“Yes, we were,” Ken said. “But—”
“You have to humor him,” Sandy explained to the back of the man’s head. “It’s his impulsive nature.”
“Oh. Sure. In that case. Anything your little heart desires.”
The cab swung left on Twenty-ninth Street and sped westward toward Seventh Avenue. There it turned right for the big railroad station a few blocks northward. It was difficult to be certain, in these busy streets, but Ken thought he spotted Barrack’s car half a block behind.
“What’s your idea?” Sandy asked.
“You gave it to me,” Ken answered. “We’re going to make Barrack think we won’t turn up in his way again.”
The cab swung down into the ramp that led directly into the terminal. Ken paid the driver, thanked him, and then led Sandy through the door into the station.
“Let’s wait here a minute,” he said, just inside.
“What for?”
“Our shadow. We don’t want to lose him.”