Die Twice

by Andrew Grant

  I decided to only wait until seven fifteen before abandoning the plan. I took a final, careful look around the area. Then I folded the paper, found the shortest route across to the garage building, and called Fothergill. I wanted to know if he’d got anywhere with the cell phone company. I knew it was a risk. McIntyre had shown he was patient. If something had made him suspicious, he’d have been prepared to watch the bench for hours. But on the other hand, the GPS signal from his phone would give us an idea of where he was. If it turned out he was miles away from the place, the sooner I found out, the better.

  There was no answer from Fothergill’s desk phone, so I tried his cell. I figured he might not be back from the depot yet, or he might be tied up en route with the technicians. He didn’t answer that one, either. I moved to a window to keep an eye out, just in case, and gave him five minutes. I tried again. And got the same result. No answer on either number. So then I wondered about the IT guys at the consulate. Perhaps Fothergill was down there again, harassing them. I didn’t have their department’s number so I tried the switchboard, hoping they could put me through. But when the operator picked up, she recognized my voice. She sounded tense. I was put on hold, and after thirty seconds the receptionist from the fourteenth floor came on the line. She took a minute to run me through some pedantic security routines—a kind of telephone version of the sniffer machine—and then told me why I couldn’t reach Fothergill. He wasn’t in the office. And he wasn’t in a place where they allow cell phones.

  He was in the hospital.

  The car he’d been driving to the depot had been involved in an accident. A serious one. The other occupant had been killed. Paramedics had collected Fothergill and taken him to the emergency room at Northwestern. It was nearby, on Huron. There was no word yet on his condition.

  The receptionist had no idea whether Fothergill had made any headway with the cell phone company before he’d left. There was no one else there who could find out. But by then, at least the first part of the answer was irrelevant. I knew for a fact that McIntyre had been nowhere near the pier that night. He’d obviously been too busy elsewhere.

  I’ve always hated hospitals. They may look different in other countries, but the smell is always the same. And so is the atmosphere. The moment you set foot in one, the sense of sickness and decay floods over you, seeping into your pores and dragging you down into a pit of despair. At least that’s how it feels to me. And judging by Fothergill’s face when I finally found his room at Northwestern, he saw it pretty much the same. Which was a good thing. People who enjoy getting medical treatment worry me deeply.

  A doctor and two nurses were gathered around Fothergill when I arrived, so I retreated to the corridor until they’d left. Then I went back in for a proper look at him. He was wearing pajamas—crumpled green ones—which was a little disconcerting after his usual beautiful suits. The fancy sling was gone, replaced by a standard white one, and his right hand and forearm were bandaged, too. But other than that, barring a few scratches on his face, he didn’t seem too badly banged up.

  “Grapes?” I said.

  “Whisky?” he said.

  “Haven’t got either. Sorry. So. What happened to you?”

  “Had a fight with an iron girder. Holding up the top deck of Lake Shore Drive, where it crosses the mouth of the river. A couple of hundred yards from where you were, ironically.”

  “Good spot for it?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Hit and run?”

  “Officially.”

  “And do we know who did the hitting and running?”

  “Take a guess.”

  “McIntyre.”

  “Right in one.”

  “I’m not surprised. But are you sure? Did you actually see him? These things can be so sudden.”

  “It wasn’t sudden at all. He actually stopped, after running us into the pillar. Came up to the car. Opened the door. Saw Milton was dead. Pointed his gun at me. I thought he was going to slot me there and then, David. I really did.”

  “Milton was the techie they sent?”

  “Yes. Seemed like a good guy, too.”

  “And he bought it in the crash?”

  “He did. Poor bastard. It was the air bag’s fault.”

  “Your car has air bags?”

  “He brought the car from the depot. That’s how they have them, apparently.”

  “I got the impression you were driving.”

  “I was. Milton asked me to. Said he hates doing it, especially in the city.”

  “So what went wrong with the air bag? I guess you weren’t wearing seat belts?”

  “No. The techies are properly trained. It’s just their cars that are weird. And nothing went wrong with it, exactly. It’s kind of hard to explain. Milton was holding this thing. On his lap. And I don’t really know what happened. I guess he went forward, with the momentum. The air bag burst out and hit him. And somehow, this object ended up getting driven straight into his chest. Like a knife, almost.”

  “What was it made of? Metal?”

  “Yes. It was some kind of tool. Long and thin. A bit like a wrench, with a special end. For fastening the lid onto the container.”

  “What container?”

  “For the gas. The safety thing.”

  “What, like a key? You had to keep it separate?”

  “No. Just a regular tool. They always go together, as far as I know.”

  “So why did Milton still have it? Oh. Wait.”

  Fothergill looked away.

  “Tell me you weren’t on the way to the depot when this happened?” I said.

  He fixed his stare on the wall, and didn’t speak.

  “Tell me the gas wasn’t in the car?” I said.

  “Well,” he said, after a moment. “Put it this way. It isn’t there now.”

  Neither of us spoke for a good two minutes. Then Fothergill shook his head and finally broke the silence.

  “So,” he said. “Here’s where we stand. Tony’s back on the loose. So is the gas. And it sounds like the buyers could still be on the scene, based on what Tony texted you.”

  “Not just ‘the gas.’ Three times as much gas as there was when we started.”

  “No. There’s the same amount. We just didn’t know about all of it. But either way, this is not good. There’s some serious broken glass for us to sweep up here, my friend.”

  “There’s more than broken glass. Things are spiraling out of control, is what’s happening. This is about much more than a hard arrest, now. Or saving face with the Americans. It’s time for you to call London. Light a fire under them. We need more feet on the street if we’re going to contain this mess.”

  Fothergill didn’t answer.

  “What’s the matter?” I said. “Don’t you think they’ll listen?”

  He glanced at me, then looked away again.

  “Is this about covering your arse?” I said. “Are you trying to hide the fact that McIntyre put one over on you again? Because if you are, you can forget it. Trust me. The truth’s coming out, anyway. A man’s dead, remember.”

  “It is my arse that’s on the line,” he said, slowly turning back to face me. “But that’s not the problem. I didn’t break any procedures. There’s nothing I can’t talk my way out of. I’ve been backed into worse corners, dozens of times.”

  “So why the reluctance? We need to escalate this, and escalate it fast.”

  “There’s something else,” he said, after a moment. “Something you need to know.”

  “So go ahead,” I said. “What is it? Level with me.”

  “I didn’t handle things too well, back there. When I saw Tony coming up to the car, I froze. He looked at both of us. Then he went to Milton’s side and opened his door. He had a gun, and he was setting up for a double tap when he realized Milton had already gone. So, he pointed the gun at me. Told me to pop the trunk. And, guess what? I did.”

  “So?”

  “I was sitting next to a guy who Tony had effe
ctively just killed. I was armed. And did I get a shot off? Try to stop him? Do anything at all to even the score for Milton? No. No. And No.”

  “Where was your weapon?”

  “Holstered.”

  “Where was McIntyre’s?”

  “In his hand.”

  “So if you’d tried to draw, you’d be dead now. How would that have helped?”

  “I feel like I should have tried to do something, at least.”

  “You’d just driven into a metal girder. That’s traumatic in itself. And you’re already injured. You already had a gunshot wound, in your arm.”

  “To tell the truth, that was part of the problem. I saw him pointing a gun at me, and all I could think of was what happened last time. That was the first time I’d ever been shot, in all these years, and it really messed me up.”

  “That’s understandable. It happens to a lot of people. And anyway, what about your other hand? That looks hurt, too.”

  He lifted his right hand and looked at it, as if noticing the bandages for the first time.

  “Yes. It got burned, somehow. The doc thinks it was from the air bag. I must have reached out, instinctively, when I saw Milton flying forward. He was a large lad. Guess I was trying to stop him. Pretty stupid, huh?”

  “Not stupid at all. You did what you could. And you got hurt trying to save a guy you hardly know. That’s admirable, Richard. Now stop beating yourself up. It’s time to focus.”

  “Thanks for the kind words, David. I appreciate it. But the truth is I didn’t do enough. Not for me. I can’t walk away from this yet.”

  “No one’s asking you to walk away. We just need some help to reach the finish line.”

  “That’s not how things work, and you know it. If we send the balloon up, London will parachute in a whole new team. They’ll replace both of us.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We do. It’s how things work. Like my friend Callum, in Edinburgh. Did I tell you about him?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Well, Callum’s ex-navy. And he was in bed one night, fast asleep, with his wife. Then a noise woke him up. It was coming from outside. He looked through the window, and saw four guys burgling his garage. So he called the police, right away. And do you know what they said?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t remember their exact words. But it was along the lines of ‘Tough luck, pal.’ They couldn’t have been less interested. So do you know what Callum did?”

  “Went outside and shot the burglars?”

  “Nearly right. He called the police back a few minutes later and pretended that’s what he’d done. And guess what? Four squad cars and an armed response unit were on his lawn inside four minutes.”

  “That’s a lovely story, Richard. But it doesn’t mean we’d be replaced.”

  “Of course it does. It just goes to show. People like the brass in London can put their hands on whatever resources they want, whenever they want. The preferences of people like us don’t count. Which may be OK with you—you never wanted this assignment in the first place. But it’s a major problem for me.”

  “Why? You can’t bring Milton back. Finding the gas and stopping McIntyre is what counts. Your job is to make that happen as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

  “David, please. There’s something you need to know about me. I’m old school. That doesn’t just mean I wear good suits and drink vintage champagne. It means I’m not an ‘end justifies the means’ type guy. It means I care about how the job is done, not just getting the right result. I care about the people I work with. And never, not once, have I turned my back on an obligation. I’ve never left a man behind, and I’ve never left a score unsettled. And I’m not prepared to start now.”

  I had nothing to say about that.

  “So,” he said. “I’m asking you. For Milton’s sake. For my sake. Give me twenty-four hours?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Please,” he said. “They’re only keeping me in overnight. We could meet at the office, first thing. Get our heads together. See if we can’t find a way to make this right.”

  FIFTEEN

  If there’s one thing the navy relies upon, it’s the ability to make plans.

  I’ve been subject to literally thousands of them over the years. They make them in response to every conceivable situation. Some have worked well, so I’ve adapted them to other situations. Others have been shambolic, so I’ve abandoned them halfway through. You get to the point where you can tell from the first few lines whether they’re going to be any good. Sometimes you can even recognize who wrote them, from the style and layout and general approach. But there’s one thing I’ve noticed that applies to all plans, regardless of purpose or quality.

  The danger or difficulty is always inversely proportional to the degree to which the author will be personally involved.

  I’m no fan of mornings, but even so, Fothergill’s idea of early didn’t match mine. I’d been in his easy chair for a good half hour before he finally showed his face. He was freshly shaved, his silver hair was glistening from the shower, and he was wearing an immaculate charcoal gray suit I hadn’t seen him in before. There was no sling to match this one, though. Just the standard-issue hospital one the medics had given him last night.

  “Oh, David, there you are,” he said, when he’d stepped into the room and closed the door. “Sorry to keep you. The doctors were very sticky about letting me go. Seems they were worried about this burn on my hand. I talked them around in the end, but they wouldn’t back down till I’d let them change the bandages, at least. And then I had to pop home on my way over, to grab some fresh togs.”

  “Did you grab any coffee, while you were there?” I said.

  “No. Sorry. I wanted to get over here as quickly as possible, so we could get started.”

  “OK, then. Let’s start. Thoughts?”

  “Well, time is limited. So I think we should go for two birds, one stone. Tony, and the gas.”

  “Good in theory. Any ideas for making that happen?”

  “Yes. Start with Tony. Last night. He was pretty motivated to get his hands on the gas, wasn’t he? Acting like a pirate in the middle of a city street? Taking Milton’s life?”

  “He was. But that seems to be his mode. He comes across as a fairly wholehearted kind of guy.”

  “True. But my point is this: Why was getting the gas back so important? To want it so badly, he must really need it. For something specific. Something urgent.”

  “OK. Seems reasonable.”

  “So, tie that in with what he said about meeting his ‘friends’ again. By which I’m assuming he meant those guys from Myene.”

  “You think he’d risk being involved with them again? After the state they had him in at the machine shop?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  Fothergill moved over to his favorite window and started to gaze out.

  “I can’t tell you, exactly,” he said. “But it’s the only explanation that makes any kind of sense. Maybe it’s about the money.”

  “You think he’s that greedy?” I said.

  “It could be greed. Or something less straightforward, like a kind of revenge. Forcing them to buy back their own stuff.”

  “That seems like a pretty convoluted kind of revenge. I don’t buy it.”

  “Something else altogether, then. Like he thinks they won’t stop chasing him till he’s made good on what he owes them. But the point is this: It gives us a key advantage. It tells us where he’s going to be, and when.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll be meeting his buyers. Tonight.”

  “Well, obviously. But where will he be meeting them? What time?”

  Fothergill moved closer to me.

  “I don’t know the specifics,” he said. “Not yet. But I know how to find out.”

  “How?” I said.

  “The IT guys. They’ve been in all night, working on
it.”

  “Working on what?”

  “Those hard drives. They’re bound to dig something out of them. I bet they’ll have something for us pretty soon. Maybe this morning, even.”

  “Was it just hard drives you gave them? Or crystal balls, too? ’Cause I don’t see how they’re going to find details of events that weren’t even dreamed of when you found all that stuff.”

  “Sorry, David. I skipped ahead. I meant to say, what I’m looking for from the IT guys is some way of getting hold of the buyers. That’s all we need.”

  “How will that help?”

  “This is what we do. We know they want as much gas as possible. That’s why they were prepared to buy from you, yesterday. So, we hook you up again.”

  “So I meet them. String them along a little. What then?”

  “Well, assuming you don’t kill any of them, you worm your way in. Gain their trust. Make your way along the chain till you come across Tony. Then you finish things.”

  “All before tonight? Did they slip you some steroids, at that hospital?”

  “I know. There’s a lot there. But let’s break it down. The first dependency is IT. If they can’t find some way to get in contact, we won’t have much chance.”

  “Given the time pressure, make that no chance.”

  “I guess you’re right. But that’s out of our hands, so let’s not worry about it. Let’s assume, for now anyway, that the eggheads come through. The next problem will be getting a meeting set up. We need it to be today. What do you think? Doable?”

  “Maybe. Depends on where.”

  “Let’s assume a hundred-mile radius of Chicago.”

  “OK. Then we could probably persuade them.”

  “I would think so, too. Maybe by unsettling them? Suggesting that McIntyre might not be able to deliver?”

  “We could do that. Make them afraid to have all their eggs in his basket. Or offer a much lower price. Or promise to provide a regular, guaranteed future supply.”

  “Good. I like it. One of those should work. So we’re looking pretty good. Why don’t I head downstairs for a minute and prod the IT guys. It’s all hanging on them, right now.”