He watched the ronin escort the Clayton woman to the hospital door. Yoshio was in gear and moving when the. ronin returned to his car. No question as to what his next step would be: follow the ronin. If he and the Clayton woman had learned anything last night, now was the time to act upon it.

Carefully keeping his distance, Yoshio trailed the ronin west on Fourteenth Street and then uptown on Tenth Avenue. He did not see anyone else following. He smiled. Certainly Kemel Muhallal had other, more pressing concerns at the moment—an acute manpower shortage among them.

He saw the ronin stop his car before a row of dingy storefronts. Yoshio drove past, adjusting his speed to catch the red light at the next corner. He adjusted his rearview mirror and watched the ronin enter a doorway next to a dirty window with a sign that read:

ERNIE’S I.D.

ALL KINDS PASSPORT

TAXI

DRIVER’S LICENSE

Yoshio hurried around the block and was relieved to see the Chevrolet still double-parked on Tenth Avenue when he returned. He pulled into the curb by a bus stop on the far side of the street and waited, trusting the rush-hour traffic to hide him.

ID… why would the ronin enter such a place? Did he want to prove his own identity, or did he wish to identify himself as someone else? Ronald Clayton perhaps?

Yoshio rubbed his palms together to relieve the sudden tingle of anticipation… He sensed he was onto something here.

And then the ronin emerged from the store and looked around before he reentered his car. As his gaze came Yoshio’s way, a bus edged between them. Yoshio took advantage of the cover to nose his way into traffic and position himself so that he was behind the bus when it moved on. His car now looked like just another of the countless thousands crawling through rush hour.

He saw the white Chevrolet pull away and continue uptown. Yoshio followed him all the way to West Seventy-sixth Street where the ronin double-parked again and walked into a building.

Yoshio saw the sign as he passed: BERN interbank.

And now the tingle spread from his hands to the back of his neck. Yes. This was important. He couldn’t say how he knew, he simply… knew.

Hurriedly he looked for a place to leave his car. He could park it illegally and hope his DPL plates would protect it, but he didn’t know how much time he would need. The city had been cracking down on diplomats abusing their parking privileges. Yoshio did not want to return and find that his car had been towed away.

He saw a Kinney Park sign and accelerated toward it.

The success of all his efforts for the past two months might hinge on what he did in the next few minutes.

3.

3.