by Andrew Grant
“Hold on. What about the infiltration part? How’s that going to work?”
“It’ll be easy. A few people from their crew had seen you, but they’re all dead now, remember. So you should have no problems with being recognized.”
“I’m not concerned about recognition. I’m worried about getting under their skin before tonight. Going from total stranger to inner sanctum in a couple of hours is a lot to ask.”
“It would be—if it wasn’t for one thing.”
“What?”
“I have an idea. I’ve got that part all figured out.”
“Hallelujah. What are you thinking?”
“Something like this. We let these guys choose whatever location they feel comfortable with. You show up, as agreed. You make like you’re itching to get down to business. Then, a couple of other guys appear. Maybe they’re drunk. Maybe they’re just idiots. But either way, they try to pick a fight. They pull guns, knives, whatever. Things are about to get really nasty and—boom. You step in, risking life and limb for your new friends.”
“That’s not an idea. That’s straight from cliché central.”
“There are no marks for originality, David. Only effectiveness. And this works. I’ve seen it half a dozen times.”
“I guess it might not be a complete disaster, if it was staged just right. Where would these rent-a-goons come from?”
“Leave that to me. I have contacts. People who’d be happy to help.”
“I don’t care if they’re happy. I care if they’re good. ’Cause I don’t want some Keystone Kop fiasco.”
“Don’t worry. They’re excellent. I’ve used them before, a dozen times. No one will ever know they’re staging it.”
“So assuming you can get them in, and I pull it off. I then have to convince the buyers to let me tag along when they hook up with Tony.”
“Right. But you could do that in your sleep, David. It’s more or less what you suggested before, with the Commissariat. Only more elegant. Food and drink for a guy like you, surely?”
“It’s next to impossible, is what it is.”
“Let’s be realistic. It’s not going to be easy. I know that. But it’s not out of the question, either. And here’s the thing—have you got a better idea?”
I didn’t answer.
“OK, then,” he said. “Right now this is the only plan that has legs. Shall I head downstairs? Turn the screw on our technical friends? See if we can get ourselves out of the starting gate?”
“I suppose you better,” I said. “I’m not thrilled with the idea. But we’ve got to do something. We need to get the gas back under wraps. And I want this business with McIntyre over and done with. I want to get back to some work that doesn’t leave a bad taste in my mouth.”
Fothergill offered to send some coffee up for me, but I declined. There was no way of knowing how long he’d be gone. I guessed the IT guys wouldn’t make him all that welcome, but he also said there were loose ends to tie up from yesterday’s accident. That sounded pretty vague, but the chances still were that he was going to be a while. And with the prospect of meeting another set of buyers, dealing with the fake fight and possibly having to finish things with McIntyre, the last things I needed were random strangers and office small talk. I felt like I needed some time to myself. I needed somewhere peaceful to prepare. So I took one more look around his office, found nothing of interest, and made my way back to the hotel.
I picked up some coffee of my own so I’d have something to drink as I walked. I went for cappuccino again, since I’d missed breakfast. It took five minutes to reach the counter, and the line of customers at Starbucks kept growing steadily as I waited near the wall for the barista to weave her magic. There was nothing to do but stand back and watch the people coming in. It seemed like there was an endless stream of them, and that sparked another image in my head. I thought about the people who were so desperate to buy this gas. I’d neutralized two of them at the abandoned apartment. Three at the Ritz-Carlton. Two more at the machine shop in Gary. One at the Commissariat. Fothergill had accounted for another pair. And yet more kept on appearing. I couldn’t help wondering what would be next. Would the whole population of their little country end up coming after me before we were done?
This thought was still floating around in my head when I arrived at the hotel. It wasn’t unusual to go up against people without knowing much about them. Sometimes it was even an advantage, despite what Sun Tzu might have said, because you weren’t bogged down with preconceptions. But this time, the longer things went on, the more it felt like I was missing something. And with nothing else to fill my time, it was turning into an obsession.
I took off my boots, lay down on the bed, and tried to focus on something else. Really hard. For ten minutes. And failed. The part that was eating me up was the geography. I knew the people who wanted the gas were from Equatorial Myene, but I had no idea where that was. I’d never even heard of the place until Young mentioned it the other day. That made me wonder about what else I didn’t know. Their history. Their culture. Their traditions and institutions. Whether they were seriously considering using illegal military weapons against their own population. And how a serving naval intelligence officer could come to be supplying them.
I reached for my phone and called Fothergill’s number. I wanted him to see what background information was available. If Chicago was like most other places I’d been to, the consulate archive would have plenty of detailed files on more or less everywhere in the world. I lay on the bed and listened impatiently to the slow, drawnout American ringtone. It went on for thirty seconds. Then the call tripped through to voice mail. I left him a message, but didn’t give up there. I called the switchboard and asked to be put through to the analysis team, directly. That seemed like a good idea, but it didn’t get me any further. The call diverted to Human Resources. The analysts were all out to lunch. Already. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet. At first I was annoyed. But then a smile spread across my face. Analyzing data couldn’t be that hard. And with hours like that, maybe I’d just found another possible future home for myself.
Fothergill had a lot on his plate that morning, so I didn’t expect he’d be returning my call anytime soon. It was possible that at least one of the analysts might venture back to his desk before the day was much older, but I wasn’t inclined to wait and see. The IT guys were allegedly pulling up trees in their quest to uncover some contact information. If they were successful I’d have to move pretty fast. And my itch needed to be scratched before that happened, which left me with only one option. Peace and quiet would have to take a backseat. I’d have to find out for myself. Even if it meant doing things the old-fashioned way.
I’d seen a branch of Borders at the far end of Michigan Avenue so I grabbed my coat, left the hotel, and started to walk in that direction. I needed an atlas. Then I’d at least be able to find Equatorial Myene on a map. And if I was lucky, pick up some basic data about the place. I had a memory of the Philip’s School Editions from my youth being full of charts and graphs and statistics that looked impressive, even if they were absolutely irrelevant to my life at that time. Beyond that, I’d have to find an encyclopedia. I was wondering whether bookshops still sold that kind of thing or whether it had all gone online when an alternative idea presented itself. I remembered passing an Apple store on my first day in Chicago. That was also on Michigan, in the same general direction as Borders. And Apple stores are stuffed full of computers, which they leave conveniently connected to the Internet. Computers that anyone can stroll in and use.
I crossed to the other side of the street, and the alternative source for finding information led to another thought. There was another place I could make inquiries. The consulate in New York. Fothergill had been pretty disparaging about them, but before I’d left four days ago I’d built up a pretty good rapport with the staff there. And with Lucinda in particular. She’d been Tanya’s assistant, and the way she’d watched my back in the days that
followed the official end of my assignment had been invaluable. She’d called me on my way to the airport to thank me for what I’d done, and to give me her private cell number in case I ever needed anything. I got the impression she really meant it. And whether she did or not, I’d committed the number to memory. Just in case.
I texted Lucinda with my name, and Tanya’s initials and serial number in case she was spooked by the unknown number I was using. I waited a moment, hoping she’d read it and understand what I meant. Then I cursed the handset for not letting me dial the number without keying it in all over again on another screen. I’d have to be more careful about the kind of phone I stole in the future.
Lucinda answered on the eighth ring.
“Yes?” she said.
“You don’t have to keep the accent out of your voice,” I said. “It’s me, David.”
“David? Really? Excellent. How are you are? How’s the Windy City?”
“So far, so good. What I’ve seen, I like. How’s things with you?”
“Quiet, since you’ve been gone. I’ve been doing some work I can actually tell my bosses about, for a change. And I was beginning to worry about you. I’ve been watching the news every night. There hasn’t been a single report of riots or civil commotion in all the time you’ve been there.”
“That’s because you’re not here. You were a bad influence.”
“David, that’s not fair. You’re the one who made all the mess.”
“Not all of it. And I’ve reformed, now. I’ve been keeping a low profile.”
“That I can’t believe. But talking of profile, have you come across a guy called Richard Fothergill? I heard he’s in Chicago these days.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“You’d know if you’d met him. He’s an older guy. A real character. And a really sharp dresser, I remember.”
“Where do you know him from?”
“Training. He was one of my instructors. The best thing was he used to wear a bow tie every time his class passed an assessment.”
“Bizarre.”
“In a way. But a much more popular incentive than what some of the guys liked to use. I felt quite lucky to be in his group.”
“If you were in his group, I’d say he was the lucky one.”
“David, you’re too kind. Either that, or you want something.”
“You think I’m only calling ’cause I want a favor? I’m hurt. And shocked. Such cynicism in one so young . . .”
“Come on. Out with it. What are you after?”
“Well, now that you mention it, there is something. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“After what you did for Tanya, you name it. whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Lucinda. I really appreciate it. But it shouldn’t be too hard. I’m just looking for a little background information, if you’ve got five minutes. It’s a little delicate, though, so best kept to yourself.”
“No problem. I can research whatever I like. No one’s going to ask any questions.”
“They might, with this one. There’s a decent chance that what I’m working on won’t have a happy ending. So I wouldn’t leave anything that could point back to you, just in case.”
“OK. I’ll be discreet. Just tell me what you need, and when.”
“All right. Two things. First, as much background as you can get on a country I’m interested in. The Republic of Equatorial Myene.”
“Never heard of the place. But I’ll get what I can. What else?”
“Something more scientific. And it might be harder to find. I need the lowdown on a chemical agent. It’s some kind of prototype. Officially it doesn’t exist, but you know what that means. Its code name is Spektra.”
“I’ve never heard of that, either. Give me a little while to get to grips with it, and I’ll call you right back.”
“Thanks, Lucinda. And I don’t mean to hassle you, but as soon as you can would be good.”
I kept on going down Michigan, weaving my way through the knots of shoppers and businesspeople who were constantly meandering along the sidewalk. It seemed like none of them had any purpose in being outside, from the aimless way they were moving. And it seemed like every kind and age of person was there, doing their best to get in my way. Except for kids. I couldn’t see many of them. Not counting the ones in strollers, anyway. I guessed the older ones must be in school. Or if they were playing truant, they must have found somewhere more interesting to hang out. I was still wondering what kind of place that would be, and thinking back to the haunts I used to disappear into, when I reached the entrance to the Apple store. But I didn’t go in right away. Because I realized my phone was ringing again, already.
“Ready for the first installment?” Lucinda said, when I got around to answering.
“That was quick,” I said.
“It was easy. All you needed to do was google the name of the country. Or look it up in an atlas.”
“Why use books or computers when I could ask you?”
“Cheeky bastard. I don’t get paid to—oh, wait. I don’t get paid for this at all. I’m on my lunch break.”
“I’m sorry, Lucinda. And seriously, I was on my way to do those exact things when I called you. I just don’t know how much time I have.”
“The consulate in Chicago doesn’t have computers?”
“It does. But there are reasons why I don’t want to use them.”
“OK. Sorry, David. So, are you ready?”
“I am. Fire away.”
“Grab your pencil. Here we go. The Republic of Equatorial Myene. Well, what can I say about the place. It’s a small, landlocked country in West Africa. Population, five hundred thousand. Allegedly democratic. Relatively stable. As in, they haven’t had a coup since 1979. That’s when the nephew of the existing president decided he could do a better job than his uncle.”
“Have they got elections coming up soon? Or are there any more nephews waiting in the wings?”
“Elections, apparently. They’re due within a year, unless the government suspends them again. And there are always nephews.”
“Do you know anything out about the opposition? Do they have much of a chance?”
“Ha. I wouldn’t hold out much hope, if that’s where your sympathies lie.”
“No?”
“Put it this way: do you know what the population was in 1979, when the current guy took office?”
“How many?”
“Closer to seven hundred and fifty thousand. Which means it’s fallen by a third in thirty years. And there’ve been no famines to account for it. No natural disasters. No mass emigration. The people have just disappeared.”
I took a moment to think about the implications of the statistics. I didn’t like where that was leading, but it did seem to tally with the picture that Young had painted.
“And there’s more, if that’s what you’re interested in,” she said. “This isn’t on Wikipedia, obviously, but I checked our own internal files, too. It seems the rate of decline has increased recently. Say in the last four years or so.”
“How steeply?”
“I can’t put an exact figure on it. We’ve only got what the aid agencies tell us, informally, and that’s not always consistent. But the best guess would be an initial fall of maybe six to eight thousand a year. That held fairly steady for the first twenty-six years of the regime. Since then it’s gone through the roof. The current rate’s possibly as high as fifteen thousand. And if you think of that as a percentage, it’s even worse, ’cause the base population is shrinking all the time.”
“That’s a lot of people to misplace. Why’s it accelerating so much?”
“I don’t know for sure. But the file says there’s one candidate that’s head and shoulders above the rest.”
“Who is it?”
“Not who. What. Something called dysprosium.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s some kind of mineral. Very rare. Or rather, you get it from
a mineral. One called xenotime. It’s only been available from one other place, so far. China. So naturally everybody wants to get their hands on it.”
“What’s it used for?”
“Manufacturing. It’s a component in nuclear reactor control rods. But the real action is hybrid car batteries. You can’t make them without it. But whatever, loads of corporations are busting their guts for it. The rival car makers. The gas companies. Engine component developers. And the upshot is that money is literally gushing into the place.”
“So if the place is getting richer, why are the people suffering so much more?”
“Because none of the money is reaching them. The ruling elite—maybe two or three hundred—are siphoning it all off. Nothing filters down to the bottom of the heap. And that’s fueling the discontent. Leading more and more people to find their voices.”
“Leading to more and more being killed.”
“Exactly. Things are escalating, by all accounts. It was bad enough when only power was on the line. Now it’s power and money. And not just ordinary money, either. Out-of-this-world riches. Which is a powerful motivator.”
“It is. And that’s really helpful. You’ve joined a lot of dots, there, Lucinda. Any news on the other thing? The gas?”
“Not yet. No sign, so far. If there is anything, it must be buried pretty deep.”
“It will be. That’s the nature of the thing. Are you OK to keep looking?”
“I can give it a bit longer. No one pays too much attention to what I’m doing, anymore. That might change when Tanya’s replacement gets here, though.”
Lucinda’s words set me back for moment. The idea of massacring thousands of civilians was hard enough to understand. But replacing Tanya? Impossible. For me, anyway.
“Call me when you find something?” I said, pushing those thoughts away.
“Of course,” she said. “No point in doing the work, otherwise.”
“Good point. I’ll keep my phone switched on . . .”
Under normal circumstances I’d have turned and walked straight into the store, found a vacant computer, and looked for some softer material to flesh out the information Lucinda had given me. Photos. Video. News reports. Diary entries. Blogs. Anything to add a human element to the facts and statistics she’d just dug up. But it was precisely the human element that stopped me, this time. In my world, you get used to a degree of constant, ongoing tension. When you’re working a regular case, there’s no way to avoid it. Every conversation, every interaction, every time you walk into a room or pick up the phone you’re risking exposure. And if that happens, the chances are you’ve reached the end of your particular road. But at least it’s a road you’ve chosen. You’ve been trained to spot the pitfalls along the way. And there are people, albeit at arm’s length, ready to try to help you if the sky does fall in. It can be stressful enough, at times. So I could only imagine what life was like for the ordinary villagers in Equatorial Myene. They hadn’t signed up for any such thing. But due to no better reason than someone else’s greed, they had to live every minute of every day in fear of a knock at their door. With the constant, gnawing knowledge that they could be taken away at the drop of a hat. Or that their friends could be. Or their families. People were vanishing faster all the time. The bastards who were responsible seemed to be gearing up for even more killing, with this Spektra gas. And it was McIntyre who’d put it in their hands.