A series of clicks was followed by the sound of someone else picking up the other end of the line. This voice was intense and anxious.
“All right, Philips, where are you?”
“I’m in Harlem. Who is this?”
“My name is Agent Sansone. I’m the Assistant Director of the Bureau here in the city.”
“What Bureau?” Philips’ nerves, which had begun to settle, tingled as if he were connected to a galvanic source.
“The FBI, you idiot! Listen, we may not have much time. You’ve got to get out of that area.”
“Why?” Martin was bewildered, but he sensed Sansone’s seriousness.
“I don’t have time to explain. But that man you clobbered on the head was one of my agents trying to protect you. He just reported in. Don’t you understand? Werner’s involvement was just a freak accident.”
“I don’t understand anything,” shouted Philips.
“It doesn’t matter,” snapped Sansone. “What matters is getting you out of there. Hang on, I’ve got to see if this is a secured line.”
There was another click while Philips was put on hold. Glaring at the silent phone, Philips’ emotions were strung out to the point that he felt anger. The whole thing had to be a cruel joke.
“The line’s not secure,” said Sansone, coming back on the phone. “Give your number and I’ll call you back.”
Philips gave him the number and hung up. His anger began to fragment into renewed fear. After all, it was the FBI.
The phone jangled under Philips’ hand, startling him. It was Sansone. “Okay, Philips. Listen! There is a conspiracy involving the Hobson University Medical Center, which we’ve been secretly investigating.”
“And it involves radiation,” blurted Philips. Things started to make sense.
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely,” said Philips.
“Very good. Listen, Philips, you’re needed in this investigation, but we’re afraid you might be under surveillance. We’ve got to talk to you. We need someone inside the medical center, understand?” Sansone didn’t wait for Philips to respond. “We can’t have you come here in case you are being followed. The last thing we want at this moment is to let them know the FBI is investigating them. Hold on.”
Sansone went off the line but Philips could hear a discussion in the background.
“The Cloisters, Philips. Do you know the Cloisters?” asked Sansone, coming back on the line. “Of course,” said Martin, bewildered.
“We’ll meet there. Take a cab and get out at the main entrance. Send the cab away. It will give us a chance to make sure you are clear.”
“Clear?”
“Not being followed, for God’s sake! Just do it, Philips.” Philips was left holding a dead receiver. Sansone hadn’t waited for questions or acquiescence. His instructions weren’t suggestions, they were orders. Philips couldn’t but be impressed by the agent’s utter seriousness. He went back to the bartender and asked if he could call a cab.
“Hard to get cabs to come to Harlem at night,” said the bartender.
A five-dollar bill made him change his mind and he used the phone behind the cash register. Martin noted the butt of a forty-five pistol in the same location.
Before a taxi driver would agree to come, Martin had to promise a twenty-dollar tip and say his destination was Washington Heights. Then he spent a nervous fifteen minutes before he saw the cab pull up in front. Martin climbed in and the taxi squealed off down the once fashionable avenue. Right after they’d pulled away, the driver asked Martin to lock all doors.
They went over ten blocks before the city began to look less threatening. Soon they were in an area familiar to Philips and lighted store fronts replaced the previous desolation. Martin could even see a few people walking beneath umbrellas.
“Okay, where to?” said the driver. He was obviously relieved as if he’d rescued someone from behind enemy lines.
“The Cloisters,” said Philips.
“The Cloisters! Man, it’s three-thirty in the morning. That whole area will be deserted.”
“I’ll pay you,” said Martin, not wishing to have an argument.
“Wait a minute,” said the driver, stopping at a red light. He turned to look through the Plexiglas partition. “I don’t want no trouble. I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to, but I don’t want no trouble.”