The Lion

And in return, according to standard CIA procedures, Boris would get an American passport and some other considerations, like maybe a lifetime supply of Marlboros and Stoli, which I recalled he seemed to enjoy.

Boris (no last name, please) was an impressive man, and I would have liked to spend more time with him, but this was a one-shot deal, and he was surrounded by his CIA keepers, who acted like wives, kicking him under the table when he and the vodka said too much. In addition, Kate and I had a few FBI guys with us who also put some restrictions on the conversation. But I did remember that he said he always wanted to see New York, and that perhaps we'd meet again.

I also recalled now the end of the conversation when Boris, speaking of Asad Khalil, said to me and Kate, "That man is a perfect killing machine, and what he doesn't kill today, he will kill tomorrow."

I'd kind of figured that out for myself, but to be contrary, I had replied, "He's just a man."

To which Boris replied, "Sometimes I wonder."

Apparently, Asad Khalil, The Lion, had taken on mythological proportions in the minds of his friends and his enemies-just like Carlos the Jackal had-so if I could get my hands on Khalil and cut his throat, then I'd be known as John Corey, Lion Killer. Better than John Corey, Loose Ca

Or, the people in Washington might not have such a positive response to me killing Khalil. We're charging you with pre-meditated murder, Detective Corey. Pre-meditated? I only thought about it three years ago.

Anyway, Boris had ended our tea-and-vodka hour with these words: "I congratulate you both on your survival. Don't waste any of your days."

Thanks for the advice. I hope Boris had taken his own advice. Bottom line on Boris-I liked him, but I didn't like what he'd done, which was to create a monster. And I was sure that Boris was going to regret this himself-if he hadn't already met his monster.

But if Boris was alive, then I needed to find him and warn him that his former student was back in the USA to settle some old scores. Of course, I should assume that the CIA had already done this for their defector, but with those guys you never knew who they had no further use for.

Aside from my benevolent motive of wanting to warn Boris, I also wanted to speak to him about how best to find Asad Khalil. Boris should have a few thoughts on that. Probably, though, he'd advise me, "Bend over and kiss your ass good-bye."

And finally, if Boris was not yet dead, then he would make good bait. Better him than me. Right?

Actually, there was a lot of bait out there for The Lion-me, Boris, George Foster, and probably other people we didn't know about. Plus, Kate, if Khalil discovered she was alive.

And of course there was Chip Wiggins, retired U.S. Air Force officer whose bombing mission over Libya had started this unhappy chain of events. I was fairly certain, however, that Chip Wiggins had by now met up with Asad Khalil, and thus had finally met his inevitable fate. What he doesn't kill today, he will kill tomorrow. I was sure I'd hear the results of our search for Wiggins at this meeting.

I opened the hallway door with my pass code, and as I walked toward Tom Walsh's office, I thought about forgetting to mention Boris at this meeting. I mean, the FBI does this to me. Right? Like the Iranian diplomat going to Atlantic City. What goes around comes around.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tom Walsh's secretary, Kathy, greeted me and said, "Mr. Walsh will be arriving shortly. Go right in and have a seat."

"Thanks." Forgetting protocol, I asked her, "Where is he?"

She hesitated, then said, "Across the street."

Which meant 290 Broadway, which could mean the CIA.

I walked into Walsh's corner office, where Captain Paresi was sitting at the round conference table across from FBI Special Agent George Foster. They looked grim. I also noticed there were bottles of water on the table-long meeting-and no notepads. Nothing leaves this room.

I shook hands with both men, and George inquired, "How's Kate?"

"Resting comfortably, thank you."

He remarked, "This is unbelievable."

I replied, "George, you more than anyone know this is not unbelievable."

He nodded.

George was present at this meeting because he'd been a participant in, and an eyewitness to, the events at JFK three years ago, and as per standard FBI procedure, the Khalil case was his for life-which I hoped was not cut short by the previously mentioned asshole. And as I said, George was part of the ad hoc Lion Hunter team of Kate, me, and Gabe Haytham, who was our go-to Arab guy.

I exchanged a few words with Captain Paresi, and he was a bit cool, which meant that his boss, Tom Walsh, had set the tone regarding John Corey. Never mind that my wife was almost killed-she was fine now. And as for me saving the world from a nuclear incident not too long ago-well, as we like to say here, what have you done for us lately?

I said to Paresi, "I am not being taken off this case."

He didn't respond directly, but said, "We value your dedication and your prior experience with the suspect."

To further set the tone, I replied, "Bullshit."

I went to one of the big windows. Walsh's corner office faces south, and from here on the 28th floor, I could see most of Lower Manhattan. To the southeast was NYPD Headquarters, a.k.a. One Police Plaza, a tall fortress-like building of red brick, where I did a brief stint many years ago, and which made me crazier than I already was. But I did learn how things work at the center, which has helped me at 26 Fed.

Father east was the Brooklyn Bridge, which crossed the East River co

On that subject, even terrorists need a place to shave, so if I had to guess where Asad Khalil intended to hide out in New York City-actually, I did have to guess-I'd say he wouldn't hole up in a Muslim neighborhood in the outer boroughs where we'd be looking for him or where someone might figure out that this new guy was worth a million bucks to the Feds. I mean, Khalil couldn't kill them all, the way he'd killed Amir the taxi driver.

Hiding out in a hotel would be a problem for him because of security cameras and hundreds of guests and staff passing through who might recognize him from the wanted photo that the NYPD would be distributing.

A better bet for Khalil would be a hot-sheet hotel where, if he didn't have so many sexual hang-ups, he could get laid while he was hiding out.

Another possibility was a flophouse, or an SRO-single-room occupancy-that offered daily rates, cash up front, no questions asked.

Or, as I previously suggested, Professor Khalil might have faculty housing at Columbia University.

More likely, though, Asad Khalil would be holed up in an apartment that had been rented under a corporate name by his backers and was used for colleagues visiting New York. That was standard procedure in the well-financed world of international terrorism, and unfortunately, despite our best efforts, we rarely discovered one of these safe houses-which were usually high-rise apartment buildings in Manhattan-unless we happened to follow some bad guy to the building.

In this case, however, I was certain that Khalil's backers would not put their important killer in a possibly compromised safe house-they'd have a new, clean place just for him.