About a week or so before my book went to press in September of 2008, I was followed a helicopter on my way to work. I was walking down the alley beside my apartment building that leads to the subway station a block away, where I catch the train each morning. The sound of the chopper was loud as I stepped outside and it hovered almost directly overhead. As I headed down the alleyway, it sounded like it was following. When I looked up, I saw that it was about four stories above the ground and just a little behind me. It traveled slowly matching my pace and when I stopped, it stopped. I stopped three different times to turn around and look up at it and each time it stopped and wouldn’t start moving again . . . until I did.
The message was clear. I was not to forget that they were watching me.
It was a small whirlybird. I thought at the time that it probably couldn’t hold more than one person. Although I tried, I couldn’t make out anyone seated behind the curved windshield in front. It was painted white without any markings, either on the body of the chopper or on its undercarriage.
When I got to the subway station at the end of the alleyway, it banked and flew away at a much greater speed than when it was pacing me.