Dead or Alive - By Tom Clancy Page 0,193

after a moment, “Yes, good morning, is Mr. Nayoan in this morning? Yes, thanks.” Clark hung up. “He’s in. Let’s take a walk, get a lay of the land.”

“What’re we looking for?” Jack asked.

“Nothing and everything,” Clark responded. “The map isn’t the territory, Jack. You’re acclimatizing. Find out where the coffee shops are. ATMs, alleys and side streets, newspaper vendors, pay phones. Where’re the best places to catch taxis or hop a cable car? Learn to feel like you live here.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Chavez answered that one. “No. How do the people move, how do they interact? Do they wait for Walk lights, or do they jaywalk? Do they meet one another’s eyes on the sidewalks or exchange pleasantries? How many cop cars do you see? Check for parking. Is it metered or free? Nail down the BART entrances.”

“Bay Area Rapid Transit,” Clark added before Jack could ask. “Their subway.”

“That’s a lot of shit to absorb.”

“That’s the job,” Clark replied. “Wanna go home?”

“Not on your life.”

“It’s a mind-set, Jack. Change the way you see the landscape. Soldiers look for cover and ambush spots; spooks look for dead drops and surveillance boxes. Two questions you should always be asking: How would I follow somebody here, and how would I lose somebody here?”

“Okay.”

Clark checked his watch. “We’ll take an hour, then meet back at the car and see if Nayoan’s ready for lunch. Jack, you head south; Ding and me will take northeast and northwest.”

“Why that coverage?” Jack asked.

“Gets more residential to the south. At least during the day Nayoan will be on the clock—meetings, lunch, that sort of thing. Use the stroll to acclimatize.”

As instructed, Jack walked south down Jones Street, then west up Lombard, getting a workout on the steep and winding pavement, until he reached the tennis courts at the top of Telegraph Hill, where he turned south again. The houses here were tightly packed and colorfully painted, many with balconies and porches overflowing with flowers. Jack had seen plenty of pictures of the 1906 earthquake here, and it was hard to mentally overlay that with what he was seeing now. The earth’s crust slips along a seam a couple of feet, maybe inches, and a city is ruined. Truly, you do not mess with Mother Nature. Hurricane Katrina had reminded America of that most recently, though nature had only costarred in that one. The rest was bad logistics and inadequate supplies. Made you wonder what things would be like if something worse befell the country, natural or man-made. Were we really ready for something like that? Jack pondered. Better question: Was there such a thing as being truly ready? China and India and Indonesia had been dealing with tsunamis and earthquakes since time immemorial, and still when it happened today the response and recovery looked like barely controlled chaos. Maybe the problem was the definition itself. All systems, whether they be governments or fire departments or police departments, had breaking points where circumstances outdistanced manpower and resources. Come to think of it, humans were probably different, and if so, doesn’t the concept of readiness become a matter of life and death, of survival or extinction? If after the catastrophe you find yourself alive, were you then ready for it?

Mind back in the game, Jack commanded himself.

At the forty-minute mark, he turned back north at the Feusier Octagon House and returned to the car. Clark and Chavez weren’t back yet, so he found a bench across the street under a tree and read the newspaper he’d picked up during his walk.

“Smart not to get back in the car,” Jack heard behind him. Clark and Chavez were standing there. “Why?”

“On a nice day like this? Who’d do that except for cops, detectives, or stalkers?”

“Attaboy. Stand up, come over here. Same principle: Three guys don’t just sit around on a bench together unless they’re waiting for a bus or they’re bums.” Jack joined them under the tree and they stood in a semicircle. “Okay, we’re business schmucks,” Clark said, “standing around talking about the game last night or our asshole boss. So what’d you see?”

“The vibe’s more laid-back than New York or Baltimore,” Jack replied. “People don’t seem to be in as big a hurry. More eye contact and smiles.”

“Good, what else?”

“Good mass-transit system, plenty of stops. Saw five cop cars but no lights and sirens. Just about everyone is wearing or carrying a jacket or sweater. Not a lot of honking. A lot of compact cars and hybrids and bicycles.

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