Even

by Andrew Grant

  “What next?” she said.

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Should we walk? Or take a cab?”

  “To the clinic?”

  “No. To the Museum of Modern Art.”

  “Why there?”

  “I heard they’ve got a helicopter in one of the displays.”

  “What do you want with a helicopter?”

  “Nothing. But in an art gallery? It sounds interesting. And we’ve got to do something till five o’clock.”

  “We’re not going to the clinic?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s no point. The only reason would be to find out what’s happening and work out if it’s a problem. But we know what’s going on already. We’re in a different phase now. It’s time to pass the baton.”

  “Not good enough, David. We need to at least go and look.”

  “No. Why?”

  “They’ll be getting ready to run. If we lose them now, we’ll never find Mansell.”

  “No. It’s more likely we’d just spook them.”

  “We don’t have to go in. We could just drive by. Find something to convince Varley.”

  “No. We’re not going anywhere near that place. Neither of us. Have you got that?”

  Tanya didn’t reply.

  “Is that clear?” I said. “The risk is not justified.”

  “Risk?” she said. “Listen to you. Since when have you worried about risk? When we went to Tungsten’s place? Rooted round their office? Stole their mail?”

  “That wasn’t a risk. That was a tactic.”

  “When you made me meet Hamad, then? Got into a knife fight with him? Or when you went to see Taylor and his thugs? No. But now Varley wants to take the reins and you think there’s a chance to sneak back home . . .”

  “Tanya, your judgment’s impaired. Your head’s still stuck in Morocco. The answer is no. We stay away from the clinic.”

  “This has nothing to do with Morocco.”

  “Your obsession with finding James Mansell, then.”

  “It’s not an obsession. . . . David, wait. See those two men? They’re the ones who were watching me this morning.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Black car, four bays down on my right. Reading newspapers.”

  I saw it. A black Cadillac Deville with no license plate at the front.

  “Sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “OK. Let’s see if they’re happy with just watching. This is what I want you to do. Lean over and kiss me on the cheek. Softly, like we’re friends saying good-bye. Then I’ll head into the garage. You take a couple of steps—no more than two—and take out your phone. But don’t hold it to your ear. Keep it low, like you’re texting. Ready?”

  “I guess . . .”

  Nothing happened for twenty seconds after I moved out of sight. Then a car door slammed. I heard an engine start. A man came into view, walking fast. He was a fraction over six feet tall, slim, in his early twenties with short dark hair, black leather bomber jacket, and mid-blue jeans. He was heading for Tanya. He sneaked right up behind her, hesitated for a moment, then grabbed her. He locked his arms around her waist. She started to struggle. The Cadillac appeared. It pulled in next to them, snaking across to our side of the street. Its trunk lid was already swinging open. The guy on the sidewalk started to wrestle Tanya toward it, lifting her half off her feet.

  The driver rolled down his window and gestured impatiently. He looked jumpy and inexperienced. I didn’t want him escaping while I was still disentangling Tanya so I stepped up to the car and punched him hard, just to the side of his ear. He went over sideways, sprawling across the front seats and revealing a small black Colt .38 that had been wedged under his left thigh. I paused to check he wasn’t moving. Then I heard a voice behind me.

  “Hold it.” A man’s voice. He sounded nervous. “Don’t turn around.”

  I turned around. The other guy had moved back, out of reach, almost pressing into the little booth at the top of the ramp. He still had one arm around Tanya’s waist. A black .38 was grasped in his free hand. Another Colt. It matched the driver’s. Only this one was pressed against Tanya’s right temple.

  “On the ground,” he said. “Or she’s dead meat.”

  I reached down behind me, through the car window, using my body to hide the movement. My hand found the waistband of the driver’s jeans. I traced my way down his leg until my fingers brushed against metal. I felt for the textured surface of the handgrip, took hold, and smoothly withdrew my arm. The safety was on the top left of the frame, at the rear. I held my hand out so the guy could watch me flick it down. Then I pointed the gun straight at his face.

  “This is what’s going to happen,” I said. “I’m going to shoot you in the mouth. Twice. The first round will sever your spinal cord, just where it joins your brain. That way, no nerve signals can reach your trigger finger. The second is just for insurance. Then I’m getting lunch.”

  “I don’t think so,” the guy said. “I’m going to blow her brains out.”

  “What do you fancy, Tanya?” I said. “I feel like a big sandwich. Pastrami and Swiss, maybe. I had a great one the other day. Are there any good delis around here?”

  “It won’t work, the mouth thing,” the guy said. “Shoot me, and she dies.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but I do this for living. And in three seconds’ time, you’re going to lose the back of your skull. Unless you put your gun down. One . . .”

  The guy didn’t move.

  “Two . . .”

  His hand started to shake.

  “Normally I don’t bother with three,” I said. “I just pull the trigger on two. But I’ve got a feeling about you. I don’t think you came to kill anyone. So put the gun down. There’s still time to straighten this out.”

  He didn’t react for fully five seconds. Tanya closed her eyes. She didn’t breathe. Then the guy started to sag. He lowered his right hand. The gun slipped from his grip. It hit his foot and clattered six inches across the sidewalk. He dropped down onto his knees. For a moment I thought he was trying to retrieve his weapon, but he’d just lost his balance. He fell forward again, landing on all fours. And then he puked. Three long gut-wrenching torrents, flooding the ground in front of him and spattering up his sleeves.

  Tanya turned to me, holding her hands out like a shield against the stinking puddle. She looked half shocked, half disgusted. Finally she opened her mouth, but before she could speak her phone began to ring.

  “It’s Lavine,” she said, holding the handset away from her mouth. “He’s got a lead on Mansell. The NYPD have picked him up. Or someone that might be him. They want us to go and see. They’re still bogged down prepping for the clinics.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “Maybe this has a happy ending, after all. But tell him to send someone to sit on these guys till we get back.”

  “David, let’s not waste time. You’re not going to make a big deal out of this, are you? I mean, no harm’s been done. They’re only kids. Couldn’t we just let it slide? Or leave it to the police?”

  “Why? Do you recognize them?”

  “No.”

  “Have you had a row with anyone lately? Someone in your building?”

  “No. I only moved in a couple of days ago.”

  “At the consulate?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What about work? Anything that could come back and haunt you?”

  “No. Nothing. I haven’t been here long enough. I’ve had no problems at all. Until you turned up.”

  “Then, no. We can’t let it slide. They were stalking you. They tried to snatch you off the street. And they know where you live. Where you work. That’s not something you turn a blind eye to. Ever.”

  “OK. I guess you’re right. I’ll tell Lavine to send some people.”

  “Good. And Tanya—tell him they’ll need a sponge. I’m not spending time with this guy till he
’s been cleaned.”

  THIRTY

  I don’t remember a great deal about my grandfather.

  He died when I was too young. I’ve seen photos of him, and heard stories from relatives. But I never got a sense of what he was really like until a couple of years ago when his few remaining possessions found their way through to me, sealed up for years in his old army trunk.

  It turned out the old man had been fascinated by the Titanic. He’d built up a whole hoard of books and articles and clippings about it. Accounts of how it was built, in Belfast, near where he was born. The night it sank. The conspiracy theories. The expeditions to find the wreck. Biographies of the survivors. Histories of its sister ships. I read every word. But it wasn’t the technical details that struck a chord with me. It was how that final night must have felt for the passengers. One minute, their ship was indestructible. An unsinkable engineering marvel. The next it was a metal coffin on the way to the ocean floor. Their world was turned on its head. In an instant. With no warning.

  I’ve had that feeling, myself. On more than one occasion.

  And, as with icebergs, you never know when it’s going to strike.

  The trip to pick up James Mansell was a complete waste of time. The NYPD’s “ninety percent match” turned out to be a sad, confused drunk with an English accent. He’d been spotted dancing naked in the turtle pond in Central Park. The police had fished him out, dried him off, covered him up, and taken him to their station house. That part was easy enough. Getting an ID was another story. They were going nowhere until Lavine’s bulletin came through. Then they saw the chance to palm him off on the bureau. Which seemed like a good idea, until we got there. When Tanya realized what they were trying to pull I was lucky to get her out without any blood being spilled.

  The dead end at the police station set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. Tanya was too disappointed to speak much on the way back to the FBI building. She preferred to sit and stare silently at the traffic. Every street we tried was completely choked with it. There was no obvious reason why. There was no construction work. No accidents. It was as though the other vehicles had come out specifically to get in our way. There were so many we only just made it back by five o’clock. And just as we were jumping out of the car, Lavine phoned. They weren’t ready. Coordinating with the other cities was taking longer than expected. He wanted to postpone the meeting till 8:00 A.M. tomorrow. Which I didn’t mind, in itself. It would give us a chance to interrogate Tanya’s stalkers. Only Tanya chose that moment to remember some critical task she had to complete at the consulate. Something so important there was no way she could leave it till the morning. The only upside was a clear shot at dinner. A good chance to cheer us both up.

  Tanya had suggested Fong’s. She was probably thinking we could pick up where we’d left things on Tuesday, but I wasn’t so sure. The same restaurant three times in five nights would be a stretch, even if the previous visits had ended happily. So instead we settled on a French place I know not far from Union Square. The food’s good, the service is discreet, the tables are large and well spread out, and the lights are always turned down low.

  Ideal if you have to wait a while, for any reason.

  We’d agreed on eight o’clock. I arrived on time. Tanya didn’t, but I wasn’t worried. I figured that after her previous no-show she wouldn’t be more than five minutes late. Ten at the outside. There was plenty to keep me occupied. Thinking about spending time with her again, outside work. The assortment of other diners, subtly shepherded together near the window to make the restaurant look extra popular. The waiters, silently gliding around with their order pads and plates of food. The solitary barman, halfheartedly flicking a bar rag over a stack of wine glasses, and a pair of youths, eyeing the twenty-inch chrome wheels on a BMW coupe parked across the street.

  My phone rang at eight fifteen. I went outside to answer. I’d expected Tanya, calling with an apology, but it turned out to be Lavine.

  “News,” he said. “The Iraqi doctors from the clinic? We traced them. There were four. But they already left the country. Flew out of Newark on Monday.”

  “Only four?” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s just New York. It’s the same story in Boston and D.C. Four medics in each place, all flew out three days ago. We’re still checking Chicago and Miami, but I’m assuming we’ll find the same thing.”

  “Did anyone come in to replace them?”

  “None that we can see, but we did link four other Iraqi nationals to Tungsten. They also bailed out Monday. Via JFK. Probably the ringleaders Taylor talked about. So it doesn’t look like they’re just changing shifts. More like they’re folding their tents altogether.”

  “Does Tanya know?”

  “I just called her cell. No answer. I’ll try her landline in a minute.”

  “Any other agencies involved?”

  “No. Not a one. Wasn’t on anyone’s radar.”

  “But we didn’t start sniffing till yesterday. So why cut and run on Monday?”

  “My guess is they weren’t running. They were leaving because they were ready. Which means we’re looking at a whole new scenario.”

  I checked the street. No one was in earshot.

  “The organ thing,” I said. “Maybe it’s not just a gold mine.”

  “No,” Lavine said. “More like a direct pipeline into five major cities. It gave these guys access to people. Locations. Technology. Expertise. And who knows what else.”

  “I’ve seen this before. A team moving in on the back of something else. Time to worry is when the key players pull out.”

  “Right. Means whatever they’re planning, it’s about to happen.”

  “They just leave the bare bones behind. Expendable nobodies. Drones, to press the button.”

  “It’s a standard terrorist MO. They keep the key assets safe. Ready to go again, somewhere else.”

  “But if they pulled out on Monday, we’re almost out of time. They won’t wait much longer. Too much risk. Another day, maybe. Two, max.”

  “That’s cutting it fine. We don’t even know what their target is.”

  “Taylor might. I’ll talk to him again. If he knows, he’ll tell me.”

  “He won’t. He’s in the wind. His lawyer got him out. Took two minutes, after the job you did on him.”

  “What job? I didn’t touch him.”

  “That’s not what he says. But it’s beside the point. He’s gone.”

  “Did he get his possessions back?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “If he’s got his phone, I could call him. Set something up.”

  “I already tried. He didn’t answer.”

  “He might do, if he sees my number. Or Mansell’s. I hung on to the SIM after we dumped his calls.”

  “Maybe. But listen. Could you hold off on that, at least till tomorrow? When we couldn’t reach Taylor, I spoke to Varley. He’s trying to bring the schedule forward on the raids. It could spook them, if Taylor thinks you’re still one step behind.”

  “OK. If we move fast on the raids. Because this is going to be huge.”

  “We don’t know that. There’s no need to scaremonger.”

  “We do know. Think about it. How much does a black-market kidney cost? Including the surgery?”

  “I don’t know. One hundred fifty thousand dollars, maybe? Why?”

  “Taylor said they were doing one procedure a day. They have five clinics. That’s $250 million a year, even if they stop for Christmas. You’d want a pretty big bang to turn your back on that amount of bucks.”

  The two youths had moved farther down the street. They were lurking near another row of parked cars. I strolled to the end of the block to take a closer look. I saw one of them hook a piece of gum out of his mouth and stick it to the top of the aerial on an old, square Chevrolet. Then they moved on to the next car in line. It was an XKR in slate-gray metallic, gleaming as though it had just rolled out of the showroom.

 
The guy who’d been chewing the gum leaned on the Jaguar’s front wing with both hands, fingers spread wide like fat starfishes. He pressed down for ten seconds before straightening up and looking to see how much grease and filth had been transferred to the paint. His pal nodded and started to idly pick at the tip of the windshield wiper. Then they noticed me watching them. Instinctively I began to melt away, but I stopped. Because something struck me. I wasn’t working. I was on my own time. There was no need to be invisible, that night. It didn’t matter who saw me, or if anyone remembered my face afterward. I could stare at those guys as blatantly as I liked. I could even go over and encourage them to show a little more respect for other people’s vehicles.

  The idea was growing on me. But before I could act on it my phone began to ring again. And this time, it was Tanya.

  “David, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “You’re not coming,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Why not? What is it this time?”

  “Don’t be cross, David. I’m in trouble.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Inside my apartment. Two guys grabbed me. Now they’re holding me.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m OK. So far.”

  “Good. Now, where are you?”

  “At the clinic.”

  “They’re holding you at the clinic? On Sixty-sixth Street?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have they said what they want?”

  “Yes. You. They want you to come here, to the clinic, on your own.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. They say if you come alone, inside one hour, they’ll let me go.”

  “They asked for me by name?”

  “Yes. But David, don’t do it. Find Mansell. I’ll be—Ow. Someone just hit me.”