"Better take care. That place can be tricky."

"That was then, this is now, Sean. These days, New York is safer than London."

"If you say so, Major." Dillon toasted him. "See you later." Miller accepted the offer of an umbrella from the doorman, crossed to Central Park, and entered. There were few people around in the fading light of late afternoon just before the early evening darkness.

He realized suddenly that he was alone, except for voices somewhere in the distance, a dog barking hollowly, and then the footfalls of someone running up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. A man in a dark green tracksuit, wearing gloves and a knitted cap, came up fast and swerved to one side. He said hello and kept on going, turning through the trees at the end of the path. A moment later, he reappeared, paused to look at Miller, then walked forward.

Miller dropped his umbrella as if by accident and, under cover of picking it up, reached down and found the Colt.25 in the ankle holder. He straightened up, raised the umbrella again, and turned to go.

The man called, "Hey, you, we've got business to discuss."

He ran forward, then slowed, his right hand sliding into a pocket of his tracksuit.

"And what would that be?" Miller asked.

"Wallet, cards, mobile phone. In any order you please." He was up close now, his right hand still in his pocket.

Miller took two quick steps so that the two of them were good and close, then held the silenced Colt almost touching the man's left knee and fired. The man cried out, lurching back as Miller pushed him towards a park bench at the side of the park.

"Oh, Jesus," the man cried, and Miller reached in the tracksuit pocket and found a silenced pistol, which he tossed into the bushes.

"Wallet, cards, mobile phone, wasn't that what you said?"