The guy was in his mid twenties and had a face that Bunny had instantly disliked. It was based on nothing bar a strong suspicion that he was the sort who owned a Bluetooth headset. He had that look about him.
“Jesus,” said Bunny, “that’s incredible! Indestructible, you say? That’ll come in handy. Can I get the GAA results on it?”
“The what?”
“The results for the games back in Ireland.”
“Erm, no. It doesn’t have a browser function.”
Bunny tutted. “Feck.”
“I don’t think you understand. This phone is untraceable and works anywhere in the world. It has a special NSA-designed software on it that offers an incredible level of encryption. The signal is bounced off seven satellites.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I just, y’know… It’d be good if it could do all that and get the scores. Never mind. So, you say it’s indestructible?”
“Yes.”
Bunny had then heaved it at the wall so hard it had bounced off and hit him on the foot.
“Fuck!”
“What?” asked Bunny.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
“What do you mean what am I doing? Sure, I’m testing it!”
“Stop! You’re going to break it.”
“You said it was indestructible?”
“Virtually. Almost. I didn’t say… Look, just don’t do that.”
Bunny had picked it up. “Yeah, look – there’s a bit of a crack there now. Oh no, wait…” He blew on it. “It was only a bit of hair. Best of three.”
Bunny had pulled his hand back to try it again and the junior spy dude had grabbed it to stop him. “Jesus, are you insane?”
He had clearly been upset. This wasn’t how the Q scenes in Bond movies normally went.
“So, what kinda plan is it on?” asked Bunny.
“It’s not on a plan!” he’d snapped. “This phone rings one number. It will get you through to Agent Dove—”
“Who?”
“Agent Dove.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“She…” He’d stopped and looked at Bunny. “Are you trying to get me to tell you her real name?”
“Absolutely not.”
He absolutely had been. Bunny didn’t like not knowing who he was dealing with. He’d been hoping to wangle it out of the lad while he was discombobulated.
“Look,” said the junior spymaster, “it’s really simple. This phone rings, it’ll be Agent Dove on the other end. And if you need to contact her, unlock it with your thumbprint, like we just did, and press that one icon there…” He pointed at an icon of a green phone that sat alone on the screen. “That’ll get you through to Agent Dove, 24/7, 365 days a year.”
“Wait, I can only ring her and nobody else?”
“Yes.”
“Feck’s sake, what you’re essentially giving me here is the world’s most expensive two tin cans and a piece of string. What’s the next bit of kit? A magnifying glass and some talcum powder to take fingerprints?”
Bunny looked at the icon, took a deep breath and pressed it. This was the first time he’d tried it – or at least, he assumed so. He really hoped the drunken eejit version of himself that he’d been chasing all day hadn’t made a fool of him in yet another way on Saturday.
There was a series of small electronic sounds, possibly the sound of the signal bouncing off seven satellites. Bunny glanced up again into the New York sky that at 9pm was probably about as dark as it ever got. It started ringing. On the third ring, she picked up.
“Hello, Mr McGarry.” He’d only met her once, but it was the voice of the woman he knew as Agent Dove.
“Howerya, how’s it going?”
“I was intending to call you.”
“Were ye?” said Bunny. “Isn’t that lovely? Great. Well, this’ll save you a few bucks off your bill.”
“Have you made some progress in your mission?”
“Ehm, yeah, yeah. ’Tis going well. Lot of irons in the fire. Strong leads, all of that.”
“I see. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Well, now – I’m glad you asked. I don’t know if you get the New York news in your secret base in a volcano or wherever you are, but there’s been a murder in New York.”
“You killed someone?” Her voice dropped a couple of degrees, and it hadn’t been that warm to begin with.
“No. God no. Not at all.”
“Good.”
“In fact, the person accused of it didn’t do it either.”
“I see. Does this have a point?”
“Yes. You see, the murder in question is all over the news. It involves a woman called Amy Daniels—”
“The dominatrix?”
“That’s the one, yeah.”
“That has been national news, Mr McGarry.”
“Has it? Fancy that. Well, the good news is she definitely didn’t do it because, y’see, she was with me at the time.”
There was silence for long enough at the other end of the line that Bunny wondered if one of the seven satellites had banged into one of the other six. Finally Dove spoke again. “Let me get this straight, Mr McGarry. You’ve been in New York around a week and you have been spending your time with a dominatrix?”
“Well, not like, y’know… None of the spanky spanky. Not like that.”
“You are supposed to be keeping a low profile.”
“I’m trying to.”
Her voice became a near snarl. “Not hard enough, apparently. I also received an email about some expenses on your card. Would now be a good time to question a charge from a strip club?”
“Now, I can explain that.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ehm… I was, well, I was in a strip club.”
“I see.”
“Look,” said Bunny, “I’m trying to tell you – this woman, Amy Daniels, she’s being set up. There’s some Wall Street lads up to something naughty and they’ve got some serious people working with them. Linked into law enforcement in some way. I think something very dodgy is going on.”
“I’m confused. How exactly does any of this relate to finding Simone Delamere?”
“Well, it doesn’t.”
“That is what you are here to do, Mr McGarry. We went to great lengths to allow you to do so.”
“Look, I’m trying to do that, alright? This just happened. What am I supposed to do? Walk away and leave the poor girl on her own?”
“Yes, Mr McGarry, yes. You are here to find a woman, a particular woman.”
“That’s exactly what I told her.”
The temperature of the call dipped below freezing. “Excuse me?”
“I mean…”
“You are telling people why you are here?”
“Well, only – I mean, not the full story, only like a bit.”
“I see. I’m afraid this will not work, Mr McGarry. You are not the person we thought you were and we need to pursue other solutions to the Simone Delamere problem.”
“Now hang on.”
“Consider yourself cut loose. Goodbye.”
“Wait!”
The line went dead. Bunny jabbed at the green phone icon, but nothing happened. He tried turning the phone off and on again. When he did so, and then placed his thumb on the reader, nothing happened.
A passing jogger jumped with fright as he screamed “Feck it!” at a volume that no noise-cancelling headphones in the world would’ve been able to keep out.
He slammed the phone on the sidewalk and jumped up and down on it.
After about sixty seconds of this, he stopped and took a few deep breaths. The first few thick drops of rain had started to splash onto the pavement around him.
He started to walk off and then he stopped, turned around and went back to pick up the phone.
The screen was still intact. That was pretty impressive alright.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cole took a deep breath and kn
ocked.
“Enter.”
When he opened the door into the suite, Mrs Miller was running on a treadmill. The suite was large – the kind that New York has for when sheikhs or CEOs drop by. Mrs Miller was a CEO, of sorts. Amidst the cream carpets and tasteful furnishings, the treadmill she was on faced the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across the city. They were currently providing an excellent view of the city being hammered by torrential rain. Brief flashes of lightning could be seen skittering across the horizon. A laptop sat on a stand beside Miller. It was playing ABBA.
“Oh,” he said, “sorry if this is a bad time. I can come back.”
“No, now is fine.”
He crossed the room, stopping beside her. She lowered her speed a couple of notches and kept running.
“And how are your charges?”
“Messrs Bradley and Clarke are back at their apartment. Jameson and Newton are on them until morning. They know we’re up on their phones and laptops, so won’t try anything stupid, although Mr Bradley has been googling ‘explosives inside the body’ and all variations thereof.”
“I’m sure he has.”
“He has also carried out an extensive self-examination. He tried to get Mr Clarke to take a look, but he refused.”
“Understandably.”
“They’re complying. They won’t do anything stupid.”
Miller took a glug of water. “I wish I shared your confidence. Stupid things are apparently what they do.”
Cole said nothing in response. He wasn’t sure why he had been called here, but this was not an organisation that, when it met triumph and disaster, treated those two imposters just the same. In fact, those responsible for the meeting with disaster had the tendency to suffer their own personal disaster soon after. Cole knew that better than anyone, which was why he was glad the meeting was here. His death would be difficult to get out of these carpets without questions being asked, even for someone with Miller’s reach. Still, he was relieved to see there was no tarpaulin on the floor.
Miller slowed her run to a brisk walk and ran a towel over her face. “How would you describe your recent performance, Mr Cole?”
“Poor, ma’am.”
“Yes. Poor would certainly be one word for it. Catastrophic would be another.”
“I wish to apologise again. I messed up on the Clarke thing with the dominatrix. I should have known about the second phone.”
“Yes, you should have. I assume that all avenues of communication have been…”
Cole nodded. “Firmly closed. I guarantee that he has no way of communicating with anyone without us knowing about it.”
“And how is the police investigation going?”
“They have yet to find the girl’s client list. They are still looking for the email account. When they find it, all of the correspondence with Mr Clarke will, of course, be gone. There are a few names there that will attract press attention though.”
“Yes. I will also be adding a couple more.”
Cole paused. “Is that wise, ma’am?”
She glanced in his direction. “Certainly wiser than questioning me has proven in the past.”
Cole berated himself internally. “I apologise. I just meant—”
“Music off.”
Cole hesitated for a moment and then took a step towards the laptop.
“Music off,” repeated an electronic voice.
Cole felt embarrassed as Miller raised an eyebrow at him.
“Seeing as we have incurred such considerable unforeseen expense in dealing with the unexpected issue, I’ve decided to turn it to our advantage.”
Cole nodded, before adding, “We have people in the investigation. Rest assured. We will get an hour’s head start if they get any real intel on the location of the girl—”
“Woman,” interrupted Miller. “She’s twenty-three. Let’s not infantilise her, shall we?”
Cole nodded. “Woman. Or if somehow she ends up in custody, we have contingencies in place to ensure she won’t have much time to talk.”
“Yes,” said Miller. “Yet more expense.”
Cole went to speak and then said nothing, reasoning that he should stop digging.
“Then,” continued Miller, “there is the matter of this supposedly homeless Scottish man.”
“Irish,” Cole corrected.
“Mr Bradley said…”
“Irish,” Cole repeated. “I heard the accent when he and I fought.”
“When he beat you, you mean?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, he did not beat me. I had him and then…”
“Yes, yes,” she said, not even attempting to keep the frustration out of her voice. “You allowed a junior patrolman to pull a gun on you and then disarm you.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, what would you have had me do?”
“At any point in our time together, did I give you the impression that I would be unduly upset about collateral damage?”
“A dead cop would bring attention.”
“Nothing we can’t handle. Not compared to the problem Ms Daniels presents.”
“As soon as we have a lead,” said Cole, “rest assured, I will deal with that.”
“No,” replied Miller, “you will not. I have taken that out of your hands.”
Cole opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.
“I also sensed that you were” – she paused to consider the appropriate term – “uncomfortable with our recently acquired guest.”
Cole shrugged. “I understand the necessity of the hostage.”
“Yes,” said Miller. “Necessity is a good word. Do you believe Mr Clarke will stay in line now?”
“Absolutely. He won’t do anything to endanger his sister. As long as he…”
They were interrupted by a male voice – human, this time – coming from the laptop’s speakers. “Thirty-minute check – no confirmation. Brief sighting but subject wearing a hooded top covering face. No confirmation.”
Cole looked at the laptop, expecting a clarification from Miller that was not forthcoming. Instead, she pressed a button on the treadmill and began to slow to a stop.
“Do you enjoy your work, Mr Cole?”
Cole paused, taken aback by the question. “I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word.”
“Lola enjoys her work.”
“Again, with all due respect ma’am, Lola is—”
Miller stepped off the treadmill and faced him. “What Lola is, Mr Cole, is efficient. Yes, she has her… peccadilloes, but they do not impact on her work. Quite the opposite. She maintains her edge – something you seem to have lost.”
Cole stiffened. “I assure you, I am still one hundred per cent committed to the mission.”
“Good. I would be so upset to lose you.” She said it in such a way that he was left in no doubt the loss would be permanent, terminal and entirely his.
The voice from the laptop chimed in again: “Contact. Someone at the door. Male entering…”
“Screen on,” said Miller, and the laptop screen sprung into life. The picture showed a view of a brownstone building with large windows, focused on one apartment in particular. The view was obscured by the heavy rain teeming down.
Miller picked up a headset and placed it on her ear. “Stand by for confirmation.”
Miller and Cole stood side by side, looking at the screen. “Ms Daniels used a landline to call her aunt an hour ago, to reassure her father that it was all a big mistake.”
“How did the police—”
“They didn’t. I had other sources,” said Miller, as if that explained how the tapping of a subject’s relatives could be so easily achieved.
And now Cole knew why he was here. It was so he could witness others fixing the problem that his mistake had created. It was for him to be humiliated.
The camera was pointing down at a forty-five-degree angle, meaning that they could only see two sets of legs as they walked across the hardwood floors.
They watched for a couple of minutes as they shifted about, then the larger figure walked towards the window.
He stood there – framing himself perfectly.
“That’s him!” said Cole. “The Irishman. One hundred per cent confirmed.”
Miller pressed a button on the side and spoke into the headset. “That is confirmation on both. Sweep team, stand by. Eagle One, you are go.”
“Roger that,” said the voice. “Should I take the secondary now?”
“Negative. Wait for a clean shot on the primary. He will be dealt with afterwards.”
“Confirmed.”
Miller looked at Cole. “The woman has a list of high-profile clients who are no doubt very nervous right now. It would appear one of them may be about to go to great lengths to ensure her silence.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Amy opened the door.
“Did you check the peephole?” asked Bunny.
“Yes, Grandma,” she said, “I checked the peephole. I’m not an idiot.”
She turned and walked away. Bunny followed in behind her and shut the door.
Bunny held a bag up. “I picked up some doughnuts. I couldn’t think of anything hot that didn’t have meat in it.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
“So?”
“What?”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Did you get your stuff back?”
“Ehm, yes. Yes, I did.”
“Fantastic! Have you called this Agent Dove woman then?”
“Yeah, I have.” Amy could see it in his body language before he said it. “It’s not good. She won’t help us.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It… Well, look, it doesn’t matter, but she wants nothing to do with it. To be honest, she was horrified that I’d anything to do with this.”
“Great.” Amy moved away and sat back down on the couch.
“Don’t worry,” said Bunny, “I’ll think of something else.”
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