by WOOD TOM
‘Seif’s dossier,’ she explained. ‘I’m sorry; it’s all I could get in the time frame.’
The file was a quarter inch thick. She had done a lot in just two days. He flicked through, surprised. Impressed.
‘It’ll do.’
CHAPTER 52
Falls Church, Virginia, USA
Monday
16:54 EST
Sykes climbed out of his Lincoln and gave the door a good, satisfying slam. He squinted against the low afternoon sun, pointed the key fob at the car, and watched as the indicator lights flashed twice. It was hardly necessary. Crime in this government and CIA-heavy part of the state was virtually nonexistent, even though over the river it was rampant, but Sykes was a cautious man. He just wished he had been more cautious when Ferguson had said those immortal words to him: How would you like to be rich?
Yes had been the answer, hell yes. Sykes was on the last few zeros of his trust fund and didn’t much like the idea of having to downgrade his lifestyle. But that had been then; now Sykes would be happy if he managed to stay out of jail. It was supposed to be simple. A retired Russian navy officer was selling the whereabouts of some extremely valuable missiles to the CIA. Kill him and steal the information. Have the killer killed to prevent the rest of the CIA from finding out who hired him. Recover missiles and sell them on the black market. On paper it had sounded easy, but everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong.
Hunting an assassin around Europe while trying not to get busted by his own organization wasn’t what Sykes had signed up for, and it certainly wasn’t what he’d sold his honour for. Ferguson, old fearless bastard that he was, was hardly breaking a sweat. For him it was just one more messy operation in a lifetime of messy operations. Ferguson may have done this kind of illegal shit plenty of times before, but Sykes was as green to it as could be.
The air was still but cold. He could feel his insides jumping around all over the place. It was saying something that his stomach hadn’t exploded yet. For the last week he hadn’t dared leave home without a pocket full of antacids.
At the end of the drive was Ferguson’s beautiful three-thousand-square-foot colonial. The house was nestled within four wooded acres and was in immaculate condition. Sykes took a heavy breath as he approached. If things had been bad yesterday, today they were desperate.
Ferguson opened the door. He was dressed casually in a polo shirt and slacks and did not look pleased at the interruption to his sandwich. Sykes couldn’t remember the last proper meal he’d been able to finish that hadn’t played murder with his guts. With a monogrammed handkerchief Ferguson wiped the corners of his mouth while he finished chewing.
‘I figured you’d want to know straight away,’ Sykes said.
‘That sounds decidedly ominous, Mr Sykes.’
Sykes shifted his weight. He spoke in facts. ‘Tesseract returned to Paris. He met up with the girl, Sumner. There was a firefight. They’re both gone.’
There was an agonizingly long pause before Ferguson spoke. His voice was too calm and sent a chill along Sykes’s spine. ‘You had better come in.’
Sykes followed Ferguson into the hallway. It was the first time he had been in the veteran CIA officer’s house. For some reason Sykes would have expected it to be cold inside, but instead it was almost uncomfortably warm. Sykes unbuttoned the jacket of his dove-grey suit and let it fall open.
Ferguson’s house was sparsely decorated. A pure guy’s place. He’d been divorced for at least ten years, and as far as Sykes knew there wasn’t some crusty love interest. He noticed golf clubs near the door.
‘What the hell has been going on?’ Ferguson asked when the door was closed.
No foreplay then, straight to the ass raping.
‘Exactly as I said. Tesseract was spotted in Paris. I’m not sure exactly how at this moment.’ Sykes cleared his throat. ‘He went to Sumner’s apartment. Obviously we had no one on her after you had me redirect Reed after Hoyt.’
Sykes was pleased to be able to pass the blame so early in the conversation.
Ferguson was silent for a moment. ‘Then what?’
‘The French police tried to take him down. Needless to say, it didn’t work.’
Ferguson weighed the response for a moment. ‘I’ve just spent the afternoon teaching the director of national intelligence a lesson in the art of putting and this has somewhat soured my good mood.’ Ferguson pushed a hand through his hair. It was so thick Sykes used to think it was a wig. From the amount of hairs Sykes discovered each morning in the shower, he expected to be bald as a plucked chicken by the time he was Ferguson’s age.
‘This is the kind of complication we could have done without.’
‘We’re still safe,’ Sykes offered, more to satisfy his own anxiety than Ferguson’s.
The old guy huffed. ‘Thank you for that small assurance. I’m assuming we have more dead bodies.’
Sykes nodded. ‘He killed three, two more are in the hospital. I don’t know if they’ll make it.’
‘What do the Frogs know?’
‘As far as I know they don’t know anything. They don’t know why Tesseract was in Paris or who the girl was. The apartment isn’t hers and the one in Marseilles was rented under an assumed identity, so they won’t be able to connect her to the agency. Her cover is good. It should hold.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Ferguson said.
They stood without speaking for what seemed like a long time. Sykes could almost see the wheels turning inside Ferguson’s mind. When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, Sykes said, ‘I don’t understand how Tesseract tracked her down.’
‘Have you heard anything about the police finding her body?’
‘No.’
‘Then think again.’
Sykes couldn’t keep still. His fists were clenched down by his sides, knuckles white. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘He didn’t find her,’ Ferguson said.
Sykes was as confused as he looked. ‘What?’
Ferguson explained it for him. ‘Either he contacted her first or perhaps she contacted him, but that hardly matters. What matters is she realized she’d become a target so agreed to meet him.’
‘But why? And how did she know before Reed got to her?’
‘Because she’s smart. Tell me if I’m wrong, but that’s why we used her.’
‘Yeah, but …’
‘Maybe she’s smarter than we thought. Maybe Kennard made a mistake and revealed his identity, so when he died she put two and two together. Or either of them could have become suspicious and deliberately broken protocol. Who knows?’
‘I guess that makes sense.’
‘So,’ Ferguson continued, ‘she runs to her cousin’s apartment in Paris, unaware that we know about it. She’s frightened; she doesn’t know what to do; she’s got nowhere else to turn, and so she goes to Tesseract for help. Maybe offering to tell him what she knows if he gives her the drive. Either he’s desperate and agrees or goes there to kill her and changes his mind and they decide to work together. She knows more, he’s more capable, so each can help the other. I would say that’s a pretty shrewd course of action.’
Sykes frowned hard. He’d been frowning a lot recently. ‘So what are we going to do?’
‘We sit back and wait,’ Ferguson said with annoying calm. ‘Either Tesseract will kill her as a precaution or maybe just for revenge once she’s no longer useful. That’ll solve one little problem if nothing else. Then Tesseract will disappear with the flash drive, and we’ll never hear from him again. We won’t get the missiles and we won’t get rich, but we’ll get to keep our freedom. Considering everything that’s happened so far I would consider that a victory.’
‘Or?’
Ferguson walked out of the hall and into the spacious kitchen. Sykes followed.
‘Drink?’ Ferguson asked.
‘I’ll take a beer,’ Sykes answered after a second’s deliberation.
Ferguson’s thick eyebrows moved close
r together. ‘I was thinking more like juice or water.’
‘I’ll skip then.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Ferguson said. He opened the fridge and took out a carton of grapefruit juice. He poured himself a tall glass. ‘Or,’ he continued eventually, ‘they’ll contact us and try and do a deal. I think this is more likely. They’ll offer us the information if we leave them alone.’
Sykes exhaled heavily. ‘Okay. And if they do, will we?’
Ferguson looked shocked. ‘Of course not, you idiot. Where’s your head? No, we won’t leave them alone. If we do this right we can manipulate their coming together to give us an opportunity to take them both out and retrieve the drive in one go. We get our hands on those missiles and come out cleanly.’
‘You really think we can still pull this off with everything that’s happened?’
Ferguson stared at him with something approaching disgust. ‘I’ve got myself out of deeper holes than this, Mr Sykes, and still managed to smell of roses.’
‘What about Alvarez?’
The old CIA man sighed as though the whole conversation was beginning to bore him. ‘Alvarez is nothing more than a Boy Scout. I’ve never thought particularly highly of him. All he does is follow the path of least resistance. Look, what’s just happened is actually a good thing for us in a way. It’ll give the idiots in the department some more wild geese to chase. And all the while they’re being led further and further away from us. If Procter, Chambers, and Alvarez had a brain between them they would be looking for how someone could have found out about Ozols in the first place. Instead they’re trying to do things the other way around. They’ll never get anywhere that way. So keep your cool and this will all be over soon enough. And, with a bit of luck, when it is, there will be tens of millions of dollars waiting in numbered accounts for us both. I take it you still want to be rich? I know I do.’
Sykes nodded his agreement. ‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘it’s almost a shame we’ve got to kill Tesseract. I mean, the fact that he’s come this far shows how good he is. We could really use him on our team, couldn’t we? He’d make a great asset. Maybe we could bring him on our side.’
‘I’ll forget you said that.’
Sykes swallowed the dry nothing from his throat. ‘Sorry.’
Ferguson glared at him. ‘Have I not taught you anything, Mr Sykes? Never apologize. Ever. At worst it’s an admission of culpability, at best it just makes you look like a fucking chump.’
CHAPTER 53
London, United Kingdom
Tuesday
13:56 CET
Rebecca sat on a comfortable leather sofa in the reception area of Hartman and Royce Equity Investments, feeling a little nervous but confident those nerves weren’t showing. Seif’s company was located on the nineteenth floor of the striking Canary Wharf tower – fifty storeys of glass and steel that loomed over the rest of London’s skyline. The view was stunning. Rebecca concentrated on the glittering flow from the reception area’s tranquil water feature and let the hypnotic reflection of light relax her.
The click of heels caused Rebecca to turn her head. Approaching her was the receptionist, Melanie, a stunning brunette with a delightfully friendly manner and a porn star’s physique squeezed into a flattering pinstripe. Melanie had greeted Rebecca courteously, all big white smiles and practised small talk, insisting on fixing her a coffee while she waited. Rebecca found it very hard to say no to her.
Melanie offered the espresso in a small china cup with a saucer. Rebecca took it and wasn’t surprised to find Melanie made a killer espresso. Strong with just a hint of bitterness. Rebecca couldn’t remember having a better one.
‘That’s fantastic, thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ Melanie’s glossy lips formed a smile. ‘Anything else you fancy, just let me know.’
While Melanie walked back to her desk, stilettos clicking and a certain strut to her walk, Rebecca wondered whether there was more to the offer than the obvious. No, couldn’t be.
‘She seems friendly,’ the voice in her ear said.
Rebecca brought the espresso cup to her mouth. ‘Very.’
‘I think she likes you.’
‘You jealous?’
She took a sip while she waited for his reply.
‘Of what?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Nothing, it was a joke.’
‘I don’t get it.’
She sighed. ‘Never mind.’
‘Don’t get on too well with her. We want her to forget you the second you walk out the door.’
‘Got it.’
Rebecca sipped her espresso while watching partners and employees exiting the elevator after long lunches. Nobody gave Rebecca a second look as they passed through the reception, sometimes pausing for a word with Melanie on their way through. Rebecca was just another client or visitor. One of dozens of new faces that must appear every day. There was little need to disguise herself.
His voice came through Rebecca’s earpiece again. ‘Still no sign of him yet.’
‘Okay,’ Rebecca said without moving her lips.
He was outside watching for Seif’s return. He’d been in the area since the morning performing surveillance, observing Seif arriving, leaving for lunch. They’d left Paris in the middle of the night. Tesseract had stolen a car and driven them to Calais, where a ferry had taken them across the Channel. A train had brought them to London. She’d slept during the journey.
They travelled as a couple, even though her companion wasn’t doing that great a job of pulling it off. Rebecca could tell he was used to operating alone and had limited personal experience to draw on. She was better, helping to pick up his slack, but she could tell he didn’t like the physical contact it entailed. She expected he wasn’t used to people touching him except those he had to pay to. He had tried hard not to let his unease show, and Rebecca did her best not to let on that she noticed.
He didn’t trust her either, that was obvious, even if she had shown herself an ally, and it was hard to be a convincing couple when one partner was constantly looking out for signs of betrayal. Well, maybe looking out for signs of betrayal was part of being in a relationship, but Rebecca imagined most men worried more about their partners cheating than organizing their deaths. Thankfully the situation was only temporary. Rebecca wasn’t exactly keen on his company either.
It was clear he disliked everything about what he was doing too, even if he didn’t explicitly say. All his actions were controlled, and she knew that rushing his work was something he usually did everything to avoid. He preferred to plan his actions meticulously, the kind of operator who’d learned a long time ago that the more time spent on the drawing board, the fewer surprises in the field. Now he had to operate with half the facts in a quarter of the time.
His voice came through the earpiece again. ‘Okay, he’s walking through the lobby now.’
‘Gotcha.’
Two twenty PM and the elevator doors opened. A large man stepped out, his considerable bulk encased in a tight-fitting navy blue suit. He had a square face and a flattened, off-centre nose, the legacy of a life of brawls. He wore a serious expression that matched his very serious build. Rebecca noticed he was wearing a gun under the left arm of his suit. In Britain he wouldn’t be able to carry it legally, bodyguard or not. Tut, tut.
Following him came a man she recognized instantly as Elliot Seif. He was short and thin and looked just like he did in the Web site picture. His skin was heavily wrinkled and looked as if it didn’t get to see much of the sun. What was left of his hair was combed over to the side. He carried a black leather laptop case.
After Seif came a second bodyguard, similarly sized and dressed as the first. Seif acted as though they weren’t there, simply chatting away on his cell. The bodyguards walked at his pace, stopping when he stopped to exchange a few words with the receptionist, keeping his phone muffled against his chest as he gazed adoringly at her. Melanie flirted with him shamelessly.
Rebecca
could feel the eyes of the bodyguards skim over her quickly, but she continued to read through the latest copy of National Geographic as if she didn’t even know they were there. The article on elephant-seal migration patterns was fascinating, if a little on the condescending side.
Leaving Melanie faking a laugh, Seif continued on his way between his bodyguards. It was quite a statement to have not one but two personal bodyguards. Seif evidently felt a considerable need to protect himself, or perhaps they were there more for show. Rebecca thought they probably made a good impression on certain less-desirable clients who no doubt had bodyguards themselves.
As soon as they had left she stood and turned towards the receptionist.
‘Restroom?’
Melanie pointed in the direction Seif had gone. It was the only corridor. ‘That way, third door on the left – it’s marked.’
Rebecca smiled. ‘Thank you.’
She walked with brisk, long strides, heading down the corridor, reaching the corner in time to see Seif and his bodyguards enter the last office at the end of the hall. The second bodyguard took up position outside the door, adopting a comfortable pose, legs slightly apart, hands clasped before him.
She imagined that while Seif was in his office there would always be a bodyguard outside the door. He looked Rebecca’s way but she was already heading into the restroom.
Back in the foyer Melanie caught her attention.
‘Ms Oswald,’ she began, showing an earnest look, ‘I’ve just had Mr Brice on the phone. I’m afraid he’s been unavoidably detained and won’t be back today. He apologizes profusely for the inconvenience.’
Rebecca looked disappointed. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘Mr Brice wonders if you’ll be able to reschedule for later in the week.’
‘I’m flying back to New York tomorrow so that won’t be possible.’ She paused for a second, pretending to think. ‘But when I’m here next month I’ll make sure to book another appointment.’