Pytor said, “They would have enjoyed seeing the falls, especially when they were young.”
The mist and pounding water was spectacular. “I've seen this before.”
“You have been to Niagara falls?”
“No, but I've been to DC. I spent six months, in ‘51, setting up safe houses for our agents. Oxana was with me. When we weren’t working, we went to galleries and shows. They have a lot of good art in DC. Not like the Hermitage, of course, but The Corcoran Gallery and Renwick are nice. Not to mention being right across from the White House.”
“I know these two galleries. I was in DC in ‘48 for a while; they are excellent.”
“I remember a painting by Frederic Edwin Church who was part of the Hudson River School. It is called Niagara. I believe it was painted from where we stand now. It was Oxana’s favorite. We went three or four times and always spent a few minutes sitting on the bench, holding hands and watching the water flow.” He didn’t worry about how it sounded; Oleg knew Pytor understood.
“I remember it now. Yes, you are right, my friend. This is the place.”
They stood there in silence for a while. When the cars pulled up, two couples emerged. They looked like all the other tourists. The women yelled, “Uncle Peter, Uncle John, we are so glad you made it.”
Their American accents are perfect
, thought Pytor as he turned around to hug his niece and to shake her husband’s hand. While they talked about prepared family trivialities, he thought about how important the mission was and wondered how all of this had been put together ‘off the books’. It was an impressive trip with at least a dozen people involved, and none of them could be considered official agents. Yet, they all seemed to be as professional as anyone he had worked with before. The espionage community was small yet he hadn’t known a single person on their journey, except for Oleg. Pytor was impressed and ready to get moving.
They talked and pointed at the falls for an appropriate amount of time. Both men said goodbye, closed the doors, and the cars headed off on different routes to Manhattan.
***
Henry hadn't slept well. He was not looking forward to Celine glancing at her watch when he opened the door, but it was too late to run away. She had heard his footsteps, he was sure. “Good morning, Celine,” Henry said as casually as he could muster.
“Good Morning, Henry, I hope you don’t mind, but, well…”
Buttons said “Meow,” as he hopped up on the desk. Buttons looked to be fully recovered.
“Hello, Buttons.”
“As I was saying before I was interrupted,” she glared at Buttons who didn’t seem at all sorry. “I hope you don’t mind. This morning I was getting ready for work. Buttons usually does his own thing, but today he was very chatty. It’s nice not having him stalking me. I made some breakfast and filled up his food bowl, but he didn’t eat; he just kept meowing. When I put my coat on, he got in the box. I tried to explain that I would be back after work, but he kept arguing his point. Then he threw in a healthy dose of cute, and I crumbled.”
Henry laughed, “I suspect you know how I feel now…boss.”
She gave him a dirty look.
Henry picked up Buttons. “So, how did it feel?”
“I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit.” She scrunched her nose and made a face at Buttons. Then she petted him, too. He purred some more. “I forgot to ask how your lunch with the client went yesterday.”
“It was fine. We didn’t have a lot of time, but she gave me this.” Henry handed the folded-up piece of paper to Celine. “It’s a list of names, obviously. She went through his appointment book for the last six months and put it together.”
“Who are these men?”
“She said he would have her set up appointments but never tell her why they were meeting, which was odd. Amy said she knew all of the suppliers, clients, and people he normally met with, but these gentlemen were new. The only thing he would say is that they were investors.”
“So are you going to check them out?”
“I need to get out to the widow’s place today.”
“Should I give her a call?”
“That would be great. Thanks. Buttons and I'll make the coffee.”
Celine rolled her eyes and gave Buttons one more pat on the head.
Henry opened the newspaper to the sports section. He read Buttons the box score from the Dodger game at the NY Giants. Henry explained that though we don’t like the Giants, we really hate the Yankees. Dodgers won 10-8. Buttons didn’t seem to be very knowledgeable about baseball, but he was a good listener.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Henry’s mind was sharp. A couple solid days of wondering what was going on had given him zero concrete ideas, but it had gotten him to push the boundaries of what might be possible. The traffic moved slowly, stopping at times, as he drove out to Long Island. He had an appointment to speak with the widow, Kupton. The car radio was off; he had Billy Joel’s "The Stranger" running through his head. The odd clue from the future, via his basement closet, hadn’t gotten him anywhere yet.
In the past, the little nudges in the right direction had become clear when he least expected it. Henry decided it best to just keep listening to the songs so that he would be ready. He liked the music from the '70s. It was vastly different than his usual fair. His record player could generally be found with Harry James, Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, or Tommy Dorsey under the needle. But there it was, that song about the stranger, playing in his head. He didn’t think it could be the clue because the song was about the other people inside us and how we hide from our lovers, even from ourselves.
Luna had listened to most of the songs with him, and she liked them, too. He wasn’t sure how closely she paid attention to the words. Now that he had heard the song a few more times, he wondered if she would like it as much. Henry knew he was, by nature, guarded. Luna brought out the best in him and he let her in a little but not too much. They kept it light.
Henry looked at his watch and gave a sigh. It was going to take forever to get to the widow's place. When he pulled out of the main flow of traffic, it was a relief. The notebook on the passenger seat had her address. It wasn’t the main house but a smaller home the Kuptons had lived in before Daniel had become wealthy. She had been there since the funeral.
The neighborhoods were nice, and Henry thought about how he was the stranger driving among the quaint homes. The song was still playing in his head when he realized he was lost.
Henry turned around and went back a few blocks, then took a left. He was really lost. If he hadn’t been, he might not have noticed he wasn’t the only one. He had picked up a tail. How long had they been there? Now he was angry; angry at himself for not noticing and angry at the guys following him. They were going to make him late, which he hated.
Henry left the quaint neighborhood and found a small business district. He pulled up and parked on the street and went into a hardware store. The old man stocking shelves asked him if he needed anything. Henry asked for a back door.
The black sedan had parked a block back. Henry went down the alley, crossed the street, and continued another block so he could come up from behind. There was a drugstore on the corner. From there Henry could see the car. He popped in and bought a newspaper and tucked it under his arm with his revolver inside.
Both guys were looking forward, watching the hardware store. They didn’t see Henry coming. He leaned down and said into the passenger window, “Hey, buddy, you got a light?”
“Beat it, Mac.”
They hadn’t taken their eyes off the door and didn’t notice who had asked. Henry decided that he might need to get their attention. He opened the back door, hopped in, and cocked the hammer on the .38. “I think an introduction is in order, as we haven’t met proper-like.”
Both their heads spun around. The driver said, “Hey, take it easy buddy.” His friend in the passenger seat had the cold steel pressed against his temple, so he was less chatty.
“Maybe you wanna explain why you're so interested in me, or is it the wide selection of tools at Peterson’s Hardware?”
“You got it all wrong, buddy, we're just waiting for a friend.”
“Why don’t I just wait with you, then; we can have a talk with your friend. What's his name?”
They guy with the gun against his head found his voice. “Okay, you got us, we ain’t waiting for nobody.”
“Before we get too cozy, why don’t you – real careful now – take the keys out of the ignition.”
The driver turned off the car and handed the keys to Henry. Henry pulled the gun down and put it back under the newspaper. He didn’t want a passerby to notice. “Who do you work for?”
“We’re the good guys. Let me show you. I’ve got ID. I’m going to take it out of my jacket pocket. Don’t shoot.”
Henry watched. The man eased opened his jacket, exposing the gun holstered underneath, removed a leather wallet and handed it to Henry. He closed his jacket back up and put his hands on the wheel.
This guy is playing it straight
, Henry thought. Henry read the ID and lowered the hammer on his gun. The passenger exhaled. “Mr. Jack Abrahms of the Central Intelligence Agency. Who is your friend?” Henry asked.
The passenger started to reach for his ID, but Henry said, “You don’t need to prove it; just tell me.”
“I’m John Stockman,” he said and then added, “Nice to meet you.”
Jack said, “He’s new. I’m showing him the ropes.”
Henry said, “That is all well and good, but what are you doing following me?”
Jack answered, “You've been looking into Daniel Kupton. He's of interest to us.”
“So, what can you tell me about the night he was thrown from your office at the Woolworth?” Henry was bluffing. He didn’t know what had happened, but the cold look from Jack told him he had landed a solid jab to his chin.
Jack said, “What makes you think he was thrown?”
“I've got the gun. I’ll ask the questions.”
“Mr. Wood, I know all about you. It’s a hollow threat. You aren’t going to shoot us in the back for not talking, and we're the ones who will be asking the questions. Why’d you say he was thrown?”
“Well, we've gotten off on the wrong foot, I can tell you that. I'm not going to discuss my client's business with the CIA.”
“Who are you going to go see?” Jack shot back.
Henry opened the door and got out. He leaned into the passenger window and said, “I’m going to go see my friend at the FBI, we're gonna chat about the weather, baseball, and spooks messing around on their turf.” Henry had landed another solid blow. The threat stung. “I’ll leave your keys with Mr. Peterson at the hardware store.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Amy sat at her desk going through the mail. The door opened, and Frank Pimpkin walked in. “Mr. Kerwin asked to see me.”
Amy announced him and offered coffee, which he declined, so she showed him into the CEO’s office.
“Frank, I wanted to get an update. Please have a seat.”
Frank sat down on the couch and Mr. Kerwin took the chair next to him and said, “As you know, your special project is important to this company. The Navy contract is crucial, but the side contract is perhaps more important.”
Frank listened but didn’t smile. “I know, sir.”
“How is the tolerance testing going?”
“We have met the Navy requirements but still see a failure rate of four percent, so we need to review every piece, which takes time.”
“That is an improvement over last week but still a long way from satisfactory. How about the daily quotas – how are we doing on quantity?”
“We are meeting our goals. With the rejects, though, we're falling behind. I have a new kid who seems like a natural. He isn’t working in the special unit yet, but his first two shifts were impressive.”
“How so?” Matthew was usually not interested in the minutia of personal matters, but he sensed Frank wanted to tell him, so he asked.
“He learns quickly and doesn’t waste a second of time. His second day he set a new record on the 125N machine, producing more per hour than anyone had before and with only two defects. The average for a shift is fifteen defects, so even if he had been average, he would have still had greater final units. Today, I'm going to put him on something more complicated and, if it goes well, add him to the team...with your permission, of course.”
“So, where would you put him?”
“There is one section that seems to be holding us back. If I put Lawrence there, we should see a bump in output. Again, assuming he can hack it today.”
“What about shipping?”
This was the question that made Frank ill. “The parts are all packed at night after hours. When is the first shipment due?”
“I'll let you know.” Matthew stood up and extended his hand. Frank shook it and left.
Matthew picked up a few files and put them in his briefcase. He grabbed his coat and hat and said, “Amy, I'll be out for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Yes, sir.”
Matthew drove into Manhattan. His meeting was at a brownstone. He parked out front, looked around, mostly out of habit, and went to the door and knocked. The curtains were drawn but moved aside briefly. The door opened. After it closed, Pytor gave his friend a bear hug.