Even (22 page)

“The reception committee from my hotel?” I said. “They decided not to hang around.”

“Why? I told them to wait.”

“I guess they heard about Cyril. Thought you might be planning another demonstration.”

“The fools. There’ll be no more demonstrations. Tonight it’s your turn. I was going to let them watch.”

“Really? Maybe we should postpone, then. Wait till you’ve got a big enough audience?”

“No. It’s happening tonight. But don’t worry. People will still see it. George is going to tape the whole thing. Maybe I’ll have him put it on the Internet. Then everyone can enjoy it, all over the world.”

I heard a shuffling sound from outside and then George stumbled into the room. He was moving backward, helping the tall guy from Lesley’s house to carry a bright yellow hand truck. They set it down inside the doorway and the tall guy wheeled it toward the remains of the mattress. There were two things on it. A vehicle battery—heavy duty, probably from a truck or an SUV—and a polished mahogany box. It was ten inches wide, eight deep, and eight tall. On the front there was a rotating switch and a round, brass-edged dial. Two long thick
cables snaked out from the side and lay in a coil on top of the box. One was attached to a large crocodile clip. The other was fixed to a wooden handle, twelve inches long, with a pointed bronze tip.

The two men wouldn’t catch my eye but Lesley moved over until she was almost close enough to touch me. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out the bolt-cutter device she’d brandished in front of Cyril, and started into her routine of opening and closing its jaws.

“Remember my burdizzo?” she said. “What it does?”

“I remember,” I said. “But it’s only fair to warn you. There’s no way on earth I’m going to let you use that thing on me.”

“David, don’t worry. I have no intention of using it on you. There’s no need. Because you’re going to use it on yourself.”

“On myself? I don’t think so. On the scale of unlikely things that’s pretty much off the chart.”

“I understand, David. Most people in your position think that way, to start with. But their views always change. Yours will, too.”

“You think?”

“I know. See my wooden box? Can you guess what it’s for?”

“Making coffee? That would be useful, about now.”

“It’s for changing people’s minds.”

“It won’t change mine.”

“You know what I might do, that would be funny? Get you to go on tape right now, swearing you’ll never use the burdizzo on yourself. Then, in a few minutes, when you’re begging me to hand it you, that’ll make an amusing contrast, don’t you think? Before and after?”

“Doesn’t strike me as funny. But why not bring your box over here and we’ll find out?”

“Oh, no. It doesn’t come to you. You go to it. First I’m going to cut off all your clothes. Slowly, one by one. Then John and George are going to strap you to the mattress. Naked, obviously. That’s when I fire up the box. The clip goes—well, you can imagine where. The probe goes wherever I choose. And you go to hell on earth.”

“Are you sure? Because I hate it when people overpromise and underdeliver.”

“See the switch? That controls the power. It’s set to minimum, right now. Sixteen thousand volts. That’s where we’ll start.”

“And?”

“It goes right up to thirty-two thousand.”

“Is that a lot? I never paid much attention in science class.”

“It’s more than a lot. I can’t wait to show you. But you know the best thing? The current. One-thousandth of an amp.”

“Means nothing to me. Physics was never my strong suit.”

“It means there’s no danger of accidentally killing you. We can keep going for hours. All night. As long as I want.”

“I see. That must be the benefit of understanding all these little details. The control it gives you. Is it important, would you say? Knowing all the relevant facts?”

Lesley slipped the burdizzo back into her coat pocket and swapped it for a pair of dressmaker’s scissors.

“Because I think there’s one fact you don’t know,” I said. “One that’s more important than everything else you’ve told me.”

“So come on,” she said, stepping in close and pulling my shirt tight, ready to cut. “Share.”

“I could,” I said. “But I have a better idea. Remember at your other place, with Cyril? How you thought showing was better than telling? That idea stayed with me.”

I dropped the chains and grabbed her right hand tight, crushing her fingers into the scissors so she couldn’t stab me or release them. Then without letting go I spun her around, whipping my elbow over her head and forcing her arm up until she was pushing the scissor blades into her own throat. At the same time I grabbed the Browning from my waistband and looked across at George and the tall guy. Neither had moved.

“On the floor,” I said. “Both of you. Right now.”

George was the first to respond. He went for his inside pocket, trying to draw his old Army Colt. I fired twice. Both bullets hit him in the chest, throwing him backward and leaving a bright crimson smear on the tiles where he slid. The tall guy reacted a moment later, springing
toward me, arms outstretched. I fired again, hitting him in the head and shoulder. I felt Lesley’s body tense and press back harder against mine as he went down. I spun her around and shoved her away from me. She staggered but steadied herself after four steps. Her chin was up, shoulders back, eyes blazing. The scissors were still in her hand. I willed her to use them, but she stayed stock-still. She wasn’t going to give me an easy excuse.

I lifted the gun and lined it up between her eyes. Her lackeys were on the floor, but she was the one who deserved the bullets. There was no doubt where the blame lay. My finger began to squeeze the trigger. A fraction of an ounce more pressure and she would be dispatched, too. I imagined her lying on her back, dead. As Raab had been when I found him. But then I thought back to the scene in the alley, earlier. There was nothing left to mark the spot where he’d fallen. Not even a vague impression in the trash. It was like a fresh tide of garbage had swept in and scoured away every last trace of his death, and wiped the slate clean for Lesley’s successors. If she disappeared, too, there would be nothing to stop them from dumping more helpless victims in similar places, all over the city, wherever they chose. Ten million dollars a year is plenty of incentive to keep the machine running. Unless Lesley was around to help the FBI dismantle it.

I looked at her face across the end of the barrel for another few moments, then lowered the gun. And hoped that this time, Varley would pick up the phone quickly.

There’s only so much temptation a man can take.

In my world you are surrounded by deceit.

You spend most of your working life lying to people. About who you are. Where you’re from. Why you’re with them. What you do. Who you work for. What you believe in. It makes for some interesting conversations. Because you know that for every lie you tell, you’re told a dozen in return. It changes the way you relate to people. You don’t just hear their words. You scan everything they say for contradictions. Check their facts for discrepancies. File minute details away in your head for future confirmation.

You end up convinced that everyone is hiding something from you. Friend, as well as foe.

Which experience shows is not too far from the truth.

Tanya had promised to send a car to drop me at the airport the next morning. That was fine by me—better than having to put my hands on $60 cash for a cab, and the consulate drivers are trained not to annoy their passengers with mindless chatter. The only question was what kind of car it would be. Tradition dictates that you sit in the back, which makes their cramped little X-types a pretty unappealing prospect.

I crossed my fingers, came out of the hotel, and saw that I needn’t
have worried. A long-wheelbase XJ limousine with diplomatic plates was sitting at the side of the road, engine running, waiting for me. It was a little ostentatious with its dark green livery and black privacy glass, but at least it would be comfortable. And I got another surprise when I opened the door. A nice one. Tanya was inside.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Everything worked out in the end. You missed Varley’s reunion with Lesley, though. It was a treat. Very emotional.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the restaurant. Having to break our date.”

“I know. That was a shame. But if you had to work, you had to work. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It catches up with all of us, eventually.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t really working. I just exaggerated a little, when I sent you the text.”

“So what were you doing? It must have been good, to outgun me and a kung pau chicken.”

“Talking to my brother. And a few other people.”

“About what?”

“My friend. Simon. The guy in the photo. Who they found dead, by the railway.”

“The guy you thought was Simon.”

“No. I know it was Simon. I’m sure of it now.”

“How?”

“Because of what Agent Sproule said. The fat guy, at the debrief. About Lesley planting fake IDs on those corpses.”

“She was planting U.S. IDs so she could rip off their Social Security money. The railway guy had Ukrainian papers. How would that work?”

“Not the scam part. The way she used fake IDs to change people’s identities. To throw the authorities off the scent.”

“How do you know the Ukrainian papers were fake?”

“I don’t. Maybe they weren’t. That doesn’t matter. The point is, that was really Simon’s body they found, but the FBI doesn’t believe it.”

“Tanya . . .”

“Just listen. I spoke to my brother. He’s back in Iraq. Simon went with him. And another Brit, called James Mansell. They were working together. Then Simon and James were moved to another team, guarding a hospital.”

“Why?”

“Emergency replacements. The hospital team was originally all Americans, but a couple of them got killed.”

“The hospital was hit?”

“No. It happened on a day off. They strayed out of bounds, got caught up by a mob—quite gruesome apparently. But that’s not the point. Simon and James took their places. They worked at the hospital for maybe two days, then the whole team was pulled out. Called back to the U.S.”

“For what reason?”

“Training, they were told at first. But when they got back to New York, where the firm’s based, they were all fired. The whole team.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t say. Their boss just gave them three months’ money and told them to vacate the building.”

“Seems a bit odd.”

“Doesn’t it just.”

“So what did Simon and James do about it?”

“Simon said they were going up to Canada. With the other squaddies. They were pissed off, but had plenty of money so they didn’t need to find more work yet.”

“Canada?”

“Yeah. A lot of vets end up there, apparently. At least for a while. Canadians seem much more sympathetic. They have support groups, retraining programs, legal help for deserters, that sort of thing.”

“Maybe they’re still up there, getting counseling.”

“No. I spoke to my brother and everyone else I could get hold of. Simon and James were in regular contact with quite a few people. But guess when that stopped?”

“When?”

“The day before the FBI found the alleged Ukrainian. Not a single word from either of them since then.”

“That’s suspicious, Tanya, but not conclusive.”

“And something else. Do you know which U.N. country was controlling the sector Simon was working in?”

“Let me guess. Ukraine?”

“Got it.”

“That’s an interesting coincidence, but it still doesn’t prove anything.”

“Right. So, will you help me?”

“To do what?”

“Prove it’s Simon. Get justice for my friend.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Go up there. Get hard evidence that it’s him.”

I paused for a moment. A trip upstate with Tanya could have possibilities. There was plenty of unfinished business between us, after all. Part of me wanted to say yes. But realistically I knew her idea would never fly. Her friend was history, and anyway, I was needed elsewhere. There would be real work waiting for me. More than enough of it. There always was.

“I can’t, Tanya. I’m on my way home. London is expecting me.”

“I’ll take care of that. Your head wound will buy a few more days.”

“No, Tanya. I’ve got to get back. I can’t go traipsing around the country, chasing a ghost.”

“Why not? You went nuts over someone you thought was a tramp. I helped you, then. So why won’t you help my friend, now?”

“How can I help him? He’s dead. We can’t bring him back to life.”

“No. But if we can identify him, I can bring him home. Like Dog, remember? When he was killed in Morocco?”

“Dog was killed in the line of duty. The navy brought him home.”

“How naïve are you, David? The navy didn’t bring him home. I did. They wanted to leave him in Africa, to save money. You were in the hospital. You didn’t hear about it. You couldn’t have done anything, anyway. So I came down and made them do it.”

“I thought you came to visit me.”

“That, too. But I knew Dog was your friend. I knew you wouldn’t want him left behind. I knew it was the right thing to do. So I stood up, David, whether you knew it or not. And now I’m asking you to stand up. I really need you to do that. Please don’t tell me you’re walking away.”

I was tempted. Very. And this news about Dog tipped the scales even further. But still, I knew I’d be doing it for the wrong reason. If I stayed it would really be to steal another couple of days with her. She didn’t need me on a job like this. If she was serious about resolving it she should be getting the specialists involved. Not someone who’d only be along for the ride.

“I’m not walking away, Tanya. But I’m the wrong person for this kind of work. I’m no use with crime scenes and forensics. The FBI are experts at that stuff. They’re the ones you should be talking to.”

“They won’t listen. I’ve tried.”