pause, then, “You’ve got a lot of people upset.”

“That wasn’t my intention, Lisa. I’m trying as hard as I can not to upset anyone, but they’re making it damn difficult for me.”

“I have to see you. We have to talk. Tell me where you are and I’ll come to you. I can slip out for a moment. They’ll leave me be for a moment.”

Anxious. She sounds so anxious. He remembered the warmth of her body against his. Even then she’d been uncertain, confused, doubtful of her own emotions. Now she seemed so positive. Of course, she’d had time to settle her own thoughts, but the past few days had sharpened instincts he hadn’t known he’d possessed.

Carrying the phone, he walked out into the light mist and looked over the edge of the roof. “There’s a big sycamore in the park that runs along the river. I’m in the top branches, on a remote phone.”

“Wonderful! I’ll tell them I need some air. They’ll let me go for a few minutes. You’ll wait for me?”

“Of course I’ll wait for you. Don’t you remember what I told you just before Tarragon and his bullyboys jumped me in your living room yesterday?”

“I remember.” She hung up. Or at least, the line went dead.

Eric took out the telescope and thoughtfully settled down to watch the park below. There was movement much too soon after his call. Figures fanning out to encircle the tree he’d chosen. Out in the river, isolated pleasure craft suddenly began to move toward shore, collecting together like a squadron of whirligig beetles.

A couple of minutes passed before there was a concerted rush toward the tree. Lights came on like fireflies, assaulting the branches.

The computer-generated voice had been very good, the best he’d ever heard. It should have fooled him completely. That it did not was no fault of its operators. It could only imitate Lisa’s voice, not her emotions. She had a way of pausing before announcing any significant decisions, and that hadn’t been right either.

The clincher had come when he’d asked her to remember what he’d told her the other day as Tarragon’s minions had moved in on him, before she’d been ordered to her bedroom. He hadn’t told her anything in particular.

If she was unable to answer her own phone, it seemed likely she wasn’t in the codo anymore. Tarragon and his employers wanted to keep them apart. It was obvious they’d taken the next step. But where had she been moved to?

Quickly he retreated to the service bay and hung up the phone. He headed for the stairway. Distant sounds made him pull up short.

Footsteps, lots of them, heavy on the metal stairs, and whispered voices.

He retraced his steps, moved to the far end of the roof. They came pouring out of the stairwell and fanned out to cover the whole roof. There were city police and men in neat business suits and others clad in paramilitary gear carrying heavy weapons. His escape the other day had obviously impressed his pursuers. Those who’d survived.

He continued to retreat across the roof until suddenly there was no more roof. He could hear them muttering to each other, saw the light come on inside the service bay. There were a couple of sharp popping noises.

Two men entered the bay, and as they stepped into the light he saw their insectlike faces. Gas masks. Sleep gas, or perhaps something stronger. When they reemerged they were shaking their heads.

He considered the several stories of heating and cooling machinery overhead. There were numerous ladders climbing the metal flanks, and in minutes they’d be alive with police … assuming they weren’t scouring the top already. He’d relied on his false location to fool them, but these weren’t children he was dueling. At the same time they’d moved to encircle the sycamore, someone else had been tracing the origin of the phone call.

The wire-mesh fence was cold against his spine. They were very near now. Soon someone would see him standing there in the mist.

He leaned over the fence and examined the side of the building. Some kind of decorative marbled polyethelene.

He wondered what they’d do to him if they caught him. Not that he much cared anymore whether they took him forcibly back to Phoenix, or put him under some kind of brain probe, or cut him up to see what made him tick. Being of a scientific bent, he was more than a little interested in the latter himself, but not to the point of wanting to preside over his own vivisection. Somehow he didn’t think they’d let him watch.

So without thinking about it any longer he kicked up and over and found himself hanging by his fingers from the metal mesh, ninety stories above the East River park.

His shoes were designed for long walks on pavement and not much else. They gave the feeblest grip in the mist. He would have to rely on his hands, and suddenly it seemed as if his fingers were made of steel. Like a housefly he started working his way down the side of the tower.

Once he came to a blind spot where the polyethelene had been worn smooth. Angrily he jabbed the wall, only to see his fingers penetrate up to the second knuckle. Whenever he needed handholds after that, he made them.

He doubted they would think to scan the perpendicular sides of the building. Nevertheless he descended ten floors before he considered it safe enough to crawl sideways to a window. There were no porches on this tower. When no one responded to his rapping on the glass, he punched his way through.

The codo was dark and empty. He took a few minutes to catch his wind, chancing that the owners would not return while he recovered. Without disturbing the arrangement of towels or other items, he used the bathroom to wash and dry his face. Then he grabbed a quick snack from the refrigerator, exited, and resealed the doorlock from outside.

The hall was empty. There was no private, lavishly decorated lobby like the one in Lisa’s building. An empty elevator took him down to the fourth floor. He wasn’t sure if they’d be watching the main entrance, but he took no chances, letting himself out onto the side of the building again by means of a service window.

From there it was a short descent to the ground floor. He hid for a while in a clump of pyrocanthus bushes until he was certain he had a clear path to the street. There were plenty of official and unmarked vehicles parked there, and a small crowd of curious gawkers thoughtfully hampering the police patrols. He slipped unnoticed into the crowd.

His caution was unwarranted. The police were not watching the street. No doubt their attention was aimed at the roof far above, where the real action was supposedly taking place.

He sauntered off into the park, forcing himself to maintain a slow pace. He was halfway to First Avenue when a voice shouted, “Hey you!”

Uncertain whether to run or turn and attack, he hesitated. A single yell could bring the whole horde of officials down on him.

The man in the metro police blazer and beret moved nearer, spoke irritably. “This is a restricted area, citizen. Didn’t you see the lines?”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said carefully. “I’ve been thinking and I didn’t …”

“Never mind.” He was fiddling with the call-all in his ear. Evidently it didn’t fit properly. He gestured toward the street with his stunstick. “Go on, get out.”

“Thanks. Sorry.” He turned and moved on. Maybe the cop hadn’t studied the reports on Eric Abbott. Maybe he’d just been called in for special duty. Maybe he was thinking about his girlfriend.

No matter. Eric had no more trouble. He saw the thin cord marking off the park as he emerged from the pedestrian lane. No police here, though. Only signs and ropes. He stepped over the cord and increased his pace slightly until he was surrounded by late-night strollers taking in the air along the river.

For several hours he wandered aimlessly through midtown, occasionally stopping to satisfy his suddenly ravenous hunger with fast food, trying to decide what to do next.

There was no way of knowing where Tarragon had spirited Lisa to. She might be in another codo in the same building or in another residential tower nearby. Or she might have been taken out of Nueva York altogther. How could he know without confronting Tarragon directly, which was out of the question?