The Watchmaker’s Hand полностью

“It’s jammed up too. And even if the crane’s just a coincidence, we have to treat the highways to all the airports as compromised.”

The president smiled. “Out of an abundance of caution.”

One of Wilbur’s favorite expressions.

The agent nodded. It was his version of a grin.

“We’ll take surface streets to the helipad. And a decoy convoy’ll go via the Queensboro to LaGuardia.”

He placed a call and put the phone on speaker.

“Agent Murphy,” the voice said.

“Dan. It’s Wilbur. I’m here with the president.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Dan.”

Wilbur said, “We’re scrapping Exit A. We’re going to B.”

“U.N., helipad. Roger that. Any specific threat factors?”

“Not at this time. Get Marine One there stat. I’m running Sirdee now for the route. I’ll text it to the drivers and the rest of the team.”

A whole new world now, Boyd reflected. Sirdee — the Secure Route Determining algorithm — resided on a huge computer somewhere and at lightning speed considered hundreds of factors in finding what was the safest course for government officials to move from one point to another. In presenting the program to the government, the company that had developed it gave an example. Their software factored in all the known parameters for the presidential visit to Dallas on November 22, 1963, and concluded that the least secure route from Love Field to the Trade Mart — where President John F. Kennedy was to speak — was through Dealey Plaza and past the Texas School Book Depository.

Murphy said, “I’ll call NYPD.” He paused. “One thing. We can get eyes along the surface route, but there’s no time to clear underground all the way to the U.N.”

Wilbur glanced at the president. “Or we can stay put, wait for them to clear the tunnel entrance. Seven, eight hours, I’d guess.”

Boyd said, “I’d guess there’re a hundred possible routes to the helipad. The odds that somebody’d know exactly where to place a device? That’s not going to happen.”

Wilbur said to the phone, “Get the motorcades downstairs, Dan.”

Murphy said, “Making the call now.” He disconnected.

Wilbur walked to the door and stepped outside, to tell the hallway agents the new plan.

“Daddy.”

The president returned to the doorway where his daughter was holding in both arms a large rabbit with a blue gingham kerchief on its head. “Elisabetta won’t fit.”

Too bad there was no algorithm that could figure out the best way to pack a ten-year-old’s gym bag.

Boyd walked over and took the toy from her. “It’s all right, honey. I’ll put her in one of mine.”

“It’s done,” Simone told him.

For these final stages of the project, they were not using any electronic communications devices at all. Only in-person conversations.

Charles Hale, in the driver’s seat of his SUV, was looking out the windshield. This part of the city was deserted. Three cranes reigned over the neighborhood and everyone was staying inside. If they had to get to the grocery store, they jogged.

He heard the faint voice of the newscaster on the radio and turned the volume up.

“...The authorities are speculating it will take eight to ten hours to reopen the Holland Tunnel after an explosion brought down a crane at a construction site on Varick Street this afternoon. This is the third crane that’s been destroyed in the past two days... Police still have no leads in the investigation. Most jobsites in the area remained closed...”

Hale looked toward the woman beside him. She was in leather pants, black, a dark brown sweater and a jacket that matched the trousers. Today her hair — now dyed brunette — was in a double braid, the strands of which were joined at the end with a crimson ribbon.

“A question,” Hale asked slowly.

Simone lifted an eyebrow.

“Is there anyone?”

He found himself surprised that he asked.

But not surprised that she was hesitating.

While the question could have a hundred contexts, she knew his meaning.

Simone said finally, “I’m not good at things like that. It ends. It always ends. For his sake, for mine.” After a moment: “The same for you, I’m thinking.”

“The same.”

She said, “I was married. Briefly. My idea. I was young. Not a good decision.”

He was thinking of her time in Africa.

Circumstances changed...

A shake of his head explained that he had never married.

She said, “There are lines we have to live within. People like us. This is awfully philosophical, isn’t it?”

He gave another smile. “But true.”

A siren sounded in the distance. It got closer. He wasn’t troubled and it was clear she wasn’t either. If anybody were to come for them, they wouldn’t announce it.

The police car or ambulance sound Dopplered into the lower, departing tone and eventually faded.

He looked at his watch.