by Andrew Grant
“Why would you do that?”
“When the FBI pulled you in, you met three main guys?”
“Right. Rosser, Varley, and Breuer.”
“Good. That’s what we heard. So this is what you do. Contact the FBI. Tell them you have the real shooter, and you want to bring him in. But you’ll only hand him over to the same three guys you already met. Say you don’t trust anyone else. Can you do that?”
“I know someone. They could set it up. But why those three guys?”
“We have a problem with one of them.”
“Which one?”
“Mitchell Varley.”
“What sort of problem?”
“His continued existence.”
“Intriguing. Why?”
“Ancient history.”
“Not that you’re one to bear a grudge . . .”
“Let’s just say our paths have crossed before. More than once.”
“They have? Excellent. I always enjoy a good bit of vengeance. What did he do?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, and I saw her left hand slip down from the table into her lap. “But my guy’s going to correct the situation.”
“How?” I said.
“With a .22. One shot, close range. Straight through the temple. But don’t worry. You’ll be in no danger. The bullet won’t even come out the other side. It’ll just rattle around, turning his worthless brain to mush.”
“And that’s your small favor?”
“Put our guy and Varley together. That’s all we want.”
“Then I’m sorry. I can’t help.”
Air hissed from between the woman’s clenched teeth.
“You were with Varley for what, an hour?” she said.
“Less,” I said.
“And now you’re ready to die for him? Must have been some conversation you guys had.”
“That sounds vaguely like a threat.”
“No, not a threat. Just Plan B. Because aside from the chance to rid the world of Mitchell Varley, there’s still this thing with the dead agent. I’ve got to deal with it somehow. If I’m not giving you the shooter, I’ll have to do something else.”
“Not my problem.”
“Absolutely your problem. The feds already thought you did it. Escaping confirmed that. Now they’ve got a hard-on for you like you wouldn’t believe.”
“So?”
“So we leave your body where it’s easy to find. They’ll close the case on the spot. Never even look in our direction. So, time to lose this sentimental crap with Varley. Otherwise . . .”
“There is no sentimental crap with Mitchell Varley. He barely said two dozen words to me. And frankly, I wasn’t impressed with what he did say. I couldn’t care less what happens to him.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Well, let’s just think about it for a moment. I bring your guy in. He immediately kills Varley, who’s only there because I specifically asked for him to be. How’s that going to look? I’ll be lucky if the others don’t shoot me on the spot.”
“They won’t shoot you. They’ll thank you.”
“For what? Getting their friend killed?”
“No. For saving them.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Seen In the Line of Fire? At the end. Like that.”
“You want me to take a bullet?”
“No. Just make it look like you were willing to. Appearance is everything. The second Varley gets hit, you yell at the others. Get down, he’s got a gun, like that. Then jump in front of them. It’ll look like you saved Rosser and Breuer, not set up Varley.”
“What happens to your guy?”
“He goes for the door, under cover of your heroics.”
“And after that?”
“His problem.”
“What if he doesn’t make it?”
“Then it’s my pawn for their queen. Varley’s worth it.”
“Does your guy see it the same way?”
“He knows it’s a risk, obviously. But I’ve made it worth taking.”
“What if he goes after one of the others first? Or me?”
“He won’t.”
“Why not?”
“He has his instructions,” she said, standing up and moving toward the desk. “He’ll follow them. That’s what my people do.”
“What’s your name?” I said.
“Lesley. Why?”
“I was thinking Agripinilla, for some reason.”
“Know anywhere in the city where you could do this?” she said, opening one of the desk drawers and taking out a cell phone. “Or do you want me to find you a place? Needs to be away from their building. Nowhere with witnesses. Easy access.”
“How about the building they took me to this afternoon?” I said. “It is theirs, but it’s not fitted out yet. No one else uses it.”
“Metal detectors? Cameras?”
“No.”
“Good. And the location’s OK,” she said, switching the phone on and bringing it over to me. “You already know the layout. Ties in with wanting to see the same three guys. All right. Go ahead.”
I left the phone on the table.
“Two more things,” I said. “One—I spent last night in jail. Today I’ve had a coffee, a sandwich, and a Coke. No way am I meeting these guys tonight. Tomorrow at the earliest. And I’m not staying here. I want a night in a decent hotel, with a decent meal, which you’re paying for.”
“Be safer here,” she said. “People are looking for you.”
“People are always looking for me. It comes with the territory.”
“Well, OK, I guess. I’ll send a couple of guys with you. What else?”
“Julianne Morgan. The woman you’ve got locked up in the basement. I’m taking her with me.”
“You want the woman?” she said, glancing at the tall guy. “Why?”
“She got mixed up in this by mistake. She’s got no idea what’s going on. She’s no threat to you. If Varley and this other guy of yours don’t make it through—too bad. They knew the risks. They made their choices. She didn’t.”
“What will you do with her?”
“Take her to the city. Let her stay in the hotel tonight, and cut her loose in the morning. I’m hardly going to want a journalist hanging around me tomorrow.”
“Well, why not? OK. You can have her. Saves us having to get rid of her. But she rides to the city in the trunk. We’ll have cars watching you. Let her out anywhere this side of the river, she’ll be dead before her feet touch the sidewalk.”
“I can live with that,” I said, wondering if Julianne could.
“Now make the damn call before I change my mind.”
Tanya answered on the first ring.
“This is David,” I said.
“David?” she said. “Are you all right? Where are you?”
“Those contacts you had at Federal Plaza. Are they still in place?”
“What’s up? Is someone listening?”
“Yes. Could you call them? Set something up for tomorrow?”
“Really? That soon?”
“Yes. Call tonight. Right now, if you can. This is urgent.”
“What do you need?”
“Tell them I’m holding the guy they’re looking for. From the alley, last night. They’ll know who I mean. I’m prepared to hand him over, but only to the same three guys I met today. Rosser, Varley, and Breuer.”
“Could be difficult, David. They’re still really mad at you. Why not deliver him to me, let me liaise? Stay out of the firing line?”
“No. It has to be the same three guys. The same three, or I cut this guy loose and they’ll never find him.”
“Oh. OK, then. I’ll square it somehow. Where and when?”
“Don’t know yet. I still have to get out of the city. Tell them to be at the Wall Street helipad at 9:00 A.M. Bring a pilot, and enough fuel for two hours. I’ll call then with a time and location.”
“Understood. Back in fiv
e.”
Lesley hadn’t even pretended not to listen.
“Nice misdirection, with the heliport,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said. “Talking of which—my hotel room, with the ash? That was you?”
“That was me,” the tall guy said.
“Really?” I said. “Good work. Subtle. I might use it myself, sometime.”
“Just glad they went for it,” he said. “It was kind of last-minute. And a bitch to do, without the smoke alarms going off.”
“How did you know where I was staying?”
“Someone told us.”
“Who?”
“Can’t remember now. Could have been so many people.”
“That kind of information isn’t exactly commonplace.”
“Depends who you know. The NYPD? They’re like the TV, the Internet, and the newspapers all rolled into one, for us. Same goes for the FBI. Nothing happens in this city we don’t find out about.”
“You found out pretty fast.”
The tall guy shrugged.
“Wanted to make sure they swallowed you whole,” he said. “Didn’t know it would be the feds that found it. Didn’t even know the vic was one of theirs at the time. Just didn’t want any possibility of the spotlight coming our way.”
“See, speed is the key,” Lesley said. “Anything goes wrong, our people are motivated to tell us right away. That way, we can jump right on it. Never miss an opportunity to protect ourselves. You might want to remember that, the next couple of days.”
“I hope there’s not an element of distrust developing here?”
“Depends how smart you are. For instance, maybe you’re thinking you could take the .22 away from my guy? Hand him to the feds without him killing Varley?”
“That never crossed my mind.”
“Good. Because I haven’t given you one hundred percent of the facts about that.”
“Convenient time to mention it.”
“See, the guy I’m giving you—he isn’t really the one from the alley. That was one of my other guys. Not the cream of the crop. Now this guy—he’s one of my best. French. Ex-Sûreté. Perfect for the job. Could do it in his sleep. But he’s got a real loose tongue. Hand him to the feds, and it’ll all come pouring out. Everything will point straight back at you.”
“What if he gets caught?”
“He won’t. He’ll get out, or go down fighting. That’s the way he is.”
“You can’t be sure. The feds are no mugs.”
“It would be too late, then, anyway. Rosser and Breuer would have seen him pull the trigger. It would be your word against a cop killer. And he’d never see the inside of a courtroom, anyway. Trust me. None of my people ever have.”
“Why take the chance? Why not just give me the real guy?”
“Look at it as an incentive. To make sure you hold up your end. Plus the real guy won’t be working for a while. He needs some retraining.”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs. Want to meet him?”
“He’s the one who called 911? Gave them my description?”
“He’s the one. His idea, though, to give you up. We’re not normally big on framing passers-by. It’s an unnecessary risk. Usually just leave the body where the NYPD will trip over it. As long as it’s unwashed, they don’t lose much sleep.”
“Then, yeah, I want to meet the guy. Alone, preferably.”
“Can’t do alone,” she said, getting up and heading for the desk. “But don’t worry. You’re going to love what I’ve got for him.”
I watched Lesley open one of the lower drawers, then the cell phone she’d given me started to vibrate in my pocket. It was Tanya.
“Deal’s done,” she said. “We’ll be at the helipad at 9:00 A.M. tomorrow, waiting for your call. The three guys you specified and me.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Thanks. Any problems getting it set up?”
“Don’t ask. You owe me, big-time.”
“Dinner’s on me, then, when this is over.”
“Three dinners, minimum. Don’t forget that stunt with Lavine. And you still owe me one from Madrid.”
Lesley had started back before I hung up.
“We’re in business,” I said.
“I heard,” she said.
She was carrying a lumpy, vaguely cylindrical parcel, nine inches long by four inches diameter. It was made of gray suede, held together by a fine silver chain. I heard the tall guy shifting in his chair, and I saw his eyes were glued to the object as Lesley gently laid it down on the table in front of her.
“Something you should think about,” she said. “We own people. They tell us things. Your name. Where you were staying.”
“You mentioned that already,” I said.
“It goes further. Let me give you an example. Louis Breuer received a secret e-mail from London this afternoon. One of our guys got to it first. We’d read it before Breuer or Rosser or Varley. We know all about you. What you do. All your little trips around the world. Not a bad life, for a sailor boy.”
“And your point is?”
“You need to believe, anything goes wrong tomorrow—accidentally or otherwise—we’re going to know before you leave the building.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“I am. Like this afternoon. You outsmarted the FBI. Got away from them, easily enough. But not me. Because my ear’s to the ground. Always. I heard what you did. And I had two cars outside before you even found the door.”
I allowed myself a little smile. She still didn’t realize the favor she’d done me back there.
“OK,” I said. “If anything goes wrong tomorrow, it won’t be down to me.”
“Good,” she said. “ ’Cause there are penalties for people who let me down.”
“Like what? You don’t let them shoot tramps anymore?”
“Yeah. Kind of like that. I was going to tell you about it, but then I thought, why not show you?”
Lesley nodded at the tall guy. His face was blank, bordering on sullen. He paused for a moment then hauled himself up and stalked out of the room, his big feet clattering along the landing and down the stairs.
“Watch what happens next,” she said. “Then see if you still have a taste for wisecracks.”
THIRTEEN
I passed my test at seventeen. And learned to drive at twenty-two.
It’s one of the first things the navy does when they recruit you. For intelligence work, anyway. They take your license away and make you earn it back. Which sounds fine in principle, because you know you’ll not be dealing with Nissan Micras and three-point turns anymore. You’ll be in modified vehicles, on private racetracks, getting to grips with the A to Z of defensive maneuvers.
There’s only one snag.
They insist you understand the cars before you drive them.
I remember on the first day they showed us two groups of twenty different models lined up on opposite sides of an old aircraft hangar. One half were regular civilian cars. The others were from the motor pool. We knew the navy cars had been adapted. They would have special engines. Brakes. Tires. Suspensions. Electronics. You name it. But it was all so discreetly done that no one could tell which was which.
It was a pain, learning enough mechanics to be let loose behind the wheel. And at the time I thought I was just finding out about cars. But over the years I’ve seen it’s the same story with people. Compare pros and amateurs in any field, and there’s only ever one conclusion.
They might look similar on the surface.
But underneath, they’re completely different animals.
_______
Lesley sat and watched me, completely still except for her left hand. It seemed to be moving on its own, creeping steadily across the tabletop toward the gray parcel. Her fingertips reached it, paused, and climbed on top. Then they started to caress the soft suede, rippling across the smooth surface like a spiteful sea creature tormenting its prey.
Her fingers only stopped ci
rcling when the door opened and a man took a couple of hesitant steps into the room. He would be in his mid-twenties, reasonably tall—a shade over six feet—with jeans cut to show off his narrow waist and a pair of broad, powerful shoulders showing through a plain black T-shirt. His short blond hair was a little shaggy, like he was growing out a crew cut, and he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. The only off note was his face—it was slightly pointy, and he had beady brown eyes that were a touch too close together. They made him look like some kind of rodent.
The tall guy came in next. He didn’t come over to the table this time but stayed by the door, like a sentry. George—the guy who’d brought my food and caught Julianne in the dining room—was last. He came across and stood next to the wall, near me. He was looking down, fiddling with a small video camera. The strap was looped safely around his right wrist.
“David, this is Cyril,” Lesley said, nodding toward the new guy. “Actually his name isn’t Cyril, but we call him that ’cause we think he looks like a squirrel. It kind of suits him. Cyril the squirrel. You Brits like rhyming words, don’t you?”
“Not particularly,” I said.
“Recognize him?”
“No.”
“He recognizes you. Don’t you, Cyril? Had to take a real close look, before he made that 911 call. Surprised you didn’t see him.”
“He was hiding by the time I got there,” I said. “In a kiddies’ playground, apparently. Not the kind of place I spend much time in.”
“That true, Cyril?” she said.
He didn’t reply.
“Cyril, David and I have been talking about your performance last night,” she said. “We’re not real impressed.”
“Lesley, I—” Cyril said.
“Quiet. Don’t make it any worse,” Lesley said, and then turned to me. “Cyril made a mistake last night. He hasn’t worked for me long, but a mistake’s a mistake. Can’t have my people making mistakes. And he made a big one. So now he’s going to do something useful.”
“Make a cup of tea?” I said.
“Maybe later. If we have any. But first, he’s going to show you what happens to people who let me down.”