Pop Goes the Weasel

leisurely pace through the men’s clothing section. He picked up a few overpriced Ralph Lauren Polo sport shirts, then two pairs of dark trousers.
    He draped a black Giorgio Armani suit over his arm and took the bundle into the changing rooms. At a security desk inside, he handed the clothes to an attendant on duty, posted there to curtail shoplifters, no doubt.
    “Changed my mind,” he said.
    “That’s not a problem, sir.”
    Shafer then jogged down a narrow corridor that led to a rear exit. He sprinted toward the glass doors and burst through them into a parking lot in back. He saw signs for Bruno Cipriani and Lord & Taylor and knew he was headed in the right direction.
    A Ford Taurus was parked there near the F pole. Shafer jumped inside, started it, and drove up the Rockville Pike to Montrose Crossing, a little over a mile away.
    He didn’t think anyone was following him now. He passed Montrose and went north to the Federal Plaza shopping center. Once there, he entered the Cyber Exchange, which sold new and used software and lots of computers.
    His eyes darted left and right until he saw exactly what he needed.
    “I’d like to try out the new iMac,” he told the salesperson who approached him.
    “Be my guest. You need any assistance, holler,” the sales-person said. “It’s easy.”
    “Yes, I think I’m fine. I’ll call if I get stuck. I’m pretty sure I’m going to buy the iMac, though.”
    “Excellent choice.”
    “Yes. Excellent, excellent.”
    The lazy clerk left him alone, and Shafer immediately booted up. The display model was connected on-line. He felt a rush of manic excitement, but also a tinge of sadness as he typed in his message to the other players. He’d thought this through and knew what had to be said, what had to be done.
    GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS. THIS GLORIOUS AND UNPRECEDENTED ADVENTURE OF EIGHT YEARS, THE FOUR HORSEMEN, IS NEARLY AT AN END NOW. YOU HAVE STATED YOUR CASE VERY LOGICALLY, AND I ACCEPT THE REGRETTABLE CONCLUSION YOU’VE REACHED. THE GAME HAS BECOME TOO DANGEROUS. SO I PROPOSE THAT WE CREATE AN UNFORGETTABLE ENDING. I BELIEVE THAT A FACE-TO-FACE MEETING IS A FITTING END. IT’S THE ONLY CONCLUSION THAT I CAN ACCEPT.
    THIS WAS INEVITABLE, I SUPPOSE, AND WE HAVE DISCUSSED IT MANY TIMES BEFORE. YOU KNOW WHERE THE GAME ENDS. I PROPOSE THAT WE START PLAY ON THURSDAY. TRUST ME, I WILL BE THERE FOR THE GRAND FINALE. IF NECESSARY, I CAN BEGIN THE GAME WITHOUT YOU. DON’T MAKE ME DO THAT …. DEATH .

Chapter 108
    AT NINE O’CLOCK on Monday morning, Shafer joined the monotonous, stomach-turning line of workaday morons stuck in traffic going in the direction of Embassy Row. He had the intoxicating thought that he would never again have to work after today. Everything in his life was about to change. He couldn’t go back.
    His heart was pounding as he stopped and waited at the green light on Massachusetts Avenue near the embassy. Car horns beeped behind him, and he was reminded of his suicide run a year ago. Those were the days, damn it. Then he blasted through on the red. He ran. He had rehearsed his escape. This was for keeps.
    He saw two blocks of clear roadway ahead, and he floored the gas pedal. The Jaguar leaped forward with raw, phallic power, as it were. The sports car rocketed toward the puzzle of side streets around American University.
    Ten minutes later he was turning in to the White Flint Mall at fifty, gunning the Jag up to fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five as he sped across the mostly empty lot. He was sure no one had followed him.
    He drove toward a large Borders Books & Music store, turned right, then zoomed up a narrow side lane between buildings.
    There were five exits out of the mall that he knew of. He accelerated again, tires squealing.
    The surrounding neighborhood was a warren of narrow streets. Still no one was behind him, not a single car.
    He knew of a little-used one-way entrance onto the Rockville Pike. He got on the road, heading out against the barrage of traffic streaming to work in the city. He hadn’t spotted any cars speeding behind him inside the mall, or on the side streets, or on the pike.
    They probably had only one car, or at most two, on him in the morning. That made the most sense to Shafer. Neither the Washington Metro police nor the Security Service would approve a larger surveillance detail to follow him. He didn’t think they would, anyway.
    He’d probably lost them. He whooped loudly and started blaring the Jag’s horn