EZ could be EASY EASY ... ECH could be ... ECH could be ECHO. ECHO. ... That gave me the idea to try the marine radio alphabet. It would read: ... That gave me the idea to try the marine radio alphabet. It would read: ECHO-ZULU-ECHO-CHARLIE-HOTEL.

Hotel. Now I was getting somewhere. ... And V V would be would be VICTOR VICTOR in radio speak, which might as well be in radio speak, which might as well be VICTORIA, VICTORIA, so you had so you had HOTEL VICTORIA. HOTEL VICTORIA. ... But what about the rest of it? I didn't like it, it was too f.u.c.king sloppy. I crumpled the paper, tossed it aside, grabbed a fresh sheet, and started over: ... But what about the rest of it? I didn't like it, it was too f.u.c.king sloppy. I crumpled the paper, tossed it aside, grabbed a fresh sheet, and started over: EZECH13V10.

"Perhaps he had a book with the key to the puzzle," Horst said. "A codebook of some sort."

"He didn't have any books on him."

"Perhaps it's here, in this room somewhere."

"If you can find a book-" I stopped short, looked back at the letters. I wrote out what I was thinking: EZE CH13 V10.

"That's it," I said, reaching across the bed, pulling the side-table drawer open.

"I don't understand," Horst said, examining my writing.

I grabbed the book that was in the drawer, sat on the bed, and flipped through it.

"Know your Old Testament, Horst?"

"Not so well," he confessed.

"It's a good thing I do, then. How about Ezekiel, chapter 13 chapter 13, verse 10?" I found the pa.s.sage. "Ever read that one?"

I displayed the book for Horst. Across the page was scribbled the word: BABYSITTER.

TWENTY-FIVE.

I opened the briefcase, fired up the walkie-talkie, and threw the Bible to Horst. "Now would be a good time to learn how to pray," I said. fired up the walkie-talkie, and threw the Bible to Horst. "Now would be a good time to learn how to pray," I said.

Flipping the television set on, I pulled a chair up to the screen and waited for it to warm up. A picture finally emerged of JFK and a couple dozen dignitaries standing on a temporary platform that looked like something they'd erect in Dodge City for a public hanging. The structure was intended to let the president and his entourage look out over the wall into East Berlin, but they weren't seeing much since the authorities on the other side had overnight hung giant banners with anti-Western propaganda from the Brandenburg Gate, effectively blocking the view.

Dialing around until I found a channel without a signal, I raised the volume of the static noise, then leaned into the speaker and hit the send b.u.t.ton on the radio.

"Babysitter, checking in..." I said, doing my best to re-create Chase's macho monotone. "Do you read me? ... Over." I released the b.u.t.ton and waited.

"This is Big Daddy. ..." Henry Fisher's voice came back loud and clear. I hadn't really thought about it, but I wasn't surprised. Henry was the logical choice for Control. "You're late, Babysitter," he said. "What's the problem? ... Over."

I put the mouthpiece directly in front of the television's speaker and pressed send send without saying anything. without saying anything.

"I'm getting a lot of interference here, Babysitter. Are you on line? ... Over."

"It's the G.o.dd.a.m.n radio...." I said. "What'd you do, get a deal from the j.a.ps? ... Over."

"What's your location? ... Over." I was afraid he was going to ask that question. Since it was reasonable to a.s.sume that the hotel had a designation, and I didn't know it, I stalled.

"Didn't get that..." I said. "Can you repeat? ... Over."

"Are-you-at-home? ... Over," he said slowly, enunciating each word and handing me the hotel's designation. It wasn't a mistake on his part. Unlike my "Babysitter" designation, which was an internal security precaution, location designations were a safeguard against eavesdroppers, which you had to a.s.sume were out there in spite of the secure channels.

"Yeah, yeah ... I'm at home...." I confirmed. "Over."

"How's the kid? ... Over."

"I gave him his medication and he's fast asleep ... Over."

"Okay, stand by, Babysitter. ... Over and out."

I sat back in the chair and exhaled a lungful of air. The fact that we'd made it that far was as close to miraculous as it gets, at least in my experience.

"What shall we do now?" Horst asked.

"We wait," I answered.

Horst tried to sit still, flipped quickly through the Welcome to West Berlin Welcome to West Berlin magazine, then threw it aside and flitted around the room, ready to explode. He started to say something, but I guess my look told him I wasn't interested in conversation. magazine, then threw it aside and flitted around the room, ready to explode. He started to say something, but I guess my look told him I wasn't interested in conversation.

I didn't mind that Fisher was running Control. In fact, it could be a bonus-at least I knew what I was dealing with. Henry was the kind of guy who would see aborting a mission as a personal failure, so he'd filter his risk a.s.sessment, ignoring anything that didn't stare him in the face. It was how I got away with the static-noise ploy.

Harvey was the exact opposite-he always a.s.sumed the worst. He had big ideas, but lots of guys have big ideas. Harvey's genius lay in being able to pull them off and that was the result of his obsession with detail. Like a grand master of chess developing his game, he would've spent weeks, probably months, thinking this operation through, putting it together, studying it from every conceivable angle, then taking it apart again until he could see no flaws. It was why he had argued so strongly for a postponement. The last-minute change from Kovinski to me made him nervous. Without properly vetting the deviation from his carefully worked-out plan, letting all the possibilities and potential pitfalls sink in over a period of time, he couldn't predict the problems it might create. The only solid argument he was left with was that my past with the Company might blow the cover story, even though he knew there were any number of elements that I might upset. Had he written the plan with me in mind, for instance, he probably would've arranged for more security than just Chase.

In all his plotting, Harvey had seen something that prevented him from placing the gunman in the same room with the patsy-originally Kovinski, now me. If I could get at that, maybe I could get at where he did place him. I was close, so d.a.m.n close to spoiling these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds' day, but I needed to know where to find that shooter....

"Come in, Babysitter, this is Big Daddy. ... Over." The walkie-talkie crackled to life. I picked it up, raised the volume on the television, and signed on.

"Babysitter here ... Over."

"We'd like to get some photos, Babysitter. ..." Fisher said. "Go ahead and draw the curtains. ... The window should already be open. ... Put the kid in front of it and I'll let you know when we've got what we need. ... And keep out of sight. ... Over."

Horst was already standing beside the window, the drawstring clenched in his fist. "Not yet," I said, getting into position behind the drapes.

"Okay ..." I put my zombie face on again. "Open...."

Horst pulled the curtain, revealing a crowd of somewhere close to a million people jammed into the plaza below me. I felt like the pope standing there in the window, except that the faithful were facing the wrong way. All eyes were focused on the stage that had been set up in front of city hall and the star-spangled pulpit where Kennedy would stand in less than two hours, a twelve-foot-high American flag below him, a ma.s.sive red, white, and blue ribbon spanning the width of the platform behind him.

Horst and I had entered the hotel through a back door, so it was my first look at Rudolf-Wilde Platz and it was a h.e.l.l of a scene-a sea of faces filled the long rectangular s.p.a.ce, spilling out into the adjoining streets in all directions as far as I could see. The more dedicated had claimed a spot near the stage by staying overnight in tents and sleeping bags; others were spending hours up a tree to ensure their view.

The Victoria, five stories high and L-shaped, was one of several buildings overlooking the plaza from the west side of the square. The facade curved ninety degrees around the corner of a narrow street that fed into the plaza. The southern half of the building, where we were, was parallel to city hall and directly across from the speaker's dais, about a hundred and twenty yards away. Well within the bull's-eye range of the Tokarev in the hands of a good marksman. Combined with a second gun placed in the apartment complex on the opposite side of the narrow road, there would be a forty-five-degree convergence of fire onto President Kennedy's head.

Ideally, you'd want your third gunman firing at the target from ground level. Given that almost every square foot of the area was filled with spectators, it would be tough to conceal the third man, but I noticed a patch of trees to my left that was unique in that it hadn't been invaded by spectators. I couldn't see who was securing the area, but there was an ambulance parked next to it with a clear path through the crowd. A perfect setup for escape and weapons disposal.

"Babysitter, this is Big Daddy. ... Over." I could feel Horst freeze up. "h.e.l.lo, Babysitter ... Over."

"What shall I do?" Horst asked urgently.

"This is Big Daddy, Babysitter. Please acknowledge. ... Over," Fisher said impatiently.

"Answer it," I said, trying not to move my lips.

"How can I? He will know! He will hear my accent!"

"Do Bogie," I said.

"Babysitter, are you receiving?! ... Over!" Fisher's blood pressure was on the rise.

"What do you mean, do Bogie?" Horst said, closing in on panic. "I'm not an actor!"

"You are now...." I said. Horst drew a breath, picked up the radio, and leaned into the television speaker.

"I hear ya, Big Daddy. ... Go ahead. ... Over." He sounded more like John Wayne than Bogart, but it seemed to do the trick. I was starting to believe in G.o.d.

"We're not seeing the kid's face too well, Babysitter," Fisher said. "Push him up a little closer to the window ... so he catches the light. ... Over."

I stepped forward.

"How is that? ... Over," Horst said into the radio. I wanted to tell him to keep quiet, but I was pretty sure they'd have a telephoto lens on me now and might see me move my lips. I'd been half-right about the photographs anyway. They were getting me on film standing at the window-I just couldn't see why Harvey wouldn't want a shot of the rifle hanging out of it at the crucial moment.

There was a slight delay before Fisher came back on the line. "Okay, Babysitter ... That's fine." Then another voice, in the background, came on over the open mike. I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Harvey King himself: "Who's that on the roof?" he said.

"One of ours, I think ..." Fisher answered.

"Don't f.u.c.king think!" the voice barked. "Find out and get it cleared! I don't want anybody on that roof until-!" Then Fisher remembered to take his finger off the send b.u.t.ton.

Until what?! ... Until the shooter turns up? ... Was Harvey going to place the sniper on the roof above my window? ... Why? ... What advantage was there?

Did he think it would be a better escape route? Maybe he didn't want to risk the possibility that the gunman would get caught up in the hallway "shoot-out" that was supposed to leave me dead. That made some sense. Witnesses would appear as soon as they heard shots in the hallway. Since they would be well aware of exactly how much time had pa.s.sed between the president being hit and the Secret Service man gunning me down, the two events would have to happen within, say, thirty seconds of each other. It wasn't enough time to ensure that the gunman would get away cleanly. If he had fired from the roof, on the other hand, he could slip out of the hotel while everyone converged on the fourth-floor hallway....

"Okay, that's it, Babysitter...." Fisher's voice came back online. "Put the kid back to bed and keep out of sight. ... I'll buzz you when we start the countdown. ... Over and out."

Horst pulled the curtains shut, then fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"This was a close shave," he finally said.

"We're fine," I said. "But I'd work on that Bogart impression if I were you."

"What is the meaning of dow-bed?" dow-bed?" Horst asked a few minutes later. He was pacing again, this time with his nose in the Bible. Horst asked a few minutes later. He was pacing again, this time with his nose in the Bible.

"What?"

"D-a-u-b-e-d," he spelled, then sounded it out. "Dow-bed." he spelled, then sounded it out. "Dow-bed."

"Daubed," I corrected him.

"What is the meaning?"

"Well ..." I started to say, but came up short. "What's the context?"

"Context?"

"Read the whole sentence."

"'They have seduced my people, saying, Peace; and there was no peace; and one built up a wall, and, lo, others daubed daubed it with untempered mortar.' Also 'untempered mortar' I don't understand." it with untempered mortar.' Also 'untempered mortar' I don't understand."

"To daub is to plaster, I think, and untempered mortar ... I guess that's some kind of soft cement." Horst shrugged and went back to his walking and reading.

"Is that the Ezekiel pa.s.sage?" I asked after a while, my curiosity getting the better of me. He displayed the page with "Babysitter" written across it.

"Let's hear the rest," I said.

"From the beginning?"

"From what you just read me."

"Okay," he said. "It's going like this: 'They have seduced my people, saying, Peace; and there was no peace; and one built up a wall, and, lo, others daubed it with untempered mortar.' "He gave me a knowing look before continuing:" 'Say unto them that it shall fall: there shall be an overflowing shower; and yea, O great hailstones shall fall and a stormy wind shall rend it.' Rend it?" he asked.

"Blow it up," I said. Horst nodded and continued.

"'Therefore thus saith the Lord G.o.d; I will even rend it with a stormy wind in my fury; and there shall be an overflowing shower in mine anger, and great hailstones in my fury to consume it. ... So will I break down the wall that ye have daubed with untempered mortar, and bring it down to the ground, so that the foundation thereof shall be discovered, and it shall fall, and ye shall be consumed in the midst thereof: and ye shall know that I am the LORD. ... Thus will I accomplish my wrath upon the wall, and upon them that have daubed it with untempered mortar, and will say unto you, The wall is no more, neither they that daubed it;... to wit, the prophets of Israel which prophesy concerning Jerusalem, and which see visions of peace for her, and there is no peace, saith the Lord G.o.d.'"

TWENTY-SIX.

"This is Big Daddy to all units. ... Repeat, this is Big Daddy. ... All units please acknowledge, over." I grabbed the radio. to all units. ... Repeat, this is Big Daddy. ... All units please acknowledge, over." I grabbed the radio.

"Babysitter acknowledging, over," I said, clicking on. A long minute pa.s.sed, just the static noise of the television filling the s.p.a.ce. Then Fisher's voice came crackling back.

"Okay, we're looking at a green light. ... Countdown begins on my signal. ... Get set for ten and stand by...."

I opened Chase's briefcase, which was lying on the bed, and grabbed the stopwatch. It was a Company special, the first digital timepiece I'd seen. I set it for ten minutes and we waited.

Fisher came back after a short delay. "Okay, we're ready to roll," he said. It was a big moment for him and you could hear in his voice that he was enjoying it. "Stand by ... three ... two ... one. ..."

I hit the start b.u.t.ton and the seconds started ticking off. The clock by the bed showed it was a couple of minutes short of one o'clock, when Kennedy was supposed to appear on the dais. It occurred to me that only the Germans could keep things on schedule in the midst of all this insanity.

"We're operational," Fisher announced. "All systems are go!" He sounded more like he was blasting a rocket into s.p.a.ce than murdering his president. "Stand by. ..."

We were on the clock now. No more theories or conjecture, no time for maybe this or maybe that. Whatever was gonna happen was gonna happen now now and it was gonna determine whether the world kept turning on its knife's edge or went spinning out of control. Everything was plugged in, switched on, and, like Fisher said, all systems go. I could see that Horst was pumped up, too. He had that look-the slightly deranged, supercharged look that I'd seen on the faces of too many boys. Boys who were so juiced on adrenaline that they were prepared to rush headlong into a machine gunner's nest with bayonet fixed. Whenever I saw that look I knew chances were pretty good that I was looking at a soldier who wouldn't come out the other end. and it was gonna determine whether the world kept turning on its knife's edge or went spinning out of control. Everything was plugged in, switched on, and, like Fisher said, all systems go. I could see that Horst was pumped up, too. He had that look-the slightly deranged, supercharged look that I'd seen on the faces of too many boys. Boys who were so juiced on adrenaline that they were prepared to rush headlong into a machine gunner's nest with bayonet fixed. Whenever I saw that look I knew chances were pretty good that I was looking at a soldier who wouldn't come out the other end.

Horst said something but it was drowned out by a sudden deafening roar from outside. The thunderous cheer shook the entire building, rattling doors and windows in their frames and twisting the b.u.t.terflies in the pit of my stomach into a tangled knot of nervous energy. Kennedy had arrived on stage.