Even dt-1

by Andrew Grant

  I headed back up the stairs and kept going until I reached the landing. I could see Lesley’s office door was shut this time. It was stuck to its frame with yellow and black tape. I held down the handle, burst it open, and continued into the room. A cluster of numbered, yellow evidence markers had appeared on the floor, like a crop of angular plastic fungi. They were in a wide, flat U-shape where the end of the table would have been. The crime scene guys must have been busy with their ultraviolet lights.

  The laboratory bottle had also been replaced with an evidence marker, but the trolley was still there. It was in the same place it had been when I was here with Weston. And the leather straps were just as empty. Tanya wasn’t attached to it. And if she ever had been, there was no sign of her now.

  I took out my phone, pulled up the picture of Tanya, and held the screen next to the trolley. The frame looked similar, but I couldn’t be sure it was the same. The image was too small and too dark and too blurred. There was nothing to say Lesley didn’t have two trolleys. Or more. And nothing to pinpoint the location. The photo could have been taken anywhere. I felt as if I’d been tricked. No, that wasn’t right. Cheated. Out of the only thing that really mattered just then. The only thing that Tanya and I really couldn’t afford to lose. Time.

  Officer Rossi was waiting for me in the hallway.

  “Find what you need?” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can help you with?”

  “The woman who owns this house. Does she have any other places around here? Homes, offices, shops, garages, storage facilities? Anywhere with some privacy?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Then there’s nothing you can do. I’ll head back to the city. Thanks, anyway.”

  “I could do a search online? There’s a terminal in the car.”

  “There’s no point. Records of anything she owns will be well hidden. I need firsthand information. From someone who knows her. And I’ve got the perfect people in mind.”

  “Will they play ball? The way I hear it, the woman’s pretty brutal.”

  “Oh, yes. They will. They’re dying to. They just don’t know it yet.”

  I waited until I was around the corner, out of sight, then called Lavine.

  “Did you find her?” he said.

  “No,” I said. “The house was untouched. Lesley must have another place her people can use.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “Not yet. So I need a minute with those two guys. The ones I caught at your office. They obviously work for her.”

  “David, it’s better if I don’t know things like that.”

  “I’ve got no choice. I need your help. You put them in the system. You can find out where they’re being held.”

  “Be reasonable. Talk about compromising my position.”

  “How about we talk about Tanya’s position. How compromised that might be.”

  “Fair point. I’ll call you back.”

  Lavine was back on the line before I reached the freeway.

  “I’ve got bad news,” he said. “And I’ve got really bad news. Which do you want first?”

  “I can always rely on you to cheer me up, Lavine,” I said. “Give me the really bad news.”

  “The two guys you were asking about? Both are dead. They’re gone, David. I’m sorry.”

  “When?” I said.

  “Ninety minutes after they were popped.”

  “They lasted that long? How did it happen?”

  “Their throats were cut. I don’t have the ins and outs. But it has Lesley written all over it. She can’t have trusted them to keep quiet, I guess.”

  “Damn. I’ll have to lean on Lesley herself, now. And she’ll be a much tougher nut to crack. Anywhere with witnesses, anyway. Where is she now?”

  “Yes. Lesley. That brings me to the bad news.”

  “What is it? She’s dead, too?”

  “Not dead. But just as hard to talk to. We’re nowhere near finding her. The NYPD has turned up nothing. Same story for our guys. We’re chasing shadows.”

  “Tell me you’re joking. Tell me now, and I’ll spare your wife and children.”

  “I’m as pissed as you, David. And you should have heard what Varley said.”

  “Do we even know what happened?”

  “She pulled a switcheroo. Feigned illness, swapped IDs with another sick prisoner, and broke out of the secure hospital. The oldest trick in the book.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday morning. It took them thirty-six hours to get to the bottom of it. We’ve only just got the full picture, ourselves.”

  “So what’s been done about it?”

  “Our field office is all over it. The NYPD has pushed descriptions out to all their patrols. They’re staking out that tenement building you found of hers, and searching for any more property she could own. And they’re going to recanvass Tanya’s building. They’re still trying to get a solid lead on the guys who snatched her. I’ll keep the heat turned up. As soon as I know anything, you’ll know.”

  “OK. Understood. Just make sure it’s soon.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “Don’t know. Head over to her apartment myself, I guess. Try and put my hands on someone there. I’m only forty minutes out.”

  “Sounds like you’re clutching at straws.”

  “Got any better ideas?”

  “Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  “Me? Never. But how about you? Found anything that goes bump in the night?”

  “Nada.”

  “Did big-head Maher come up with anything, now he’s back at his lab?”

  “No. Well, yes. But nothing useful.”

  “Such as?”

  “Something about that weird blood drug.”

  “Have they put a name to it?”

  “No. They’re nowhere with that yet. But it’s obviously some deliberately made thing. And the surgeons were from Iraq, so Maher’s wondering if it’s part of some different procedure they have over there. He’s trying to find someone to check with.”

  “What did he find, then?”

  “Nothing. He’s just curious about the quantity involved. They found another whole bunch of vials in the basement. All used.”

  “Empty medicine bottles? Sounds pretty normal for a clinic.”

  “But you saw how strong the stuff is. Taylor took a whole vial. That means they’d only need a tiny bit for any patients they didn’t want to kill. So either they had millions of patients, which we don’t know about, or they threw most of it away.”

  “It’s probably just a scam to charge more. Private clinic. Desperate patients. It’s a license to print money. Do you know what the busiest piece of equipment in that place was?”

  “No. What?”

  “The credit card machine. Check it, if you don’t believe me.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The navy spends its training budget on all kinds of strange things.

  I was once sent on a course to learn about how I learn. Seriously. It seems there are different ways, and knowing which one suits you is allegedly beneficial. For example, some people favor an auditory style, which means they like things explained to them in words. Others are kinesthetic. That’s a fancy way of saying they learn from experience. And the final group are visual. Breaking ideas and concepts down into pictures and diagrams is the key thing for them.

  It turned out I was a visual person.

  Only it’s not just textbook illustrations I respond to.

  I took the curving on-ramp far faster than strictly necessary and kept my foot on the gas until the tires started to squeal. I’d hoped it was late enough for the highway to be clear, but I saw another vehicle trundling through the junction, making me drop a little speed. It was an old van. Its dull silver bodywork looked rough, as though it had been badly resprayed, and a crude picture of a woman had been painted on the side. She was half sitting, half lying back with
one knee raised. Her clothes were all leather and fishnets and her wild purple hair flowed all the way back to the rear doors. I couldn’t help wondering who it was based on.

  I pulled onto the main highway and moved straight into the left-hand lane. I saw a picture had been painted on the far side of the van, too. It was another figure, in the same pose as the purple-haired woman. But this one’s clothes were all torn open and inside them lay a grinning skeleton. It still had its head and hands, but somehow it reminded me of the body I’d seen in the OR. The two paintings could be before and after shots, like some government health warning against the mystery blood drug.

  The silver van rapidly dwindled to nothing in my mirrors, and after it disappeared I didn’t come across another vehicle for twelve or thirteen miles. There was no other traffic on either side to distract me. Nothing to divert my imagination from what Lesley might have in store for Tanya. Or what she might already be doing to her. My foot leaned harder on the gas and the heavy sedan swayed through the next set of bends. I was moving fast, but I had no idea if I was heading in the right direction. My only leads had gone up in smoke. No one had a clue where Tanya was. I certainly didn’t know where to look. And all the time the car’s wheels were thumping tirelessly on the road like the ticking of a giant clock, counting down what few minutes I had left to find her.

  The toll plaza had been busy on Saturday when Weston brought me back from Lesley’s, but now, with no one around, it looked like a field the day after a festival. There was debris everywhere. Coffee cups, soda cans, food wrappers, newspapers. All kinds of rubbish that people must have jettisoned while they were inching along in the queues, earlier in the day.

  A slight breeze was blowing across to my right, stirring up the lighter items. It caught an A5-sized piece of paper and set it dancing, holding it level with my window for a second. It was an advertisement for a mobile dog-grooming service. I looked around and saw dozens more lying discarded on the ground. They were from a whole range of different places. But none were takeout menus. And none had my picture on them, this time, either.

  I wondered what had happened to all the flyers the NYPD were handing out on Friday. Some would have been discarded straightaway, I guessed. Others would have been held on to, at least for a while. Some might still be in people’s cars. I wondered how far they’d been taken. I imagined them radiating out from that point on the highway, trampled on floors and stuffed into door pockets. I pictured a map with tiny colored dots to show their final destinations, like the one of the railroad victims in the FBI’s office. In my mind, these dots were also red. Only I could see hundreds, scattered randomly all over the country.

  I thought about the image. What it could mean. And then, once again, I picked up my phone and called Lavine.

  “Anything?” I said.

  “No,” he said. “We’ve got two and a half hours left. Varley’s going nuts. It’s chaos. So much for well-rehearsed protocols. More like setting a bunch of monkeys loose in a banana plantation.”

  “Then listen. I’ve got another question. The medicine vials Maher’s people found. At the clinic. Were there all different types? Or just the mystery ones.”

  “Just the mystery ones,” he said. “Why?”

  “How many were there?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. We already thought about it. We figure they disposed of the other kinds in the normal way, and hung on to the mystery ones because they aren’t licensed here.”

  “I understand that. But how many were there?”

  “Let me check. Seventy-two.”

  “Were they all used?”

  “No. Sixty-five were used. Seven were unopened.”

  “The sixty-five, does that include the one they used on Taylor?”

  “I think so. Let’s see. Yes, it does.”

  “OK. So that makes sixty-four used on patients. Have you heard from the other clinics? Did they find any vials?”

  “David, I don’t have time for inventory queries. Can’t this wait?”

  “No. It can’t. Think about it. There are five clinics. What’s five times sixty-four?”

  “Three hundred twenty. OK, that’s weird. I’m putting you on hold for a minute.”

  He was back after two minutes.

  “Boston and D.C. did find vials,” he said. “There were sixty-four hidden away in both places. All were used. We’ve got to assume it’s the same for the others.”

  “I think we do.”

  “Three hundred twenty vials. That number again. But you were expecting it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I know what they’re doing.”

  “You do? Then talk to me. Stop wasting time. The bombs. Where are they?”

  “Nowhere. There aren’t any. You’re on a wild-goose chase.”

  “We aren’t. Maher found detonators. Bomb-making equipment.”

  “He did. But no explosive. And he said miniature. Focus on that.”

  “Prepacked explosive, so no trace. And powerful, so small size.”

  “No. Something else altogether.”

  “Maher’s people are on this, you know. They’re the best. And they’re thinking there must be a large number of devices. Each one too small to do much harm on its own. But coordinated, so that together they could take down a power grid, say. Or a telecom network. Or the water supply. It’s a recipe for maximum chaos.”

  “No. Look at what they had at the clinics. The drug. Remote triggers. And one other thing. Something unique to them.”

  “What?”

  “Access to the inside of people’s bodies. It wasn’t just ripped-off organs they were putting back in there.”

  “They planted bombs inside people? You’re crazy.”

  “Not bombs. Devices for releasing the drug. They put them in during the operation, alongside the new organ. They lie dormant till a signal triggers them. Then a whole vial’s worth of the drug gets dumped directly into the bloodstream. And you know what happens next. Ten pints of the red stuff pours straight out through the poor bastard’s skin, like water through tissue paper.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “I’ve heard of similar things, for cancer and diabetes.”

  “Using mechanical devices? With remote control? Nationwide?”

  “Not so far. They’ve used polymers, up to now. For gradual diffusion.”

  “Any proof they’ve made the leap?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t tally with the video.”

  “It does. They said people would drown in their own blood. And you saw Taylor.”

  “Taylor didn’t drown.”

  “Not literally. But you get the picture.”

  “I still don’t buy it. Think of the resources you’d need.”

  “You’ve seen the drug they developed. That shows a high degree of competence in itself. And the guys they brought over were transplant surgeons. Implanting things in people is their day job.”

  “It still seems like-”

  “Lavine, stop talking. You believe me, or you don’t. You save these people, or you don’t. Either way, I don’t care. I don’t know them. I’m not interested in them. Stay in D.C. Look for your nonexistent bombs. Knock yourself out. Just call me when you have news about Tanya.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  There was a moment when I thought my career in the navy was over before it even began. It was at the end of the first exercise I’d been sent on, away from barracks. I was sitting in the course supervisor’s office with two other people. My training officer, who’d been summoned especially for the meeting, and the psychologist who’d been observing me for the previous two days. I remember looking at their faces and thinking that absolutely nothing good was about to happen.

  The course had been all about teamwork. There were thirty-two other people in the group. They were all up for jobs in the civil service. The Home Office, Inland Revenue, Employment Servic
e, that kind of thing. All their written exams were out of the way. Now they just had to show how well they could work together. It was the final hurdle for them. It felt like the final straw for me.

  We had to sit through two full days of role plays and discussions and debates. Your plane has crashed in the jungle. What should you do? Your ship is sinking. Which two people should you save? You have to market a new soft toy. What kind should it be? And if that wasn’t painful enough, they forced a group feedback session on us between each exercise. How fully did you involve the quieter members of the group? How do you feel about the inclusiveness of your performance? How could you encourage everyone to contribute more actively?

  At least there was no hugging.

  The psychologist’s verdict wasn’t complimentary. He left no room for misunderstanding about that. Every word he uttered for half an hour was carefully chosen to show exactly how badly he thought of me. By the time he left the room I was half expecting to be arrested as a menace to society. But when the door closed behind him my training officer’s stern face broke into a huge smile. He roared with laughter. And then he took me for a drink.

  The navy works in strange ways. I know that now. But at the time I had no idea what the assessors had been told. They thought they had to rubber-stamp me for a staff role. Not out of mischief. But because people are naturally inclined to give you the answer they think you want. They have to be really certain of themselves to dig in and contradict you. Especially when you’re paying their wages. So with a lot of external tests, the navy runs things backward. You have to fail to pass. And that one I failed with flying colors.

  So in the end, whether he meant to or not, the psychologist did me a favor. A huge one. He opened the door for me to work on my own. That freed me from depending on other people to make progress. And from feeling responsible for what happened to anyone else.

  Until Tanya went missing, anyway.

  Then I was back to doing both.

  The night doorman at Tanya’s building rolled over the minute he saw my consulate ID. He gave up her spare keys immediately. He didn’t even ask me to move my fingers away from the expiration date at the bottom of the pass. Which was lucky, since it had run out at midnight on Sunday.