Andrew Vachss - Flood

Michelle finished her story, smugly looking at me for approval. What she got was, “You dizzy broad… that freak would put you down as easy as stepping on a roach if he saw you following him. The Mole was right.”

And before Michelle could answer that one the Mole said, “He called.”

“What?”

“He called. While Michelle was outside playing. I have the tape,” and he flipped a switch without saying anything else.

I heard the ringing on the phone through the speaker, and then I heard James’s confident voice. “Falcon. James speaking.”

In response, a voice with a threatening top edge. “I heard about your operation. You people on the level?”

“Certainly, my friend. What can we do for you?”

“I want some work. Overseas.”

“You are familiar with our standards?”

“Look, I’m a decorated combat veteran, all small arms, qualified jumper. And I’m a black belt in karate.”

“Do you have a valid passport?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got all that.”

“Well, my friend, we’d surely like to speak with you. Shall we make an appointment-say at four this afternoon?”

“No daylight for me, understand? I got problems here-nothing with the law, but I just came off a special operation and I don’t want to be walking around. Tonight, okay?”

“If you insist. Are you ready for immediate work?”

“Mister, I’m ready to leave anytime-sooner the better.”

“You understand that we can’t reveal the departure point until you’ve cleared our interview?”

“Yeah, yeah, how long will that take?”

“It depends on your references. But if all goes well you can expect to leave within the week.”

“Good. I’ll see you anytime tonight. Meet me at the-”

“I am sorry, my friend,” James said, “but you know how these things are. You come here. And you bring your passport and proof of military service with you. There are no exceptions.”

A pause from the other end. Then, “Yeah, okay-about nine tonight?”

“That will be satisfactory.”

“You need my name?”

“That won’t be necessary. As you know, we allow all our recruits to select the name of their choice upon enlistment. You understand the conditions?”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand everything. I’ll be there around nine tonight. You’ll be there, right?”

“As we said,” replied James, and rang off.

I listened to the tape over and over. It had to be the Cobra. Who else would have the phone number? By the time it got listed with Ma Bell the operation would have folded its tents and vanished. You can get a new listing from the operator, but not the same day the phone’s installed-and the phone company wouldn’t have this one anyway. The Cobra wouldn’t wait, and he was too sly to just walk in. Nine o’clock, the scumbag had said. My watch said it was already past three. Now was no time to start alienating my troops.

“Mole,” I said, “that was perfect. And Michelle, you shouldn’t have gone out like that but I believe you’ve made the whole thing work,” and I reached out to give her hand a squeeze.

Michelle flounced over to the Mole, hands on hips. “See, smartass Mole,” she sang out, but the Mole just blinked at her, still annoyed.

“Okay, Michelle. Pack your stuff-you’re leaving, okay? You did your job. If you see the Prof on the street tell him to go over to Mama’s and wait for a call. Mole, you go with her, take all this stuff with you. Make it like nobody was ever here.”

Michelle and the Mole started to clean up, not speaking to each other but working well together. The Mole would snap together some electrical connections and box them up, and Michelle would be right behind him with the paper towels.

“Mole,” I asked, “can you take out the elevators?”

The Mole refused to dignify such a question with an answer, but Michelle piped right up. “Are you serious, Burke? The Mole could take out NASA if he wanted to.” And I caught the ghost of a smile crossing the Mole’s face, which immediately vanished when Michelle said, “And I’m not leaving either. Not until this is finished. I want that freak too, Burke. You should’ve seen the way he was-”

The Mole had turned to Michelle and was speaking in his softest voice, the words coming slowly and evenly spaced, like from a talking machine with a heart. “Michelle, I am sorry I yelled at you. You were very, very brave to follow like you did. I was just… worried. You should go now. The work we have to do now, it’s bad work. Not for you.”

And this got the Mole a quick kiss from Michelle, who picked up her makeup case, said, “You let me know” in a warning voice to me, and was out the door.

“You’re a charmer, Mole,” I said, and it looked like he blushed, but it was hard to tell in that lousy light.

The Mole said nothing, just busied himself with the rest of the equipment. I snapped out the final instructions, in a hurry now like never before.

“Mole, hook up something so you can be signaled from the lobby. When you get the signal, take out the elevators. Where will you be?”

“Basement.”

“Okay, now listen. After the elevators go down, get ready to move out-don’t leave anything behind. You see this?” I showed him a tiny airhorn powered by a tube of compressed air. The Mole nodded. “You know the sound it makes?” He nodded again. “If you hear this go off it means we’ve got problems. So knock out as much of the electrical power in this area as you can in a minute or two and get out. Okay?”

“Okay.” We shook hands. I wouldn’t be seeing him for a while. If I was busted he’d hear about it and see the people who had to be seen for me. It was a lot to ask of the Mole-not blowing things up, that was just a day’s work-but talking to people…

I got into the street fast. I had to see a lot of people before it got too dark. I left the Mole in the little room, his fat white fingers flying over the machinery.

THERE ARE SOME citizens who will tell you that all big cities are alike. Those people are born chumps. Where else but in New York could you find a Prophet sitting in the lobby of an empty office building in the early evening, poised over a shoebox and looking for all the world like an elderly black man just trying to pry a few coins loose from society. Or a warrior from ancient Tibet without the power of speech but with the strength of a dozen men standing still as a statue on the second-floor landing of that same building? And could you find a little round man with an underground complexion and a brain that understood the cosmos sitting in the basement of the same building, waiting to make electrical systems magically disappear? It was all there in place as I strolled into the Fifth Avenue lobby that night, dressed up for the role in a belted leather trenchcoat, soft suede snapbrim hat, tinted glasses, carrying a pigskin attache case and a.38, some anesthetic nose plugs, a can of mace, and a set of handcuffs.

I caught the Prof’s eye as I entered the lobby, raised my eyebrows behind the glasses. He flipped the cover of his shoebox to show me the Cobra’s picture taped inside. The portable radio sitting next to him wasn’t playing, but the Mole would hear its song when the Prof sent him the message. The elevators had a neatly printed sign: CLOSED FOR REPAIRS, PLEASE USE STAIRS.

I walked past the lobby entrance and climbed the stairs. Max was in position. I held up one finger, moved my lips like I was speaking, pulled my fingers away from my mouth to show words spilling out. Max nodded-we’d talk the freak out of the building if we could. He could come easy or he could come hard. But he was coming. Max would watch-if he saw the Cobra and me leaving together he’d wait a beat, then slip out so he’d be in the front seat of the Plymouth before us. If Wilson panicked when he saw me on the stairs and tried for the door he’d find it locked. If he smashed his way past that, the Prof would pull his just-released-from-Bellevue madman act on the sidewalk to give us another clear shot. So if Wilson, a.k.a. the Cobra, stepped into the lobby, he was going to be leaving with us one way or another.