Iron Orchid (Holly Barker 5)

“That agent who was here earlier this evening. The sketch didn’t look familiar, but you know, the description she gave sounded kind of like Mr. Foreman.”

William shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I guess it could describe a lot of guys.”

“Only one in this building, though,” the super said. “Have you still got her card?”

William rummaged in a drawer and came up with it. “Here it is,” he said, handing it over.

The super went back into his apartment, looking at the card.

Twenty minutes later the woman agent, accompanied by a dozen other men and women, flooded into the lobby of the building.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” William asked.

“What’s the apartment number for Albert Foreman?” she asked.

“Fourteen B,” William replied, “but Mr. Foreman left about twenty, twenty-five minutes ago.”

“Do you know where he was going?”

“Yes, ma’am, I got him a car from our service; he was going to Kennedy Airport to catch a ten o’clock flight for London.” He looked at his watch. “That means he’ll be taking off in about an hour and a half.”

The super emerged from his apartment. “Please take these people up to Mr. Foreman’s apartment,” she said to him.

The super handed her the key, and she handed it to another agent. “You take the group up there and go over the place with a fine-toothed comb. I’m calling this in.” She turned to William. “How was Mr. Foreman dressed?”

“He was wearing a dark business suit, a topcoat and a gray hat, a fedora,” William replied.

The agents headed for the elevator, and Martin called Lance.

“Cabot”

“Lance. It’s Martin. We’re at the building, and Foreman left twenty-five minutes ago for Kennedy Airport. Said he was taking a ten o’clock flight to London.”

“Then he’ll be arriving there in ten or fifteen minutes, with decent traffic,” Lance said. “I’m on it. You and your people do the apartment”

“We’ve already started.” She gave Lance Foreman’s description.

LANCE TURNED to Kerry Smith. “This guy, Foreman, who sounds like Teddy, is going to be at Kennedy airport shortly. How many people do you have there?”

“Half a dozen agents,” Kerry replied, “but we can mobilize the NYPD unit out there, plus airport security.”

“Good. Have them go directly to the departing-passenger set-down and the departure lounge for every airline with a London flight tonight. He’s traveling as Albert Foreman, and he’s wearing a dark suit, a topcoat and a fedora. Go!”

AT KENNEDY, Teddy got out of the car, paid the driver and carried his own luggage into the terminal. He took the escalator down one floor and emerged at the curb where passengers from arriving flights waited for taxis. Upstairs, unknown to him, FBI, the police and airport security were flooding the departure areas, looking for him.

Teddy waited in line patiently for a cab, and ten minutes later, he was headed back to the city. He gave the driver the address of his Lexington Avenue shop. He didn’t feel like carrying his luggage anymore.

“Where you in from?” the driver asked.

“London,” Teddy said without thinking.

“London flights don’t arrive this time of night,” the man said. “They get in during the afternoon.”

“We had the mother of all flight delays,” Teddy said.

FIFTY-FOUR

LANCE AND HOLLY WALKED into the Foreman apartment on Park Avenue and looked around. “Looks like nobody lives here,” Holly said. An agent came up to them.