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By Root 726 0

dressed in gray slacks, a lightweight black mock turtleneck, and black sneakers. He slipped into his shoulder holster, which hung in the closet, donned a tan cotton safari jacket, and went to his study. He opened a small wall safe and removed not his licensed 9mm Glock that was there, but an unregistered .22-caliber he’d confiscated years ago from a drug dealer during a raid. He secured it beneath his armpit in the holster, and checked that the cats had water and food in the kitchen before leaving the house and sliding behind the wheel of his silver Mercedes. His first stop was the 600 Restaurant, across from the Kennedy Center, where he enjoyed a shrimp cocktail, steak sandwich, and a Bloody Mary at the bar.

“You’re looking fine, Mr. Pawkins, real fine,” Ulysses said while serving him. “You look like you’re in the game, and you’ve got to be in the game if you’re gonna win

Pawkins laughed at Ulysses’ favorite bit of philosophy. “You are right, my friend. I am in the game, and I intend to win. Let me have the check

Pawkins stepped outside. It was an unusually cool day for that time of year in Washington, with a cloudless, cobalt-blue sky, and a breeze light enough to ruffle hair but brisk enough at times to tease the cheeks. He left his car where he’d parked it in the Kennedy Center’s underground garage and walked up New Hampshire to the Watergate complex, passing through the central open space with its gushing fountains, inviting benches, and tranquil greenery, until reaching the entrance to the hotel. He was greeted by the doorman. “Hello, sir

“Hello,” said Pawkins. “Beautiful day

“Yes, sir, it most certainly is that

He meandered the length of the lobby in the direction of the elevators, and beyond them the check-in desk on the left, the entrance to the bar on the right. He’d almost reached the elevators when he saw Josephson emerge from one. Pawkins pretended to admire a print on the wall, but his peripheral vision took in the little Englishman. Josephson came halfway to where Pawkins stood, his eyes going from one side of the lobby to the other. He kept checking his watch as he retraced his steps, then turned and again walked in Pawkins’ direction.

Pawkins looked at his watch. Three forty-five. What was he doing in the lobby? Pawkins was expected at four. Josephson should be in his room awaiting a phone call.

Josephson passed Pawkins this time and stepped outside, where he leaned against a column and drew deep breaths. Pawkins took the opportunity to sit in a yellow slipcovered chair that afforded him a view of the lifts, but that was partially obscured by a large potted plant. He had to smile; he felt like a movie version of a hotel’s house detective spying on a guest.

Josephson returned inside and walked to the elevators. Pawkins turned so that only his profile was visible. Not that the Brit would know what he looked like, although his photograph had made some publications at the height of the Musinski investigation. The doors slid open, Josephson stepped inside, and the doors closed behind him.

Pawkins waited a few minutes before going to a house phone and asking to be connected to Mr. Josephson’s room.

“Hello?” Josephson sounded breathless. His voice was barely above a squeak.

“Josephson. This is Pawkins

“Are you…? Where are you?”

“Downstairs. I’ve been watching you

“You have? Are you—are you coming up?”

“Yes. I know your room number. I’ll be there in a few minutes. You are alone, I assume

“Yes, of course I am. Why would I—”

Pawkins lowered the phone into its cradle and stepped into a waiting elevator, pressing his elbow against the holstered .22 as the doors closed. The doors opened at Josephson’s floor. Pawkins walked down the long, red-carpeted hallway until he stood outside Josephson’s door. Was the Brit observing him through the peephole? He smiled for Josephson’s benefit, and knocked. The door opened.

“Mr. Pawkins,” Josephson said.

Pawkins ignored the greeting and walked past him into the center of the room. He’d stayed at the Watergate Hotel on a few occasions. This wasn’t one of its most