“Where are you now, Forsythe?” Dan asked.

“No hello?”

“Where are you?”

“JFK.”

“What are you doing there? You can be acquired at JFK,” Dan said.

“Acquired? Acquired? You wanna watch it, mate. You’re beginning to sound like the FBI manual.”

“Shanghaied, kidnapped, lifted, whatever you want. You were never supposed to come back to New York,” Dan insisted.

I hadn’t been to the city in seven years, not since our days in the FBI field office in Queens.

“I had a ticket, it was first class, seemed a shame not to use it. Besides, I had to get out of Lima. Bridget, God rest her big bum, sent two Colombian assassins to blow my brains out.”

“I read about it on the wire. You handled it in your usual lowkey way, didn’t you? You know the story is on CNN.”

“Is it? Well, it can’t be helped,” I said cheerfully.

Dan muttered some inaudible obscenity that involved my mother.

“Michael, like I say, we have talked about New York. You’re not supposed to come here, ever.”

“As if they are going to acquire me in the middle of the most heavily policed airport in the Western Hemisphere. Get real. This isn’t Al Qaeda, these guys need an exit strategy after a hit. Wouldn’t get twenty feet in here.”

“Well, I’m glad you seem ok about it. I’m not. Where exactly are you?”

“I’m in the City Arms in the BA terminal.”

“Can you hang tight for about half an hour? I’ll have a couple of guys come over there and meet you. I can’t get down there in person at the moment. But I’ll see you later today.”

“Ok, do I know the guys?”

“You don’t. Uhm, let me see, ok. They’ll ask you if you think the Jets have a chance next year, to which you’ll reply-”

“I don’t want to talk about the Jets,” I interrupted. “Ask me a baseball question. I can do baseball.”

“You don’t need to know the sport, Michael, you just have to say what I tell you to say.”