Mac felt as if he could not breathe all night, into the following morning. He dressed himself in casual attire, with pleated gray wool slacks, oxblood, well-worn penny loafers, and a white golf shirt open at the neck. Given the chill in the air, he selected a light golf jacket, blue, appropriate given the rest of the outfit. He checked himself in the bathroom mirror before he left. He set off to the Boathouse Café for a light lunch, and a single malt, before his highly anticipated rendezvous. The walk along Central Park West was lovely in the late morning quiet, the trees inside the park wall rustling in a subtle autumn wind. Teddy Roosevelt sat on his bronze horse in front of the Museum of Natural History, just as always, bigger than life itself. A drunken sailor seemingly set the uneven cobblestones, but they still showed the way south. Mac took the long way, as he was still quite early, entering the Park at West Seventy-Second Street, the Women's Gate, across from the Dakota Apartment House. He meandered along the south side of the lake, past Daniel Webster's statue, to Cherry Hill Fountain, just west of Bethesda Fountain. Mac stopped to take in the fourteen-foot structure, before moving past the Bethesda Fountain, and his memories of the last time he saw Sara. The Boathouse, just to the north, with its many rowboats, was where Mac was going to grab a quick bite to eat, and a drink to steady his nerves.
The restaurant and bar were empty, given the early Saturday noon crowd of mostly family diners. He chose the dark wood bar to sit in, ordering a drink and a club sandwich. He spent some time studying the well-turned room, as he had never eaten there before. The view of the lake was special, the resting geese a treat.
Giving himself time for the short walk to the Conservatory Water, he paid his tab, and he headed out the front door for his rendezvous with Sara. The park was now getting busier with families and dog walkers, but luckily, to his surprise, their bench was not occupied. He looked around, sat down, watching the boys racing their sailboats in the early afternoon sun.
Although still quite far away, Mac spotted Sara as she came down the hill on the path from the Fifth Avenue Inventor's Gate on East Seventy-Second Street, across the Conservatory Water. She was dressed in tight black slacks, a black cashmere sweater open at the neck, pearls, and flat needlepoint shoes. Her hair was up, pinned behind her head in a pearl decorated burette. Sara smiled, holding out her arms in hope of receiving Mac. He could not resist the allure of her charms. He melted when she wrapped her arms around him, almost forgetting to be mad at her, as he kissed her deeply. She leaned back to look into his wanting eyes, her deep blue eyes sparkling in response to his reaction. He was clearly totally smitten all over again.
“Mac, I have missed you more than you can imagine. I’m so sorry, my sweet boy.”
“I love you, Sara. I missed you so much. I have been so worried about you. Oh, my God! What happened to you?”
“Sit down, we have to talk,” said Sara, taking Mac's hand in hers. “You know I work for the Russian Embassy, but I am more than a translator.”
“What does that mean? You’re a spy? Against the United States?”
“No, no! I am asked to do certain things for my country, but nothing against America.”
“Then what do you do, Sara?”
“You know the back and forth between Russia and Germany. We are allies, we are not allies; we are friendly, we are enemies. Let's just say we are not sure what our relationship is at any given moment. I was asked to infiltrate the German American Bund here in New York, and to report back what I was hearing. It got very complicated.”
“What does that mean, complicated? The German American Bund? What the hell?”
“It's a long story, Mac. I will tell you, give me a chance. Suffice it to say, for now, that my life is in danger. I must return to Moscow for a while. But I had to come back to see you once more before I leave. I got my orders when I was in Washington, and I am to ship out immediately. They have taken my things to the ship, already. I leave in the morning.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know, Mac. Depends on the war, I guess. Anything can happen at this point. But I promise I will come back. I will find you.”
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Mac saw three menacing looking men, in un-gentlemanly attire, running down the same hill from which Sara had come, focused on their direction, with what seemed to be a hostile purpose. Sara, following his eyes, jumped up, and froze in place.
“Come, Sara,” yelled Mac, as he took her by the hand. “This way!”
They ran behind the bench, off the paved path, behind a row of full pine tree screening, with the three threatening men in hot pursuit.
“Come on, let's get to the Boathouse,” exclaimed Mac. “We can lose them in there. It should be crowded by now.”
Mac took Sara by the hand as they crossed East Drive, running west towards the Boathouse. He turned as they approached the front entrance to gauge the closeness of the men, through the line for the rowboat rentals. They were gaining, but still far behind. Mac pulled Sara into the Boathouse bar, leading her to the rear of the building. The place was now filled with early afternoon drinkers, bellying up to the bar. The few minutes it took them to traverse the crowd, gave them some breathing room, as the men were just entering the front door.
“Come on, Sara, out the side door. They do not see us yet.”
Mac pulled Sara through the side door, and into the adjacent Ramble, a natural wooded area of Central Park. Mac knew to stay to the right, and to the north, as the serpentine trails would bring them to the top of Vista Rock, by Belvedere Castle, where they could get an unimpeded view of what was happening below.
The two ran on the paved paths through the woods until they got far enough into the thicket to feel comfortable. They ran past the Gill, a tumbling stream that cuts through the Ramble, and sat behind a large granite boulder off the path, catching their breath. Sara put her head on Mac's shoulder; he kissed the top of her head. They did not speak, neither wanting to give away their hiding place.
“Let's go. We’ll go to my apartment. I think we’ve lost them.”
“Mac, I’m so sorry I got you involved with this.”
“Listen, Sara, forget about it. I’ll help you. Your problems are my problems.”
With that, Mac again took Sara by the hand, pulling her through the rest of The Ramble, up the final steep rocky path to the top of Vista Rock, and to the Belvedere Castle. They came out on the flagstone deck at the crest of the Castle, surrounded by the four-foot granite block wall. They tried the heavy wooden door to the castle. It was locked. Mac took Sara to the wall. They looked out over the park, with the Great Lawn, and its surrounding paved path, in full view below the rocky precipice upon which the castle stood. The flapping of an American flag cracked above their heads in the spirited fall wind.
“Look, there's two of them,” Mac said breathlessly, as he pointed towards the men on the other side of the Great Lawn, some distance away. “Let's get out of here. They’ll never catch up to us before we hit the West Side streets.”
“Hold it,” yelled someone behind them. “Don’t move!”
Behind them, there was a burly man, blond hair, and blue eyes, holding what appeared to be a German luger.
“I’ve got you, you little bitch” the man growled as he slowly approached the couple.
When the would-be assailant got close enough, Mac pushed Sara to the side, grabbing at the gun in the man's hand. Despite still being clearly out of breath, the man deftly stepped back on one leg, hitting Mac in the head with his other hand, knocking him to the ground, while the gun remained pointed in their direction. Mac sat up holding his head, just in time to see Sara whirl around on one foot, kicking at the man's gun hand with her needlepoint shoe, knocking the gun across the flagstone patio. As Mac scrambled for the gun, he saw Sara whirl around again, this time leaning back to kick the man squarely in the jaw, with the same foot. The man went reeling towards the wall, staggering to get his feet under him. Sara came down in a fighting stance, wasting no time in charging at him, using his imbalance to knock him off his feet, and over the four-foot wall.
“Holy shit, Sara,” yelled Mac, as he witnessed her prowess. “Did you kill him?”
Mac scrambled to the wall in time to see the man bounce to the bottom of the precipice, rolling into a runoff pond across the paved path from the Great Lawn.
“He's moving,” said Mac.
Mac saw that the two men on the other side of the Great Lawn were now running towards the commotion, as the third man staggered to his feet, pointing up towards the Castle wall high above.
“Let's get out of here, Mac,” yelled Sara.
The two hurried from the flagstone porch on the top of the Castle, entering Shakespeare's Garden from the rear. The steep path, paved with railroad ties, made the run through the beautiful flowers treacherous, as Mac's legs began to feel the pain of the chase. They continued to run to the bottom of the hill, past the Marionette Theatre, with children everywhere, as the afternoon show had just let out. Mac turned to look, to see if they were being followed, but he saw no one.
Grabbing Sara by the hand again, he hurried her westward through the park, making their way to the Naturalist's Gate, in the shadow of the statue of Teddy Roosevelt guarding the long flight of schist stairs to the Museum of Natural History. The museum, one of the largest in the world with its maze of dedicated rooms, had been completed only four years before. Mac, having spent many a rainy weekend exploring its antiquities, its bones, and its natural specimens, knew where he was going. It being Saturday afternoon, he figured there would be crowds of people in which to get lost.
Upon entering the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall, they had slowed their gait to a determined walk, moving straight through to the Hall of North American Mammals. They stopped in front of the Great American Buffalo, checking behind them for their pursuers. There were plenty of people, but no men chasing them.
“We’ll go to my apartment. It is only six or seven blocks north of here, out the side entrance. They don’t know who I am.”
Mac led Sara to the marble stairway to the lower level of the museum, where they left through the Eighty-First Street side door.