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Too many windows for a shooter to fire from.
Was he a colleague of the man who had followed him earlier?
And, if he was, and Talese was their target, what would their mission be here in public?
Although, thinking back to some of those cases he’d run as a prosecutor, it was astonishing how many professional killers had gunned down someone in the middle of a crowded street and even the most seemingly cooperative witnesses saw nothing helpful.
The large man was getting closer and ignoring Talese and his guard—or so it seemed. His eyes taking in the area, the people, the windows, the cars …
Talese felt his heart thud at triple the usual pace.
He slowed.
And then a sharp voice sounded behind him.
“Senator?”
Talese turned fast.
Was this it? A bullet?
Peter spun about too, his hand inside his jacket.
But the man who approached wore a gold shield on his belt.
NYPD detective.
Talese’s face tightened into a querying look. He glanced around, noting that the man on the intersecting path was getting closer yet.
“Detective, there’s—” Talese began.
But the cop cut him off, saying, with irritation, “Your phone’s off.”
“My … Oh.” He fished in his pocket. He’d shut it off, per the rules of meeting with the president—so it could be used neither as a recording device nor as a homing tracker to guide a Hellfire missile.
“I’m Lon Sellitto.”
Peter said, once again, “I’ll see some ID, please.”
Talese expected the bulky man, in a wrinkled raincoat, to gripe. He was wearing a badge, after all. But without hesitating, he offered a card.
The guard examined it and sent a text. In a matter of seconds, the phone hummed. He nodded to his boss. “Legit.”
“Look,” Talese said, nodding over his shoulder, “there’s somebody—”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence because Sellitto was lifting a hand in greeting to the very person the senator was referring to.
The big somber man joined them and displayed his own badge. It resembled that of an old-time sheriff.
“I’m U.S. marshal Michael Quayle, Senator. Your phone’s off.”
“I know, I know.” Talese revived the unit and it immediately began chiming with texts and reports of voice mail messages.
“All right, Detective, Marshal. What’s this about?”
Sellitto said, “After we’re out of the open, Senator.”
“I really want—”
