“Yeah, always time for coffee,” he followed her through.
First thing she did was open the safe and return the Makarov pistol to him. It nestled in his palm, cool against his clammy skin. They spoke a little about Karl as they drank their coffee. Miranda wanted to be certain that Karl understood she and her family had known nothing about Jack Langton’s overseas business.
“Please give him our condolences and tell him I was asking after him. It wouldn’t hurt you to bring him here for an evening.”
He smiled; how times had changed — a few months back, Karl had been banned from the premises and now she was sending out invitations.
“And you can relax, about last night. It’s okay, babe, I knew you were pissed — you called me Randa. You only ever do that when you’re drunk.
He nodded, and reminded himself to remember that.
“And just so you don’t go torturing yourself, it was a nice text . . .”
He kissed her, the polite kind — a supreme act of self-control.
“Anyway, I think you’re already married — to your job.”
The weight of the Makarov, inside his jacket, tended to support that.
* * *
He had hoped to meet Karl beforehand, but he was already running late. Couldn’t very well leave Caliban’s without spending a little quality time with Miranda. So by the time he arrived at the restaurant — that same restaurant near Leicester Square — and scoped them from across the street, the party looked to be in full swing. He caught the Engamel trio through the bay window; saw that Deborah and Clarity had dressed a little more demurely this time. A little, but not much. Schaefer looked to be in for a busy night; there didn’t seem to be an American word for subtle.
Karl was there too, holding court, palling up with Michael Schaefer. It was all like some garishly detailed Hogarth drawing. Jess was at one end of the table; she looked lost, out of her depth. Until she spotted him, that was. She waved enthusiastically as he approached, which left him little option but to go inside.
A single seat awaited him, next to Jess. No sign of the major. As Thomas sat down, Karl broke off from his captivating monologue. “Major Eldridge won’t be joining us, he has some domestic crisis.”
“Got that right!” Schaefer laughed into his beer.
By the look on Schaefer’s face and the one he gave Deborah, it reeked of a stitch-up. Thomas didn’t bother commenting. Schaefer was a little cool with him at first, skimming over the misunderstanding at the memorial service and ‘that feisty blonde.’ Miranda would have gotten a kick out of that.
He kept his cool and let Schaefer’s mouth run its course. From the looks of things, Karl had dug himself in, good and proper. It wasn’t worth spoiling the mood unless there was something to gain.
Jess seemed happy to split from the main party, free to talk about her favourite subject: herself. Specifically, her new life in America. “Of course, you’ll be able to visit me once I’ve settled into my new job. Isn’t that right, Mr Schaefer?”
Schaefer lifted his head, and with some prompting from Deborah, muttered: “Sure thing, honey — whatever you say.” Then whispered something to his gang that produced a peal of laughter.
Jess carried on, oblivious. “I was sorry that things never worked out with Cecil, but sometimes it’s for the best. Don’t you agree?”
Thomas chased his starter around the plate and just nodded. He wasn’t practised at listening to two conversations simultaneously — if you could call Jess’s ‘let’s talk about me’ monologue a conversation — but Schaefer and les femmes were doing their damnedest to suck Karl into their comfort zone. He just hoped Karl could see that as well. They locked eyes, for a second, and Karl winked at him over his glass.
The main course signalled a change in the proceedings, with Schaefer taking centre stage and praising Jess’s gift. “You’re a special little lady and we’re lucky to have you.”
Clarity and Deborah formed an applause section, with Karl joining in off the back of them. And though Schaefer and Karl were still doing some kind of ‘men of the world’ routine, with Deborah flirting with both of them, Clarity seemed to have slipped through the gaps. She smiled softly and Thomas studied her face, trying to reason out what she was doing with these people.
Jess had moved on to outlining her holiday plans, once she was States-side. Schaefer had fed her a complete travelogue, everything from New England in the fall to Christmas in Oregon and all points in between. In essence, he’d sold a tourist’s fairy tale to a fantasist, which had a certain justice to it.
Thomas took to whispering with Jess: conspiring, to be more accurate. She loved it, of course, pulling him in close so that her hot breath landed on his face. And that perfume, if he wasn’t mistaken, was the same floating scent that had haunted the accident scene like a wraith — probably something else she’d taken from Amy.
“I really thought Cecil would be here tonight — I know he wanted to be,” he tried his luck at the wishing well.
Jess leaned in again. “Mr Schaefer thought it was best if he stayed away, in case it upset him. What with Amy and I being so close, and this being my last day and everything.” There was a slight twang to her voice, faux American, as if she were already morphing into her new identity.
He let it pass. “So you’re flying tomorrow?” It never hurt to check the facts.
“Of course, silly,” she squeezed his arm, feeling his bicep. “And you’re coming to see me off at the airport.”
“I am?” No one had mentioned seeing her off the premises.
She seemed flummoxed for a moment, as if the house of cards was wobbling. She drew her hands back. “Anyway,” she smarted, “it’s all arranged, so you have to be there.”
Right that minute, he could have taken out the Makarov and shot Schaefer with a clear conscience. Jess might be deluded — and there was little doubt of that on tonight’s performance — but Schaefer was vermin.
Jess made another play for his arm. “You will be there?” she pouted.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he patted her hand, aware that Clarity was taking an interest in them now. “About your memory trick . . .”
Jess cut in straightaway. “It’s not a trick,” she bustled, affronted. “It’s a gift.”
“Sorry, my mistake.” He poured more wine for her. “I think it’s fascinating. I mean, how long can you retain things for? I bet you have trouble keeping it all in.”
She beamed. “It’s all quite logical, really. Anyone can learn it to an extent, but I’m a natural.” Again, that last word was mangled into a mid-Atlantic drawl — genuine shudder fodder. “I store a picture in my head and revisit it periodically. The key is to frame the image in detail and keep it fresh. I write it out from scratch a few days later and compare it with the original — I’ve never achieved less than one hundred per cent.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t struggle to recall some things, a little bit?” he tapped the words out on her hand.
“I would not!” she grinned, sloshing wine on the tablecloth as she flattened out a napkin. “I’ll prove it to you.”
He laughed, just happening to have a pen to hand, and leaned across to block other people’s view. Her eyes looked up, to the left, at some faraway place. Then she started to write with remarkable speed, small neat columns of data, adding the row and column headings afterwards. It didn’t take long.
“There,” she said breathlessly.
Then, as he stared at her, open mouthed, she moved in and kissed him. As her tongue explored his mouth, he sat as rigid as a virgin on her wedding night, one hand clawing at the napkin to drag it under the table.
Schaefer banged on the table. “Hey, Tommy, there’s people here, okay?”
Jess disengaged. He didn’t have to fake the embarrassment; it was there in spades as he suffered the scathing laughter from the other end of the table. Clarity wasn’t laughing though; she stared intensely, as if she were taking everything in — the seen and
the unseen.
“You do like me, don’t you, Tommy?” Jess pressed against him and he shifted round to make sure the gun stayed on his blind side.
“I’d like you even more if you could remember all those figures; it would really help me in my job.”
“Well, alright,” she whispered huskily, “if you promise to wave me goodbye at Heathrow.” She nodded as if she’d just agreed something with herself. “I’m going to contact Amy’s family once I get my new apartment. I think they’ll be glad to know that Amy had a good friend over here.”
He held his hands still, fighting the urge to slap her.
“And maybe, when they’ve got to know me, they’ll invite me to stay with them for a while.”
Oh Jesus. She really was up there in her ivory tower, unable to make sense of the world below.
“I need the gents,” he declared, like a plea bargain, and stood up.
“I’ll join yer, Tommo.” Karl looked over. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”
They giggled on cue. Schaefer remained with his harem.
“When do we get to leave?” Thomas headed straight for the stalls.
Karl broke wind, muttered something about ‘better out than in’, and unzipped at the urinal. “It won’t be much longer. Dessert, coffee — forty-five minutes, max,” he spoke over his shoulder.
“I feel like a bloody escort service.” Thomas finished up and yanked the chain.
“You looked like an escort!” Karl joined him at the sinks. “Now, let’s get back in there and be on our way.”
* * *
Jess had insisted he walk her up to her room and everyone else had colluded. It felt like Karl was pimping him out.
She took his arm as they left the restaurant, allowing him to steer her to her hotel. She was past tipsy, but not bladdered. The delicate state where Miranda would normally be unguarded and adventurous — not something he wanted to think about while in Jess’s company.
“Would you like to pop in for a nightcap?” If she was aiming for seduction, she’d overshot the target by about a mile.
“I’d better not. I still have things to do before tomorrow.”
She threw her arms around him again and made a clumsy lip lunge. This time he was ready and turned his cheek. “Good night then.”
Downstairs, the Engamel team were waiting along with Karl. Schaefer checked his watch as Thomas arrived. “Well, Tommy, you’re either a fast worker or you struck out.” More laughter.
Karl kicked off a round of goodbyes and then the two of them made their escape. When Thomas turned to make a final farewell, he noticed Clarity’s guarded wave. At this rate he’d be needing a minibus for the fan club.
“How’d you get on?” Thomas clung to the door handle of the taxi as it performed centrifugal-force experiments on Shaftesbury Avenue.
Karl leaned forward and checked that the secrecy button was on. “Schaefer’s got Major Eldridge in his sights as the fall guy. And without all the missing data, it doesn’t look good for him.”
“I don’t get it though — the major’s not part of Engamel or the research, is he?”
“Whatever the official line is, take it from me, he’s involved.”
Thomas shook his head to try and clear it. “Hold on, then, so is Eldridge friend or foe?”
“Nah.” Karl replied. “It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. But I happen to know that the major wants the data, to prove that the Scavenger wasn’t ready for the advanced tests.”
“Ergo: Schaefer is in some way responsible for Amy’s death.” That should have been a conversation killer, but Thomas’s inquiring mind was still inquiring. “What stopped the major attending tonight?” He watched Karl closely.
“Nothing. Schaefer had incriminating evidence sent to Major Eldridge’s home — to his wife in fact. Only it was intercepted and I warned the major.”
* * *
The taxi dropped Karl off at King’s Cross, nowhere near his flat in Kilburn. Thomas understood the combination of privacy and paranoia to the point where he didn’t even feel the need to comment.
“Are we still tubing it to Heathrow tomorrow?” Thomas asked as Karl was out the door.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world — give me a call on the mobile when you surface.” And then suddenly Karl was away, scurrying down the stairs like a commuter on speed.
“Where to next, guvnor?”
He cringed inwardly and muttered, “Walthamstow Central tube station.” Sod it — Schaefer was paying. Late-night London was ablaze with neon and awash with the sort of people you’d avoid by daylight. They all whirled by in brief snatches of tragedy and comedy. Scenes that lured a photographer out of a warm bed. Note to self — charge up his phone for the morning . . . phone; that reminded him. He still had Karl’s mobile from the base and he hadn’t checked the major’s two landlines for a day. A little unpaid overtime when he got home, then.
The walk from Walthamstow Central always set his senses on overdrive, but stupid to get another cab from there for a few minutes’ walk. He bunged the cabbie a fiver tip, promising himself to get half of it out of Karl in the morning, and pulled his jacket in. The Makarov was eager for action and an amusing scenario played out in his head; some fuckwit mugger would step out of nowhere and make a very bad decision indeed. It amused him because he wasn’t into all that macho toss at all; he’d done a little boxing at school — out of some crazy idea that he’d take his dad on — but Walthamstow didn’t need a vigilante. At least, not this one.
Past the burger bar, sidestepping the alcopops gang and on beyond the old cinema. Now the street lighting became more sparse and the side roads scattered off the main road like lures for the unworldly traveller. He gripped the Makarov, stroking his thumb along the hatching on the handle until he found the embossed star. Now he was the sheriff again, and the sheriff always wins, right?
Left, down Greenleaf Road, crossing over to face any oncoming traffic, his mind acutely aware of everything around him. Out to the middle of the road, where the gardens looked overgrown, walking at a steady pace and checking side to side. He could have jogged home in half the time but that sent out all the wrong signals.
Along the street and up the five steps. Then pause and check behind, before opening the door. It still didn’t feel like his door, not when he knew that Karl had replaced it a few months back when some scumbag smashed it in. The last time Karl had spoken of it, the guy responsible was still employed in some government department, still looking over his shoulder for Karl. Justice of a sort.
* * *
It wasn’t the beer that had made his head spin — Thomas had managed to keep his consumption to a minimum. No, it was Karl’s comments about Major Eldridge — all coagulating together into a misshapen mess.
Yet there was still one mystery: who had taken the Land Rover? Logically, the major, but he would have soon discovered that the Scavenger parts had been removed. So why remove the vehicle and why hadn’t he mentioned it? Something else to add to his notes.
He plugged in a charger to Karl’s mobile, using a universal socket thing, and sat down in the kitchen to await the kettle. The room needed redecorating, same old paint job since he’d split with Miranda; same old four walls. Why did he stay in that flat? He didn’t know his neighbours, didn’t socialise there, and couldn’t even guess at the local shopkeeper’s name. Well, maybe the owner of the takeaway, at a push. Half a life, Miranda had called it — the worse half, because she reckoned he mostly lived through his work.
And what was his work these days? He grabbed the kettle and made the tea, blowing the cup to breathe in the steam. Maybe Miranda was right, not that he’d tell her. Tonight, punch-drunk by half-truths, lies and counter intelligence, he felt crowded out of his own existence. He took his tea to the front room, but his conclusions followed him. Keen for a diversion, he plonked the mug on a coaster and sent an off-the-cuff text to Ajit: Are you losing all the weight that Geena’s gaining? Added the obligatory smiley face
and fired it off. Probably a good idea to check Karl’s magic mobile as well, just to make sure the market bought adapter wasn’t in danger of overheating.
As he crossed the room, he felt a sense of disquiet. No reason for it, but something nagged at the back of his brain — a piece of logic that eluded him. He turned Karl’s throwaway phone on. There was a recent text from Major Eldridge: Thanks Karl. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. My offer still stands. And one voice message. Probably more of the same and, given the text, he was anxious to find out what the offer was. What could the major give to Karl? And then it hit him, the one thing Karl didn’t have — a door back into the army. Shit. He dialled in and sat down uncomfortably for the message.
“It’s Jess,” the voice was insistent. “I’ve been thinking about you, Tommy. I need to speak to you on your own, before I go away tomorrow — it’s really important. I feel awful not telling you before, but I was afraid it would change things.” She left her hotel room number, in case he’d forgotten.
He finished his tea first — it wasn’t as if Jess was going anywhere tonight. And he rang Miranda first, a quick five-minute chat, just to see how she was and whether she was missing him. Adolescent stuff. An itch that needed to be scratched, every once in a while.
“It’s not even eleven yet — did your dinner party fizzle out?”
“Yeah, we ran out of blondes.” Especially the feisty kind.
“Terry called me today — wanted to know how long you planned to keep your stuff at you-know-where . . .”
He laughed, then she did as well. A good point though. Why hadn’t Karl taken the Scavenger parts away? “Dunno, I’ll speak to you-know-who tomorrow.”
“You’re such an arse.”
“I know. G’night, babe.” It was like a hug in a call — the sexy kind.
And now for the human chameleon. He was put through by the hotel switchboard. Jess picked up and he heard the TV fade to the background. They swapped pleasantries, agreed that the restaurant meal was great and then he steered the conversation back to the point.
“Well,” Jess needed a run-up. “Don’t be mad at me; I should have told you something before. Only Mr Schaefer was rude about me when you and Mr McNeill were in the bathroom. He called me a photocopier.”
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