“Ugly bastard, isn’t he?” Lance said.

“That’s why he’s our number-one candidate,” Holly said. “We think Teddy will have the same reaction you did when he sees his picture.”

“You’re operating on the premise that Teddy still has access to Agency files?”

“Yes.”

“But all the codes have been changed, and there’s a big internal investigation run by Irene Foster in Hugh English’s office underway. How could he possibly get into the mainframe again?”

“We don’t know, but we have to operate on the premise that Teddy is smart enough to figure out a way to know what we know.”

Lance shook his head. “That’s a mighty big assumption,” he said.

“Why?” Holly asked. “He was at the Agency long enough to figure out ways into the computers, and he may even have inside help among the people he knew and worked with before he retired. Some of them may feel some sympathy with what he’s doing. To be perfectly frank, I feel some sympathy with what he’s doing. Don’t you?”

“I’m not answering that,” Lance said. “All right, let’s follow your hunch and see where it leads us.”

“God knows,” Kerry said, “we don’t have anything else to go on.” He opened a file and looked through it. “Looks like the New York field office of the Bureau has round-the-clock surveillance of Asaam.”

“How much surveillance?” Lance asked.

“Two men.”

“All right, let’s triple that,” Lance said. “Let’s put Holly and Ty on him, and we’ll assign another team, as well.”

A secretary knocked and opened the door. “Lance, there’s a Lieutenant Bacchetti on the phone for you; he says it’s important.”

Lance picked up the phone and pushed the blinking button. “Dino? What’s up?” He listened for a moment. “How long ago?” He listened again, then thanked the caller and hung up, shaking his head.

“What?” Kerry asked.

“A man on a motor scooter shot Hadji Asaam fifteen minutes ago, while your two agents watched. He got away in the rush-hour traffic”

Holly and Ty exchanged a glance.

“Well, Holly,” Kerry said, “it looks like your theory of how Teddy chooses targets might be pretty good.”

Holly felt a warm glow inside. “If it is, then we’d better beef up surveillance on Ali Tarik and Carla Mujarik.”

“Done,” Kerry said.

HOLLY STOOD AND WATCHED the young man through the one way mirror of the interrogation room. He looked worried and baffled; the contents of his pockets lay on the table before him. She opened the door, walked into the room and sat down, opening a thin file folder and regarding it for half a minute before speaking.

“Your name is Bernard Taylor?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“Bernard, you own a Vespa motor scooter with the New York State tag number 1059, is that correct?”

“Yeah, uh, or at least it was until earlier today.”

Holly tried to look disgusted. “Come on, Bernard, you’re not going to tell me it was stolen earlier today.”

“No. Uh, I sold it. Earlier today.”

Holly shook her head. “Let me put you straight, Bernard.”

“You can call me Bernie; everybody does.”

“Listen to me, Bernard. You’re about to be arrested as an accessory to a murder. Do you know what sentence you could get as an accessory?”

“No. Uh, I mean, I didn’t commit any murder.”

“We’re not saying you pulled the trigger, Bernard, just that you supplied the motor scooter. As an accessory, you get the same sentence the murderer does, and in New York, that’s the death penalty.”

“All I did was sell my motor scooter!” Bernie wailed.

Holly poked among the pile of his pocket contents on the table and her finger stopped on an envelope. “What does this envelope contain?” she asked, though she already knew.

“The money from the sale of the scooter,” Bernie replied.

Holly opened the envelope, removed the contents and quickly counted thirty one-hundred-dollar bills. “Three thousand dollars,” she said. “Bernard, is that your price for participation in a cold blooded murder? You came cheap.”

“No, ma’am,” Bernie said, “It’s my price for my scooter. That’s what the guy paid me.”

“All right,” Holly sighed. “Tell me your story for the record. Just for your information, you’re being recorded.”

Bernie related the details of the sale of his motor scooter, while Holly took notes.

“His name was Jeff Snyder?” Holly asked.

“That’s what he said.”

“What I.D. did he show you?”

“Nothing. I didn’t ask for nothing. He had the money; that was all the I.D. I cared about.”

“Describe this Jeff Snyder.”

“About my height, with a big nose and a handlebar mustache. On the thin side.”

“The mustache?”

“No, that was thick. His build was on the thin side.”

“What was he wearing?”

“A kind of car coat and a cap, you know, like golfers wear? Like Ben Hogan?”

“Where did you meet?”

“At the entrance to the subway station at Twenty-third and Lex. He came out of the subway, I think.”

“What do you mean, you think?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly see him come out of the subway; I just assumed that’s how he got to the corner. I didn’t see him get out of a cab or a car.”

“And he paid you three thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills for your scooter?”

“It was a fair price; the scooter had only twelve hundred miles on it. Not a scratch. Pristine.”

“And you’re sticking to this story?”

“Lady, it’s the only story I got,” Bernie said heatedly. “It’s what happened.”

Holly got up and walked out the door. Lance and Kerry were waiting for her on the other side of the mirror.

“What do you think?” Lance asked.

“I think he’s telling the truth. It was a slick way for Teddy to get the scooter he needed without stealing it and running the risk of getting pulled over. Obviously, the big nose and the handlebar mustache were a disguise. A witness would concentrate on features like that. I’m surprised that Bernie, here, gave us as good a description as he did.”

“Cut him loose?” Lance asked Kerry.

“Sure,” Kerry replied. “We’ll know where to find him, if we need him again.”

“Oh,” Lance said, “the NYPD found the scooter, and they’re processing it for prints.”

“They won’t find any,” Holly said. “Where did they locate the scooter?”

“Parked between two cars on East Twenty-fourth Street, off Lexington.”

“It’s the subway,” Holly said.

“What?”

“Bernie said he met Teddy at the subway entrance at Twenty-third and Lex. That’s how Teddy got there, and it’s how he went home. I’ll bet you he lives within a block or two of the Lexington Avenue subway.”

“Possibly,” Lance said. “How is that going to help us?”

“Let’s put somebody on the subway eight hours a day and have him photograph every possible person who fits Teddy’s description as to height, weight and age.”

“You’re talking about thousands of people,” Kerry said.

“All right,” Holly said, “skip rush hour at both ends; Teddy probably would, since he doesn’t have to be at work anywhere. Photograph all the sixtyish, tallish, slenderish men between, say, ten and four, every day for a week, then run… no, we don’t have any photographs to compare them to… show the photographs to people who worked with Teddy at the agency. Maybe somebody will give us a positive I.D., and if we get that, then we’ll have a photograph to circulate.”

“That’s a lot of work for a slim hope,” Lance said.

“It would be, if we weren’t so desperate,” Kerry replied. “Even with a new murder every few days, this investigation is drying up. We don’t really have all that much for our people to do.”

“All right, Holly, you set it up,” Lance said. “We’re probably going to need more than one body on each train.”

“I’d suggest picking up every train at Ninety-sixth Street and riding it to Twenty-third,” Holly said. “I don’t know how many trains there are, but I’ll find out. When our people get to Twenty-third, they’ll turn around and go back to Ninety-sixth Street, and we’ll do it for five days.”