We got into McGill's car and he pulled away fast. As I looked back, the four men were flailing around, but they saw the direction we took. I also thought I saw the street lamp behind us go out.
"That was a lucky break!" I said. "I mean the cat and dog."
"Don't give it a thought," McGill said, driving fast but carefully up Hudson Street. "You're being watched over and protected. We're going up to my office and have a conference and we're going to drive like hell. I have an idea this thing may not be able to do much more than hang onto you. Maybe we can even shake it."
"Hang onto me?"
"Yes, you're the nucleus."
We were at the top of the ramp to the Westside Highway and he abruptly put on more speed: no traffic was in sight.
"But what is it?" I asked a little wildly. "How's it doing it? Why pick on me?"
"I don't know, but I'd say it picked you as the nucleus because you had just been the subject of various flukes—the taxi and subway and so on—so you represented a sample of what it's made of—flukes. I have a hunch you'll continue to be protected."
"Did you happen to catch Bill Bart's broadcast?"