by Andrew Grant
“That’s true. But it’s not the point. You’re being too literal. These guys are more like poets. They’re thinking about how the whole deal will go down. Starting with every single person in the place being dead. And everyone in the country knowing about it. Hell, they won’t even need the TV cameras. People will be tweeting about it while it’s still happening. They’ll be posting videos of their co-workers twitching and dying. I guarantee it.”
I didn’t reply. I was too busy thinking about how much I hate Twitter.
“Then the emergency crews will come,” he said. “At first they’ll stand off, not knowing what to do. Then they’ll suit up and charge in. And die, ’cause regular respirators are no good against Spektra. So there’ll be delays, waiting for the military. More delays, waiting for body bags, ’cause there won’t be enough. So when the bodies do finally come out, they’ll be starting to rot and decompose. Are you getting the picture?”
I didn’t answer.
“So you see what I mean?” he said. “These guys are like the artists of international terrorism. And after the scene they create, do you think anyone will ever want to work in the building again? Would you?”
I bit my tongue.
“So the building won’t be used,” he said. “And it’ll cost too much to pull it down. So there you go. It’ll be like a statue. A sculpture. Call it what you like.”
“And you have no problem with that?” I said.
“No. None. It’s what I do for a living.”
I stood and looked at him.
“Can you move these metal bars now, please?” he said.
“No,” I said. “When’s all this supposed to happen?”
“Soon, I guess. There’s no fixed time or date. Or if there is, they haven’t told me. I’m supposed to let them know when everything’s ready. Then they’ll give me the signal.”
“When will it be ready?”
“Later tonight.”
“The empty valve, downstairs? You need another canister?”
“Right.”
“Where are you getting it from?”
“It’s being brought right here, to me.”
“Room service?”
“My supplier.”
“McIntyre?”
“Right. Normally I meet him somewhere neutral. But tonight, we traded favors. Doorstep delivery, for garbage disposal.”
“Garbage, meaning me?”
“Right. Normally he’d take care of you himself, but he’s had a couple of bumps and bruises lately. He didn’t want to do it, in the circumstances. And I’m beginning to see why.”
“What time is he coming?”
“I’ll let him know when you’re out of the way. Then we’ll fix a time.”
“How do you contact him?”
“I use this amazing new device called the phone.”
“You have his number?”
“Of course.”
“OK. Good. Go ahead and call him now. Tell him to be here at eight o’clock.”
“You’ll have to get these things off me. I can’t reach my phone.”
“I’ll take care of you after you make the call. You reach the phone, or you stay where you are. Your choice.”
The guy made a play of straining to get his hand into his pocket, but thirty seconds later he’d produced the phone.
“Wait,” I said. “Call up his number. Let me see it.”
He prodded a couple of buttons, then passed me the handset. The phone book entry was under McIntyre, and the number matched the one that had sent me the texts just over twenty-four hours ago.
“OK,” I said. “That’s fine. Make the call. Only tell him nine o’clock, instead.”
The guy did as I told him. He only needed six words. The call took less than ten seconds. A relieved smile spread across his face when he hung up the phone. And faded again when he saw the gun that was now in my hand.
“Remind me of something,” I said. “Your advice, earlier. Did you tell me to say good morning? Or good night?”
“Good night,” he said.
“And remember how I told you I was going to do that? Well, I always keep my word. I’m going to say it to you, first, since it was your idea. And then to your friends, downstairs. I wouldn’t want them to miss out.”
TWENTY-TWO
There’s one word in navy intelligence that no one likes to speak out loud. Traitor.
No one makes jokes on the subject. No one gossips about it. And on the rare occasion that one is unmasked, no one talks about it. The only exception that I ever encountered was a guy in Bermuda. His nerves were still a little shot because he’d just exposed someone he’d worked with for twenty-two years. I hadn’t been in the service for twenty-two weeks at that point, so the whole affair made a big impression on me. I sat in a bar on the south side of the island and listened intently as he talked me through what had happened. How he’d first been alerted to his friend’s guilt. How he’d double-and triple-checked to make sure there was no mistake. How he’d considered handing the case off to internal security. And how he’d finally hunted the guy down and shot him in the head, leaving his guns in their holsters as an enduring badge of shame.
I could see a pair of plump tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, so I asked him if he regretted what he’d done.
“Absolutely not,” he said, without even pausing to blink. “Because this is what you have to understand. A traitor doesn’t just betray himself. Or his friends. His family. His country. His queen. He betrays the whole service as well. That means you and me and everyone we’re sworn to fight for. So, no. I have no remorse about shooting him. None at all.”
I thought he’d finished, but after a long swig of beer he turned back to me and rounded things o?.
“Actually, there is one thing I regret,” he said. “Killing him once just isn’t enough. If I was God for a day, I’d make it so that traitors can die twice. Then I could blow his worthless brains out all over again.”
The night-duty receptionist was at the desk when I reached the fourteenth floor of the Wrigley Building, just after seven thirty. She glanced up at me when I came out of the elevator and then gestured vaguely toward the doors that concealed the sni?er machines. I was glad to be able to pick for myself. I wanted the same one that I’d used when I first came to the consulate, four days ago. I always like that kind of symmetry at the start and end of a job. The sense of balance continued when I reached Fothergill’s o?ce. He was standing at the same window. And he was wearing the same blue pin-striped suit. There were only two things that were different from the original picture. He had a large pilot’s-style briefcase on the floor at his feet. And he was surprised to see me.
“David,” he said, spinning around when he saw my reflection in the glass. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still at the Sears Tower?”
“I was there,” I said. “But everything’s squared away now, so I thought I’d come over here and tell you about it.”
“So what happened? You didn’t call. I was worried.”
“I had a couple of ups and downs, but nothing to lose sleep over.”
“What do you mean? Did you find anything?”
“I dug up a couple of things.”
“What things? Tell me.”
“Some people that shouldn’t have been there, for a start.”
“People? Who? How many? Where are they now?”
“Three of them. South Africans. They’re still there. And don’t fret. They won’t be leaving. Not under their own steam, anyway.”
“You killed them?”
“It seemed like the thing to do. Seeing as they were trying to flood the building’s ventilation system with McIntyre’s Spektra V.”
Fothergill sagged at the knees, half sitting down on the windowsill.
“They were? Why?”
“The usual. For money. They were mercenaries.”
“Who was paying them?”
“They didn’t know.”
“Didn
’t know? Or wouldn’t say?”
“They didn’t know.”
“Maybe. But we can’t ask them, now, can we? I wish you’d learn to rein yourself in a little, sometimes, David.”
“Reining in wasn’t the problem. If they’d known, they’d have told me. Believe me. But we’ve prevented the immediate threat. That’s what counts. And the backroom boys can run down the whole network now, as quickly as they like.”
“I suppose. But what about the gas itself? Did you find it?”
“All three canisters. Unopened and intact.”
“Oh my goodness,” Fothergill said, getting back on his feet. “David, do you know what this means? It just occurred to me. We’re heroes. Superstars. We just saved countless lives. We stopped the next 9/11.”
“I guess we did,” I said.
“This is huge. Enormous. I’m thinking, medals. Maybe a trip to the palace. But we’re going to have to think very carefully about how we handle things. We want the kudos, but some parts of the story can never see the light of day.”
“Well, you worry about the milking the glory. I still have work to do.”
“We both do. But talking about the gas, where is it now?”
“Still at the Sears Tower.”
“What?”
“Don’t panic. It’s in a safe place.”
“You left it in a public building? Are you mad? What were you thinking?”
“Let me finish. I left it because I’ve got a lead on McIntyre.”
“You’re not serious? The gas, and Tony? In one night? Really?”
“Why not? I like to be thorough.”
“I was beginning to think we’d never get another sni?of him. What did you find? And is it solid, this time? I’d hate for him to give us the slip, again.”
“It’s beyond solid. I know exactly where he is. My information is accurate to within an inch.”
“Then why are we here? Come on. Let’s go. We need to grab him before he moves again. You know what he’s like. Always one step ahead.”
“Oh, I’m going to do more than grab him. Please. Have no doubt. Before nine o’clock tonight, he’ll no longer be a problem. To anyone. I guarantee it.”
“David, that’s excellent. But why nine o’clock? Can’t we move now? Holding back makes me nervous.”
“We’re not holding back. I just need a couple more pieces of background.”
“Why? Don’t you have enough already?”
“Think of it as setting a trap. The jaws are open. Now we need to oil the hinges. Make sure they’re good and ready. I want them to snap shut, all the way.”
“Well, OK, I suppose. We could do that. What do you need to know?”
“Come over here. Let’s sit.”
I took the easy chair on the far side of the co?ee table, away from the door. Fothergill didn’t move for a moment. Then he picked up his case and came over to sit next to me, on my right. That was another difference. At our first meeting, we’d been facing each other.
“What are you waiting for?” Fothergill said. “Ask away. Anything.”
“Let’s start with A,” I said. “Afghanistan. You told me McIntyre was stationed there.”
“He was. That’s right.”
“What exactly was his job?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t be pedantic. I don’t literally mean his job title. I want to know what he was doing that brought him into contact with illegal weapons.”
“The weapons weren’t illegal, actually. Not all of them. Most of them had been given to the Afghans by the Americans, in the first place. Or by us.”
“Back in the Soviet era, do you mean?”
“Yes.”
“And since then?”
“The game has changed. The people we gave them to have swapped sides. The old good guys are the new bad guys. They’re using the weapons against us. So we either need to confiscate them, which is hard. Or get them back another way.”
“Was Tony involved in getting them back?”
“Yes. It was a joint operation with the U.S. They put up the money. We did the legwork.”
“We were buying them?”
“Yes.”
“From the people we gave them to, who used to be our friends, but are now our enemies?”
“David, I hope you’re not expecting me to make this sound sane. Because you can cut this or slice this any way you like, and it’s still ten kinds of crazy. But you have to be practical. And the thing to remember is that this does work.”
“This is something working? McIntyre? The Myenese? The guys in the Sears Tower?”
“Well, it works to an extent. Until people start stealing the weapons and skimming the money, at least. The system struggles a little, then.”
“Was that McIntyre’s game? Stealing weapons and skimming money?”
“Yes. I believe so. And when he stumbled across the gas, he figured he’d hit the mother lode.”
“Wait. You said the weapons were Soviet era, handed out to the Taliban when we were all friends. Spektra gas isn’t that old.”
“No. It’s a couple of years, max.”
“So what was it doing there? How did McIntyre get his hands on it?”
“Who knows? This is Afghanistan we’re talking about. Nothing makes sense, there. Most likely it was part of a sample batch, sent over for covert evaluation. It doesn’t really matter. The point is, all that American cash was like a magnet. It brought all kinds of things out of the woodwork. A lot of it was junk, by all accounts. But if a case of Spektra crossed Tony’s path, he’d know enough to see the potential for extra profit. And extra risk.”
“Which is why he needed to cover his tracks a little more thoroughly.”
“Exactly. And why he tried to frame me.”
“You think he was selling to the Myenese?”
“I think that was his original idea, yes. I think he started with a deal to sell to those guys in their own backyard. Then he got a better o?er from someone else—the Sears Tower guys, I guess—so he did a runner over here. He could make more money. And lay the blame on me more e?ectively. Which he needed to do. ’Cause let’s face it, dead Americans make bigger headlines than dead Africans.”
“So he double-crossed the Myenese, and they chased him here to force him to make good on the deal?”
“Right.”
“What evidence have you got for any of that?”
Fothergill was silent for a moment.
“Richard?” I said. “What evidence?”
“Well, no actual evidence,” he said. “But that’s pretty much what he told me, when he was here. Before he tried to murder me.”
“When he spoke to you, how was his accent?”
“What?”
“You told me he was Scottish.”
“He was. Is. So what?”
“I noticed Young’s Geordie accent was fading a little. He was probably out of the country too long. So how about McIntyre. Did he still sound like he was from north of the border?”
“Goodness, yes. You know what those accents are like. People never lose them. Not completely. But how is this relevant? If you know where Tony is, what does it matter what he sounded like to talk to?”
“You’re right. I’m just curious. Because I was talking to someone who’d spoken to McIntyre on the phone, and they thought he was English.”
“That’s no big deal. Most foreigners can’t tell the difference between English and Scottish, or even Welsh. Someone thought I was Australian the other day, for goodness’ sake.”
I nodded as if I was thinking about his answer, then shut my eyes for a moment and didn’t speak. I started to sway slightly, back and forth. Then I let myself flop forward, nosediving toward the surface of the co?ee table. It would have hurt, if I’d made contact. But I didn’t, because Fothergill had shot his left arm out to save me. I looked down at his hand. It was pressed against my chest. Palm out, as I’d expected. That only left me with one question, and even though I alr
eady knew the answer—or perhaps because I already knew the answer—I was reluctant to ask it.
“David,” he said. “My goodness, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really. Thank you. And thanks for saving me from going face-first through your table. That really would have left some broken glass to sweep up.”
“Don’t mention it. My pleasure. But what happened to you? Are you feeling faint?”
“It’s nothing. Something came over me, but I’m OK now.”
“Maybe you should go back to your hotel. I told you not to push yourself.”
“No. We’ll carry on.”
“David, you’ve had a hell of a day. You’ve just saved thousands of people’s lives. It would be OK to have an early night. No one would think badly of you.”
“I don’t need to, honestly. Let’s wrap this thing up, and I’ll sleep late tomorrow. I promise.”
“It’s a deal. And I’ll make sure you stick to it. So. Shall we go and close Tony down now, once and for all?”
I waited another moment.
“One last thing, before we do,” I said. “What’s in the bag?”
He took his time to reply.
“That’s none of your business,” he said. “I can’t tell you, I’m afraid. The contents are classified. You’re not the only operative I look after, you know.”
“Richard, I need you to open the bag and show me what’s inside,” I said.
“Don’t be crazy. That’s never going to happen. Now drop it. Let’s go to work.”
“This is the last time I’m going to ask nicely. The bag. Open it. Please.”
Fothergill didn’t answer, and he didn’t move.
I reached inside my jacket and took out my phone.
“McIntyre texted me yesterday,” I said. “It seemed plausible, because this is actually Young’s phone. It was natural that McIntyre should know the number, right?”
Fothergill nodded.
“Only someone else knew the number, too,” I said. “You did. Because I’d called you from it.”
He didn’t respond.
“You knew the conclusion I’d reach when the texts came, because of the phone belonging to Young,” I said. “And just remind me—where were you at the time?”