13

Tracking

They surveyed the situation from one end of Times Square, Agent Hessman’s penetrating gaze absorbing every detail, while Agent Harris indicated the directions she had seen the Japanese team split up into. Even now, a century in their past, Times Square was a surging sea of bodies and vehicles, although gas-powered mixed with horse-drawn in 1919, while a thousand pairs of feet negotiated the walkways along and across streets.

Agent Hessman stated the obvious conclusion: “This is a tracker’s nightmare. They picked the perfect place to split up.”

“You ought to catch this place when everyone gets off from work,” Claire remarked. “If you were hoping for any clues, you’ll never find them in this place.”

“I think I quite agree with the young reporter,” Agent Hessman remarked absently, still searching the area. “Which is why we need some‍—ah, perfect.” He broke into a jog, weaving through the moving crowd, with the others behind him wondering what he had spotted. When they emerged from the crowd, beaming a straight line for a sidewalk newsstand, Agent Hessman’s intent became clear.

“Excuse me,” he said to the man in the newsstand, “but have you seen any Japanese men running or hurrying away from this area in the last few minutes?”

“That depends,” the man stated flatly. “Were you going to buy something? I make my living selling papers, not answering questions.”

Captain Beck reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin from his supply of period money to slap down on the wooden counter. He then took a copy of the nearest newspaper.

“Group of them,” the newsstand man then replied. “Looked like they was running from someone, then split up.”

“Could you tell us where they went?” Agent Hessman asked.

“Another question, another paper,” the man stated.

This time it was Agent Hessman who produced the coin, but he kept his hand on it as he looked the man in the eye. “A paper a question, okay; then here’s my one question. What are each of the directions those Japanese men ran to?”

The man grinned in reply, actually chuckling as he pulled out one of the papers himself to hand to Agent Hessman. “You got me there. Guess it’s only the one additional paper at that. Okay, the first one headed over that way, and . . .” He pointed to each of the directions he had seen the Japanese men depart, Agent Hessman noting each carefully in turn before releasing his coin into the man’s care, taking the offered paper, and leading the group away to some relative privacy.

“Miss Hill,” Agent Hessman asked, “what can you tell us about what’s in each of those directions?”

“Hmm . . .” Claire looked out across Times Square, trying to picture the five different courses. “There’s a couple of theaters in that direction . . . some manufacturing over there . . . I think the wharf is in that direction if you go far enough . . . Central Park would be over in that direction . . .”

“That’s got to be it,” Agent Hessman said. “What better place for a team to reassemble than Central Park? Easy to locate and get to, yet big enough they could easily lose themselves in there. Good job, Claire. How far is it?”

“There’s a streetcar we could hop that would have us there in no time,” she said. “This way.”

She led them in a brisk walk a little way down the street, Professor Stein coming up to walk alongside her, the rest staying close. “The one advantage of Times Square,” she was saying, “is that you can catch a trolley here to just about anywhere in town. Horse-drawn, electric, whatever’s your preference.”

“Quickest one, I would think,” Professor Stein told her.

“Then this one should do it,” Claire said.

She led them to a trolley stop where a nearly empty horse-drawn streetcar was coming to a pause. Agent Hessman produced a bill of 1919 currency to cover them all and led the way on board. Agent Harris was last on board, keeping a sharp eye out for any threats to her team. Then she spotted it.

A man in the crowd pulled out a pistol that caught her eye, both for the type of gun it was and the direction it was aimed.

“Down!” To her cry, everyone flattened themselves to the floor of the trolley car, Agent Harris diving in just as the shot rang out. A second shot also missed but spooked the horse into a premature run while passengers and pedestrians screamed and dove for cover. Agent Harris barely pulled her feet in as the trolley got off to a sudden start. She took Lieutenant Phelps’s offered hand to get to her feet.

“Sue?” Agent Hessman questioned.

“Man with a pistol,” she said as she stepped over beside him. “Only, while the gun looks period to the untrained eye, it didn’t come out until 1930.”

“Looks like one of their team found us,” Captain Beck stated.

“Yeah, except that the man’s not Japanese. I’ll need to look through your record book to identify him, but I’d say we have another player in this game.”

The shooter hopped onto another streetcar heading out ahead of them, a gun that should not yet exist held tightly in his hand.