| 2:43a |
@@@@@ The agent rose from the pavement
@@@@@ The agent rose from the pavement and
unsteadily made his way into the dilapidated buildingThe telephone repairman had reached the
second floor, where he turned right in the narrow, filthy corridor; he had obviously been there
before, as there was no hesitation, no checking the barely legible numbers on the doorsThings
were going to be a little easier, considered the CIA man, grateful because his assignment was
beyond the purview of the AgencyPurview, shit, it was illegal
The agent took the steps three at a time, his soft double-soled rubber shoes reducing the noise to
the inevitable creaks of an old staircaseHis back against the wall, he peered around the corner of
the trash-filled hallway and watched the repairman insert three separate keys into three vertical
locks, turning each in succession and entering the last door on the leftThings, reconsidered the
agent, might not be so easy after allThe instant the man closed the door, he ran silently down the
corridor and stood motionless, listeningNot wonderful, but not the worst, he thought as he heard
the sound of only one lock being latched; the repairman was in a hurryHe placed his ear against
the peeling paint of the door and held his breath, no echo from his lungs disturbing his hearing
Thirty seconds later he turned his head, exhaled, then took a deep breath and went back to the door
Although muffled, he heard the words clearly enough to piece together the meaning
“Central, this is Mike up on a Hundred Thirty-eighth Street, section twelve, machine sixteenIs
there another unit in this building, which I wouldn’t believe if you said there was The following
silence lasted perhaps twenty additional secondsWe don’t, huh? Well, we got a frequency
interference and it don’t make no sense to meThe what? Cable TV? Ain’t no one in this
neighborhood got the bread for thatOh, I gotcha, brotherThe drug boys live high,
don’t they? Their addresses may be shit, but inside them homes they got theyselves a pile of fancy
crapSo clear the line and reroute itI’ll stay here until I get a clean signal, okay, brother?”
The agent again turned away from the door and again breathed, now in reliefHe could leave
without a confrontation; he had all he neededOne Hundred Thirty-eighth Street, section twelve,
machine sixteen, and they knew the firm that installed the equipmentThe Reco-Metropolitan
Company, Sheridan Square, New YorkThe lily-whites could handle it from ther |