"Good Lord," Romanov said. "You shoot worse than I do."
Nancy growled. She was normally quite a good shot. But this morning she couldn't hit the target to save her life. So much for making a good impression on her training agent.
She had not slept. She could not stop thinking about the Man on the subway. Somewhere in the night she'd started thinking about him with a capital letter. Not just a man, now, but the Man.
She didn't know whether to be frightened or furious. She had made a very big fool of herself at the club. He had been there before her; how could he be following her? And how would he have followed her to the restaurant in Jersey? And why? She had to be imagining things. So she'd seen him in the subway and he'd been rude, and then she'd imagined him, and then he was, by coincidence, at the same club she'd gone to. None of it meant anything. It was just her nerves, making far too much of the normal little frictions of New York living.
She took a deep breath and tried to steady her aim. She still couldn't hit the target.
"Something bothering you?" Lily asked gently.
"You mean besides getting Vince's brains on my shirt?" Nancy snapped. "No, not a damn thing."
Romanov nodded sagely. "I had a problem with guns after I got shot. Maybe you should talk it over with Lichtenwald."
"Sure, I'll do that," Nancy grumbled. She hated being reminded that she had to see the shrink again – ten visits, at least. Company policy. See the woman and lie to her again. Tell her what she wanted to hear. What Simms and Romanov and Control wanted to hear.
"I can't do this today," Nancy said.
"Okay," Lily answered agreeably. "Let's pack it up, then. We'll come back another time."
Sweetness and light, Nancy thought bitterly. Nice as pie. The golden girl. She got to go to dinner with Control. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.
Lily took the gun gently from her hands. "Let me see a minute." She looked down the sites towards the target, pulled the trigger. "The site seems funny. A little off to the right."
Nancy shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with the gun. It's just me."
"Maybe," Lily agreed. "But it can't hurt to have it checked out. I'm having one of mine pro cleaned, anyhow. Let me drop it off and see what Spencer thinks."
Nancy nodded listlessly. "Okay." Then, suddenly, the idea of being unarmed was frightening. "No, I'd feel better if I had a gun."
"I've got a spare in the car you can carry until you get yours back," Romanov offered.
Always prepared, aren't you? Nancy glowered. "Okay."
She followed her out to the car and took the gun Lily gave her.
Someone had been in her apartment.
Nancy stood with her hand on the door and looked at her couch. The slip cover, always smooth, was disheveled, indented where someone had been lying on it. The throw pillows, normally neatly at each end, were stacked at one end, and dented as well. Someone had been sleeping on her couch.
"What the hell?" Nancy muttered. Her training kicked in. She drew her gun, left the door open, and stepped into the room. There was no one hiding in the coat closet. She moved carefully into the hallway, her gun poised in front of her. No, not her gun. Lily's spare. Nancy frowned. It was a little heavier, a little thicker in the grip. She wanted her own gun.
No one in the hall, no one in the bathroom, no one in the kitchen. No one in the bedroom, but the bed, neatly made when she left, was also rumpled.
Someone lying on her couch and on her bed. Nancy shuddered.
She checked the closet and under the bed. Then, still checking as she went, she made her way back to the living room, shut the door, locked it, put the chain on.
Then she sagged against the door and cried.
It was him, Him. It had to be. He'd been in her apartment. Lain on her bed, gone through her things, who knew what else. It was Him.
She felt sick.
The phone rang, and she jumped, half-screamed. It rang a second time. She wiped at her eyes and grabbed it. "H-hello?"
"Nancy?" a man yelled.
"Mark!" She began to cry again. "Oh, Mark!"
"Nancy, what's wrong?" He was half a world away, on a horrible connection, and he could hear her crying, her fear. "What is it?"
"It's … it's … nothing. It's nothing. I was just … it's nothing. How are you? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, I'm just checking up on you. You okay?"
"I'm okay," she assured him. It occurred to her that maybe, maybe her phone was bugged. By the Company? Why not? They wanted to know everything about her. She tried to make her voice calmer. "It's been a rough couple days, but I'm okay. You?"
"Same shit, different flies," he reported. "I can't talk long, but I thought I'd take a chance on getting you. It's not the middle of the night there, is it?"
"No, it's afternoon."
"Man, I'll never get used to this time change thing. Look, I don't know when I'm going to get home, but I wanted to tell you, if you need to talk to somebody, you know, on the outside, you might give Mr. McCall a yell."
"McCall?"
"Yeah. You met him at the party. He's retired."
"I know," Nancy answered, confused. "But he's still kinda … in, isn't he?"
"Doesn't matter. If you need somebody, give him a call. He'll help you. Whatever you need."
Nancy sighed. She needed help, all right, but she didn't think anybody could help her. "Okay," she said dubiously. "I'll keep it in mind."
"I don't have his phone number, but it's in his ad in the paper."
"His … what?"
"In the paper. Call the Equalizer. Go look, you'll find it."
"Ahhhhh … okay."
"If you need him."
"I'll remember."
There was a pause. "Hey, Nancy?"
"Uh-huh?"
"I love you."
Nancy burst into tears again. "I love you too, Mark."
"I gotta go. See you when I can."
"Uh-huh."
The phone went dead. Nancy hung up the receiver tenderly. She was still weeping, but it didn't matter. He loved her? He'd never said that before. She needed it, today. Even if he didn't really mean it, he must have known she'd needed it, and he'd said it …
It was all too complicated.
She walked through her apartment again, looking carefully for further evidence of her intruder. In the bedroom, she smoothed her covers, picked up her pillow to fluff it.
On the bed, under the pillow, he had left a match book from the jazz club.
Nancy froze. Then she ran down the hall to the kitchen and hauled her trash out from under the sink. There, beneath coffee grounds and a banana peel, was yesterday's newspaper. She unfolded it over the sink and ripped through to the ads. What the hell would it be listed under? Hero needed? Damsels in distress?
Got a Problem
Need Help
Odds Against You?
"Damn straight," Nancy said, and marched to her phone.
"You have to help me," the young woman said desperately.
Robert McCall looked dourly around the small apartment, with its dime-store art and painfully cheerful pink curtains. He folded his arms and turned back to the young woman. "Why?"
She blinked. "I just told you …"
"Yes, yes, you told me," Robert answered firmly. "You've been stalked by this man and you believe he broke into your apartment. Why have you not simply called the police?"
Nancy hesitated. "The Company …"
"I am not aware of any Company policy which would preclude your report of a simple break-in to the local authorities."
She looked away. "I can't."
"Why?" A sick, weary apprehension grew in Robert's experienced mind. He was tired of the game already. "What did he take, Miss Campbell? What did you have in this apartment that you should not have had? What top-secret document has gone missing, hmm?"
"It's nothing like that," she protested quickly. "I wouldn't … I'd never … you don't understand."
"No. I do not understand."
She paced, no easy trick in the tiny living room. Then she faced him again. "They want to fire me."
"The Company?"
"Yes."
"That would be the best thing that ever happened to you."
"Mr. McCall, you don't understand."
"As you have said repeatedly," he answered gruffly. "And yet you have not offered a coherent explanation."
Nancy sighed. "Look, I … can we sit down?"
"Yes," Robert answered, and did.
Nancy sat next to him on the couch, one leg pulled up under her in a distinctly school-girl way. "Look, none of this can get back to them. Not to Control, not to anyone. I wouldn't have called you at all, except Mark said I could trust you and I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Mark?"
"Mark O'Donnell." She gestured to her forehead. "With the scar."
"Ah, young Mark. Go on."
"But not Control, not Romanov, nobody. Right?"
McCall frowned mildly. Those two names in the same sentence didn't bode well. "As far as I am able, I will keep your confidence. If you ever get around to confiding in me."
Nancy considered him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "I was Vince Norris' trainee."
"Vince was just killed in Prague."
"I was with him. And I … lost it. Completely."
"Ah," Robert said evenly. "Control is unaware of that fact?"
"He knows," Nancy reported sadly. "All I could think to do was call the home office. So I … ended up in a phone booth, on the phone with Simms, and then with Romanov. They … found me a safe house, Lily talked me into moving … I was … I lost it."
McCall nodded his understanding. "So you're finished as a field operative."
"Not yet," she answered. "Control thinks I might be … salvageable."
Robert almost smiled at that. He could hear that word in his friend's voice too well. Salvageable, indeed. Very generous of him.
The Company must be positively desperate.
"So I'm seeing the Company shrink, and I'm working with Lily, well, not working, just hanging out, really …"
"Lily Romanov?" Robert asked, finally seeing how the courier – and his friend's best-kept secret – was figuring into the whole scenario.
"She took over my training."
"Ah." Interesting choice, if perplexing, McCall thought.
"She's been … she's tried really hard, she has. I think they really want me to make it. Simms, too. But if this comes out now ... I mean, he's just some stupid stalker, I should be able to handle it myself, I thought I was okay until he was here, in my apartment … I don't even know how he found out where I live. And if he got in here once …" She began to tremble, then fought it down.
Robert sighed heavily. "You want me to locate this man and dissuade him from any further contact with you."
"Yes."
"So that you can continue as a courier with the Company."
"Well … yes."
"You hesitated."
She continued to hesitate. "I'd like to be a field op. Some day."
"Of course." Robert had never met a courier who didn't think they should actually be a field operative. With one notable exception. "You want me to remove this obstacle so that you can pursue your career in espionage."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Nancy blinked. "Why?"
"Why," Robert asked firmly, "do you want this career?"
"If I can't be in the field, they'll find me a desk job. They'll stick me at a desk for the rest of my life. If I have to work in an office, five days a week forever, I think I'll just … die. I really do."
"Yes, yes," McCall said impatiently. "But that's not what I asked. Why do you want to be a spy, Miss Campbell?"
She shrugged uncertainly. "It's never boring," she tried to kid.
"No, it is certainly not that."
"I can go anywhere. I can travel, I can see places … I can make a good living."
"Ah, yes. The recruiter's trio. Travel, adventure, and money." Robert shook his head sadly, bitterly as he stood up. "Call the police, Miss Campbell, and report the break-in. Let the Company make of it what they will. Take the desk job, or quit entirely. Get out while you still can."
Nancy shot to her feet. "No."
McCall turned. "No?"
"I am not giving up. If you won't help me, then I'll take care of this on my own. But I am not giving up. I could be a good agent, Mr. McCall, and I could make a difference."
"Make a difference how?"
"I don't know yet. But I know I can."
McCall shook his head. "My dear girl …"
"Don't you write me off. I know I probably look all naive and idealistic, and maybe I am. But I was at the party, when the Berlin Wall came down. And I know that wasn't about one politician making one decision, or one Congress or even one army. That was about a whole lot of people doing little things, for years, one little thing at a time until the whole thing collapsed. And now people that lived under Communist rule for three decades are free. I want to be part of the next thing. At the next party, I want to be able to say, yeah, I did my part to make this happen." Her speech ran out of steam. "I am not going to give that up," she finished.
Robert studied her. So very sincere, she was, and she was right, so painfully naive. For an instant, she reminded him of an equally earnest, idealistic young man, a young man brimming with noble intentions and patriotic fervor. It hurt to remember. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?" he asked quietly.
"I had my partner's brains on my shirt last week," Nancy answered tightly. "I have a pretty good idea."
"No. If that was the worst of it, watching the people you care about die … it would almost be bearable. But betraying the people you care about, and being betrayed by them, that is harder, my dear. Lying to everyone you love, every day of your life. Befriending and betraying as a matter of routine. Breaking your heart on missions that you think are doing great good, only to learn that they were simply a matter of convenience. And worst of all, lying to yourself so that you can live with the things you are asked to do, with the things you've done. Betraying the very ideas that now lure you to this great adventure. You haven't begun yet to see the level of dishonor this job will lead you to. I am telling you, from the other side, Miss Campbell, do not enter this swamp. Walk away while you still can."
She looked him squarely in the eye. "No."
Robert sighed heavily. No one could have told him at that age, either.
He sat back down on the couch. "Tell me about your stalker," he said.
Control read the reports thoroughly. He wanted there to be some loophole, some missing piece. Something that didn't fit.
He wanted Vince Norris to have been killed over something more meaningful that an unknown man's domestic troubles.
There was nothing.
He put the folder down and sat back, closed his eyes. He traced the case one more time in his mind. A to B to C, clean and neat. Perhaps a little too neat. But perhaps not.
Twenty-two years as an agent and a trainer, and Vince Norris had been killed by a jealous husband, because of a woman he had never laid eyes on.
Control didn't like it. But he saw no holes, either.
Reluctantly, he stood up and put the file in his pending file, at the very back. Mentally, he did the same. Some day, maybe, some new fact would come to his attention and suddenly the whole picture would change. But for now, and perhaps for always, he would have to accept the facts that he had.
He closed the drawer reverently and turned his attention to his next task.
McCall regarded the small box of electronics ruefully. Of course, he was perfectly capable of installing the camera on his own. He just preferred not to.
Strongly.
The phone rang. "Robert McCall," he said smartly.
"Hey, McCall, what's up?"
"Mickey, where have you been?"
"Out chasing broads. How about you?"
"I need your help this afternoon."
"Ahhh … can't do it, McCall. Previous engagement."
"What sort of engagement?"
Kostmayer paused. "Stock's in town, though."
"Mmmm." Robert considered. Nancy had begged him not to tell the Company. Bad enough he was bringing Mickey in, though he trusted his friend absolutely. Mickey would just install the camera and ask no questions. Stock, while trustworthy, tended to be a very curious lad. "I'll see if I can manage on my own."
"Your call."
"This is about the ball game, isn't it?" Robert said suddenly.
"Get over yourself, McCall."
Nancy Campbell was nearly fresh from the Farm. She proved very able, if not especially quick, in installing her own surveillance system.
McCall watched her closely, but could find no flaw in her technique. When she was done, he showed her a few tricks the Company hadn't taught her. Then he stood just inside the door in her apartment and contemplated their work.
The camera was neatly concealed behind the annoying pink curtains. The wires were invisible behind curtains and the rug. The recorder was in a cabinet, the sound of its small motor sufficiently muffled. The motion sensor beam crossed the door barely above the floor.
If Nancy's stalker returned, they would have a lovely picture of him.
"Good," he pronounced. "Now, here is the remote. When you come in, turn the sensor off. Otherwise we'll end up with hours of tape of you wandering about, and none of your stalker. When you leave for the day, and when you go to bed at night, turn it on. Understand?"
"Simple enough," Nancy agreed.
"Yes. The best plans are generally the simple ones." He made a mental note to stop trying to teach this child. He did not want any part in her inevitable folly. "Every morning you will go to the office at the same time. Once you are there, you will remain with someone at all times, unless you are inside the building. If you see this man while you're at work, you will bring him to the attention of your superiors immediately. Do you understand? No dallying, no hesitation. If he is inside Company property, he is more dangerous than you or I are prepared to deal with."
Nancy nodded gravely.
Robert shrugged. "I would be very, very surprised if that happened." He crossed and adjusted the camera lens minutely. "You will leave the office at the same time every day. You will call me before you leave there. If at all possible, you will take the same train home. You will not come directly to this apartment. You will browse the shops between here and the subway station. You will stop at the grocer and buy items for your dinner. You will see a movie at that little theatre, perhaps, or stop for a drink. You will do the same sort of thing at the same time, every day."
"But that gives him a pattern to work off."
"Precisely. I am moving on the assumption that this man is not a professional. We want to make it as easy as possible for him to get to you."
She seemed a bit paler. "Oh."
"I will be watching you," Robert assured her. "From the time you leave the subway until the time you reach home, you will be under my surveillance. You will not see me, but I will be there. And if this man approaches you, I will be right behind him. I can assure you of that."
She smiled, reassured. "How will you know it's him?"
"You will run your hand over your hair, like this." He demonstrated, brushing his own hair casually back. "You will, of course, not do any such thing if the man is not approaching, right?"
"Right."
"I have your description of him. If you give the signal, I will catch him and we will put an end to this little game he's playing. Understand?"
"I understand. Thank you."
McCall nodded gruffly. "You can thank me after we've stopped him, hmm?"