by Jason Dean
Taking out his cell phone again, Bishop found the number he’d gotten from Mbassu and pressed the green button. It was the extension for the office right next to the surveillance room. Bishop just let it ring and waited. One minute passed. Two minutes. Three.
Then the phone was picked up. A gruff-sounding voice said, ‘Selam?’
‘Oh, hi there,’ Bishop said. He entered the central hallway and with his head lowered marched quickly towards the stairway. ‘Is that Artie’s Pizza? You still open over there?’
There was a moment’s silence. Then the guard hung up the phone.
But Bishop had already reached the stairway. If the guard was in the office answering the call, he couldn’t very well be watching the security footage too. There’d still be an unidentified figure on tape walking down the hallway, but by the time anybody saw the footage it would be too late.
He descended the stairs and stopped just before he reached the first floor. The security surveillance room was two doors down on the left. He listened for the sound of movement from that direction, or of keys jangling, but heard nothing, and continued on down the stairs until he reached the bottom.
It was like entering a catacomb. No windows meant no light, other than the very faint residue coming from above. Otherwise, the basement was in total darkness.
Bishop had a Maglite, but didn’t want to risk using it and losing his night vision just yet. But he still needed to see what lay ahead of him. He held three fingers over his cell phone’s display screen, aimed it ahead of him and turned it on. The muted light was enough to make out the elevator door almost directly opposite. Exactly the same as above. Bishop stepped out and aimed the display to his left. Same corridor with doors on either side and the T junction at the end, but this time there was no security camera in the ceiling.
He turned the other way and saw the hallway just ended in a concrete wall about fifty feet away. He turned back and began walking towards the junction, his rubber soles silent on the smooth concrete floor. He passed two steel doors on the left and two more on the right. Mbassu had told him there were cells behind some of these doors, but that he had no idea what they were used for. Probably nothing good, though. Hence the lack of cameras down here.
Bishop stopped at the junction. He was facing three wooden doors, same as upstairs. These would be the security officers’ sleeping quarters. Mbassu had said the one in the middle, being the largest, was for the two junior officers. Bishop stepped over to that door and pulled the listening device from his pocket.
The manufacturers claimed it could detect the sound of a pin dropping in the next room. Bishop doubted that, but it still picked up most sounds you could imagine. And some you couldn’t. The unit consisted of a matchbox-sized amplifier, a pair of earbuds, and the wall contact microphone, which resembled the chest piece on a stethoscope. He inserted both earpieces, switched on the unit and gently pressed the contact mic against the middle door.
Nothing. No sounds at all. Bishop found the volume switch on the top of the amplifier and slowly turned it clockwise.
Now he could hear nasal breathing. Steady, deep and regular. Which indicated a non-REM sleep cycle. And there was something else, too. Bishop frowned and kept increasing the volume until it became clearer. It was a gargling sound, as though somebody was breathing through the upper part of the throat. So there were two sleepers in the room. Which meant that voice on the phone must have belonged to Kidanu.
Bishop touched the mic to the door on the left. Nothing. He adjusted the volume to its maximum setting. Still nothing. The room was empty. So Bekele had to be in the rightmost room. He walked over and placed the mic against the last door. From inside, he could hear more nasal breathing. Steady and regular, but not quite as deep as the others.
Bekele. Had to be.
He removed the earbuds and put everything back in his pocket. Without ambient light, the fibre-optic scope was useless. So he’d be going in blind, something he always avoided whenever possible. But he had no choice. The only thing he knew for sure was that as the door was right next to the right-hand wall, Bekele would be somewhere on his left. It wasn’t much, but right now Bishop would take whatever he could get.
He pulled out his Maglite and butterfly knife. He stuck the light between his teeth and silently opened the butterfly knife and gripped it in his left hand. With his right, he reached down until his fingers touched the door handle. He could only hope they kept the hinges regularly oiled or he’d be in real trouble.
Slowly, slowly, Bishop gripped the steel door handle and lowered it. Breathing evenly through his mouth, he began to push the door open, waiting for the sound of a creak. But the hinges made no noise at all. When he felt he had a wide enough gap, he stepped inside and pushed the door back until it was almost closed again.
He pressed his back against the right-hand wall and listened. The rhythm of the man’s breathing hadn’t changed at all. It was still steady and regular. It was also coming from the other end of the room, on Bishop’s right. Possibly in the far corner. If the room matched the one upstairs, it was about fifteen feet by fifteen. At a run, he could cover it in a second. Except he didn’t know what obstacles might lie between him and the bed.
Taking the Maglite from his mouth with his free hand, Bishop took one step forward. Then another. And another. Waiting for his shin to come into contact with something, but there was nothing. Only the sound of the man’s breathing as each step brought Bishop closer.
When he figured he’d covered ten feet, he snapped on the Maglite and the room lit up. The large black man he’d seen in the photos was less than two feet from him. He was wearing boxers and lying on a single bed set against the wall, head turned to the side. He had fast reflexes. His eyes immediately snapped open at the sudden light and he started to bring his right hand up towards the pillow.
Bishop was on him in less than a second. He clamped his right elbow against Bekele’s mouth and with the other hand pressed the knife edge against his throat. The Maglite in his right hand was pointing directly in the man’s face.
‘Make a wrong move,’ he said, ‘or a wrong sound, and it’ll go badly for you. Understand?’
Bekele nodded his head.
‘Good. The gun. Bring it out slowly. By the barrel, and using your left hand.’
Keeping his eyes averted from the harsh light, Bekele slowly reached under the pillow with his left. He pulled out a black Sig Sauer 9mm P250 automatic by the barrel. Bishop took his right elbow away and transferred the Maglite to between his teeth again. With the knife still pressed against Bekele’s neck, Bishop picked up the gun by the handle with his free hand. He could tell from the weight it was fully loaded.
‘What do you want?’ Bekele said.
Bishop slowly took the knife away and started to move back from the bed. Away from Bekele’s reach. Aiming the gun at the man’s chest, Bishop removed the Maglite from his mouth and said, ‘I want some answers. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and you’re going to—’
Bishop stopped mid-sentence. He also stopped moving backwards. Something cold and hard was being pressed against the back of his neck.
Then the same gruff voice from before said, ‘Drop the weapons.’
FORTY-TWO
Bishop hadn’t heard a thing. Not even a rustle of fabric behind him. The man was good. Bishop thought fast. He could throw the Maglite under the bed. Give himself a couple of seconds of confusion in which to move. Except for two things. One, if Bekele’s deputy was skilled enough to creep up on him like that, it was a sure bet he knew exactly what he was thinking right now. He’d pull the trigger at the first twitch.
And two, where could he go?
Kidanu pressed the barrel harder into his neck. ‘I will not ask a second time,’ he said.
Bishop made stars of his hands. The knife, pistol and Maglite clattered to the floor. He watched Bekele reach under the bed and pull out a large flashlight and switch it on.
‘Don’t move,’ the security chief sa
id, aiming the light at Bishop. Bishop stayed perfectly still. The barrel was still against his neck. Bekele came forward, picked both weapons up off the floor and moved back a little. The knife he threw on the bed. The gun he pointed at Bishop. The pressure against Bishop’s neck vanished. A second later he heard a click and the room was bathed in light, courtesy of a frosted glass downlight in the middle of the ceiling.
Bekele switched off the flashlight and said, ‘Search him.’
Bishop felt himself being expertly patted down from head to toe. His pry bar was removed from one pocket, the wall mic unit from another. He heard them hit the floor. Then the fibre-optic scope. Then his keys and phone. Everything.
Once Bishop had been cleaned out, Bekele said, ‘Sit on the floor, legs crossed.’
Bishop did as he was told, looking around the room as he lowered himself. Bekele lived simply. There was the bed, a large chest of drawers, and a work desk set against one wall with a chair underneath. Bishop saw a laptop and some files and box folders on the desk surface. There was also a large stand fan at the foot of the bed. That was it.
He felt a gun barrel press itself against the back of his skull.
‘Patience, Teferi,’ Bekele said, smiling. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, though.
‘You are on Konamban territory,’ Teferi Kidanu said from behind him. His voice was a lot deeper than Bekele’s. ‘You understand it is well within our rights to shoot you right now? Nobody would know. And even if somebody suspected, they could do nothing.’
Keeping his eyes on Bekele, Bishop said, ‘Is that how you usually deal with problems in your country? Shoot first, ask questions later?’
Bekele lost the smile. ‘Do you think we are savages? The major here is simply making a point. That you are no longer on American soil, so do not expect help to come.’
Bishop already knew that. He was paying more attention to the timbre of Bekele’s voice. He heard the same careful enunciation as Mbassu. The accent wasn’t mid-Atlantic, but he could see how somebody might think that on hearing it for the first time. Especially somebody like Yuri Vasilyev, who’d had enough trouble with his adopted home tongue.
‘Who are you?’ Bekele said.
‘How about asking Kidanu here to take the gun from my head first? There’s such a thing as overkill, you know.’
Bekele gestured with a finger. The barrel was removed. ‘Your name,’ he demanded.
‘Bishop, comma, James.’
‘And who do you work for, Mr Bishop?’
‘Nobody. I’m just a private citizen, here on personal business.’
Bekele tilted his head as he looked Bishop over. ‘Personal? To do with me? I don’t think so. I have never seen you before, and I am usually very good with faces.’
‘Even at a distance? Like from across a busy street, for example?’
Bekele’s frown made his face appear even more threatening. ‘What busy street?’
‘Westchester Avenue in the Bronx, New York. Wednesday afternoon.’
‘Three days ago, you mean?’ When Bishop nodded, Bekele said, ‘And what time in the afternoon was I there?’
‘Between four and five.’
‘And what was I doing?’
‘If I’m right, tying up loose ends. A man named Carlos was one of them. Unfortunately, a speeding truck splashed his brains over the sidewalk before I could get to him. I looked around and noticed a man who looked very much like you across the street, taking note of everything and then walking away as calm as you like.’
‘I see.’ Bekele paused, then said, ‘Major, please face our guest.’
Bishop turned to his left as Kidanu stepped into view. He still held the gun in his hand. Another Sig P250, from the looks of it. He was dressed the same as in the photos. A dark suit over a white shirt, open at the collar. He also wore black canvas shoes with the laces tucked in. The eyes looking down at him were much larger than the photos had suggested. And much more intense. Bishop was sure they missed very little.
Bekele said, ‘Please update Mr Bishop here on where I was on Wednesday afternoon, and much of Wednesday evening.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, looking down at Bishop with a barely concealed sneer. ‘At eleven thirty a.m., Colonel Bekele accompanied Ambassador Byakagaba and his wife to the American Vice President’s residence at Number One Observatory Circle for an official diplomatic lunch and reception. For the remainder of the afternoon, the colonel waited inside the residence while the embassy driver waited in the limousine. At four fifteen p.m., the colonel accompanied the ambassador and his wife back. They returned to the embassy at approximately five p.m.’
Bishop turned back to Bekele. The security chief was smiling again. And with good reason. It was the kind of alibi that could be checked easily enough. There must have been witnesses all around. Bekele was probably on the security footage, too. More to the point, why would he even bother to lie? He was the one in control here. Not Bishop.
Which meant unless Bekele had found a way to be in two places at once, he wasn’t the man Bishop was after. A total of two whole days wasted on a bad lead.
Bishop sighed. ‘So what happens now?’
‘Now?’ Bekele raised the gun and pointed it at Bishop’s head. ‘Now, you will explain to me why I shouldn’t kill you this very second.’
FORTY-THREE
Bishop stared into the barrel. ‘Why kill me if you’re not the man I’m after?’
‘One very good reason. The security of this embassy is my responsibility, yet you found a way in somehow. That makes me look very bad. And while I trust Kidanu to keep this incident to himself, I cannot say the same for you. I am thinking it would be more convenient for me to erase you from existence entirely.’
‘So you’re not curious about why I broke in?’
Something that almost resembled a smile ran across Bekele’s lips. ‘There is that, of course. But first you will tell me how.’
Bishop saw no reason to bring up Mbassu’s name. Instead, he said, ‘I had a talk with one of the men who worked on your renovations on the third floor. He mentioned that they were still waiting for the electrician to come in and finish things up. I figured that probably included the sensors on the new windows. Turned out I was right.’ He looked up at Kidanu. ‘Speaking of which, what gave me away? I trip an alarm I didn’t know about?’
Kidanu looked down at him and said nothing.
‘That is an oversight I will rectify first thing in the morning,’ Bekele said, also ignoring the question. ‘Now you will tell me why you came here.’
‘Short version?’ Bishop said. ‘Somebody hired three men to kill my sister on Tuesday night, and to make it look like a mugging gone wrong. I’m working my way up the food chain until I reach the man who gave the order. For a number of reasons, I thought you were a link in that chain, but I wasn’t sure. And since you rarely leave this embassy, I decided the only way I’d ever find out was by paying you a visit and talking to you myself.’
Bekele shook his head. ‘Fascinating. And this sister of yours. What was her name?’
‘Amanda Philmore. Present tense. The men hired for the job screwed it up. She’s still breathing, but only just. She’s in a coma. They also tried again yesterday morning. And failed again.’
The colonel narrowed his eyes at his subordinate. ‘Philmore. That name is familiar to me. Where do I know it from?’
‘The researcher from Artemis,’ Kidanu said. ‘You remember, sir? She came to the embassy a fortnight ago, wanting to look at some files in our library.’
‘Yes, yes. Now I remember,’ Bekele said.
So Arquette had been correct. Amy had come here. But purely for research purposes, or for something more? ‘What files was she interested in?’ Bishop asked.
Bekele ignored him. He sat on the edge of the bed and said, ‘I have many questions, Bishop, but I think it would be easier if you were to give us the long version. We have time.’ He gestured towards his work desk, and Kidanu went over, pulled out the
chair and took a seat. ‘You will begin,’ he said.
Bishop didn’t see many alternatives. He clearly wasn’t going to get anything from these two until he explained his real reasons for coming here. To be honest, he’d be the same in their position. Besides, what did he have to lose by talking, except maybe his life? And he’d long ago come to terms with that inevitability.
So he gave them the long version.
He began with the assault on Amy on Tuesday night, and his tracking down of the three culprits the following day, including his sighting of the man at the scene of Carlos’s death. He told them about Yuri’s ‘confession’, including the description of his immediate employer and how he took something from Amy’s bag before the assault. Something that could only have come from her workplace. He brought up his encounter with an FBI agent who had his own reasons for investigating Artemis, and mentioned the man’s long-term belief that Artemis and its parent company, LCT, were heavily involved in the illicit arms trafficking business. He also spoke of the photos he’d seen of Bekele and Kidanu meeting with Klyce, and how Arquette had traced the diplomatic plates on their car.
His two captors looked at each other meaningfully for a moment.
Bishop continued, theorizing that Amy could have found out somehow and decided to do something about it, and possibly approached an outsider to help. Possibly a reporter at one of the big papers, or at least somebody with a little influence who could take it further with enough proof. But somebody had put a stop to it by silencing Amy and taking the proof. And possibly eliminating the person she was about to meet, too.
‘And you came to believe that that somebody was me?’ Bekele said.
‘“Believe” is maybe too strong a word,’ Bishop said. ‘But you were definitely a suspect as far as I was concerned. Especially after I saw somebody very similar in looks and build to you at that crime scene. You were simply the best lead I had, that’s all.’