Tunnel Vision

81

At three fifteen, Roman called Norman Babcock to tell him to meet him in half an hour and named the drop spot. Babcock agreed.

At three forty-five, from his rental car, Roman watched Babcock drive his Mercedes to a deserted corner of the Watertown Mall. Roman pulled out of his unseen slot and moved to within fifty feet of Babcock, who, as instructed, stood in front of his car with a travel bag. When he was certain no other cars had accompanied Babcock, Roman called him on his cell phone, instructing him to approach his car. As he did, Roman rolled down the driver’s-side window.

But Babcock did not hand him the bag. “How do I know you won’t just disappear yourself?”

“I didn’t do that for the last four assignments, right?”

“Yeah, but this is half a million.”

“And I want the other half.”

“And when will I see the results?”

“Twenty-four hours,” he said, and pulled over an empty backpack from the passenger seat.

“What’s that for?”

“Today the money, tomorrow his head.”

Babcock nodded. He handed Roman the valise. But Roman shook his head. There were no cars nearby. “Step back ten feet and open it and show me the contents.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

Babcock froze for a moment as Roman raised his weapon so it was visible and rolled up his window to watch.

Then Babcock unzipped the bag and tilted it toward Roman’s side window. He even pulled out a pack of hundreds and fanned it with his thumb.

When Roman was satisfied, he rolled down the window and let Babcock hand him the bag. He unloaded each pack of hundreds and transferred them to his backpack, leaving Babcock with the original gym bag just in case it had a homing device on it.

“Twenty-four hours,” Babcock said, still looking torn.

“‘“Believe in me,” saith the Lord.’”

“But you’re not the Lord.”

“No, but I’m the best warrior he’s got.”