passengers. He peered into their eyes, until most glanced away. The majority of American people were devoid of any basic integrity, any sense of themselves. Civilians tended to disappoint David Hudson again and again.
More listless passengers struggled onto the subway train at the West 86th Street stop. There were mostly older whites, time-bent men and women, small merchants, ciphers who managed or owned the rip-off clothing stores, the rip-off food markets, in Harlem and Upper Manhattan.
One of the men boarding at 86th, however, was completely different.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His black hair was brushed straight back. He wore a tan cashmere overcoat with a paisley scarf, pressed navy dress slacks, super-Wasp duck boots. The impression he gave was of someone boarding a subway for the first time in his life and finding something amusing in the phenomenon of a slum on wheels.
He sat beside Hudson and immediately snapped open Saturday’s
New York Times,
idly coughing into his fist. As the subway rumbled forward, he crisply folded the newspaper into quarters.
“You made me front page. Congratulations.” Laurence Hadford finally offered a guarded, casual whisper.
His voice was controlled and as smooth as his expensive silk scarf. “I watched the intriguing spectacle on the six o’clock, the seven o’clock, the ten and eleven o’clock news shows. You’ve succeeded in baffling them.”
“We’ve done reasonably well so far,” Hudson nodded in agreement. “The difficult steps are still ahead, though. The true tests of the plan’s legs, Lieutenant.”
“You brought me a present, I hope? Christmas present?” As Laurence Hadford slid closer to Hudson on the plastic subway bench, Hudson could smell the man’s citric cologne.
“Yes. Exactly as we agreed the last time.”
David Hudson turned his head sideways for the first time. He stared into the blue eyes and persistently mocking half smile of Laurence Hadford. He didn’t like what he saw. Never had. Not now and not back in Viet Nam either, when Hadford had been a smug young officer.
Laurence Hadford was impassively cool. He showed nothing of his emotions. The well-shaved face might have been a door closed on private rooms.
Reaching inside his coat, Hudson handed over a thick, overstuffed manila business envelope. The package bore no external marking, nothing to identify it in case there was any problem.
The envelope disappeared inside the rich softness of cashmere.
“There’s one small hitch. A tiny problem has come up. The amount here isn’t enough.” Hadford smiled easily. “Not considering what’s happened. What you’ve gone and done now. You’ve made this a very dangerous business arrangement for me. If you’d told me what you actually planned to do—”
“You wouldn’t have helped us. You would have had too many doubts. You would have been scared shitless.”
“My friend, I
am
scared shitless.”
The subway train buckled slightly, but only seemed to slow minimally as it charged into the 110th Street station.
“We
agreed
on a figure before you did any work for us on Wall Street Your fee, half a million dollars, has now been paid in full.” Hudson felt a familiar alarm sounding inside him. “Any information you’ve supplied us, any personal risks you took, were infinitesimal considering your financial gain.”
Hadford’s perfectly capped white teeth gritted slightly.
“Please.
Don’t tell me how well I’ve been paid. I know what you’re all about now. You’ve got so much money, you couldn’t
possibly
know what to do with it. Another half million is meaningless. What’s another million for that matter? Don’t be so uptight.”
Colonel David Hudson managed to smile. “You know, perhaps you’re right. Under the circumstances—what
is
another half million?… Especially if you’re willing to do a little more investigation for us.”
“I suppose for the right price I could be convinced, Colonel.”
The
More listless passengers struggled onto the subway train at the West 86th Street stop. There were mostly older whites, time-bent men and women, small merchants, ciphers who managed or owned the rip-off clothing stores, the rip-off food markets, in Harlem and Upper Manhattan.
One of the men boarding at 86th, however, was completely different.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His black hair was brushed straight back. He wore a tan cashmere overcoat with a paisley scarf, pressed navy dress slacks, super-Wasp duck boots. The impression he gave was of someone boarding a subway for the first time in his life and finding something amusing in the phenomenon of a slum on wheels.
He sat beside Hudson and immediately snapped open Saturday’s
New York Times,
idly coughing into his fist. As the subway rumbled forward, he crisply folded the newspaper into quarters.
“You made me front page. Congratulations.” Laurence Hadford finally offered a guarded, casual whisper.
His voice was controlled and as smooth as his expensive silk scarf. “I watched the intriguing spectacle on the six o’clock, the seven o’clock, the ten and eleven o’clock news shows. You’ve succeeded in baffling them.”
“We’ve done reasonably well so far,” Hudson nodded in agreement. “The difficult steps are still ahead, though. The true tests of the plan’s legs, Lieutenant.”
“You brought me a present, I hope? Christmas present?” As Laurence Hadford slid closer to Hudson on the plastic subway bench, Hudson could smell the man’s citric cologne.
“Yes. Exactly as we agreed the last time.”
David Hudson turned his head sideways for the first time. He stared into the blue eyes and persistently mocking half smile of Laurence Hadford. He didn’t like what he saw. Never had. Not now and not back in Viet Nam either, when Hadford had been a smug young officer.
Laurence Hadford was impassively cool. He showed nothing of his emotions. The well-shaved face might have been a door closed on private rooms.
Reaching inside his coat, Hudson handed over a thick, overstuffed manila business envelope. The package bore no external marking, nothing to identify it in case there was any problem.
The envelope disappeared inside the rich softness of cashmere.
“There’s one small hitch. A tiny problem has come up. The amount here isn’t enough.” Hadford smiled easily. “Not considering what’s happened. What you’ve gone and done now. You’ve made this a very dangerous business arrangement for me. If you’d told me what you actually planned to do—”
“You wouldn’t have helped us. You would have had too many doubts. You would have been scared shitless.”
“My friend, I
am
scared shitless.”
The subway train buckled slightly, but only seemed to slow minimally as it charged into the 110th Street station.
“We
agreed
on a figure before you did any work for us on Wall Street Your fee, half a million dollars, has now been paid in full.” Hudson felt a familiar alarm sounding inside him. “Any information you’ve supplied us, any personal risks you took, were infinitesimal considering your financial gain.”
Hadford’s perfectly capped white teeth gritted slightly.
“Please.
Don’t tell me how well I’ve been paid. I know what you’re all about now. You’ve got so much money, you couldn’t
possibly
know what to do with it. Another half million is meaningless. What’s another million for that matter? Don’t be so uptight.”
Colonel David Hudson managed to smile. “You know, perhaps you’re right. Under the circumstances—what
is
another half million?… Especially if you’re willing to do a little more investigation for us.”
“I suppose for the right price I could be convinced, Colonel.”
The
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