The Virtuosic Spy 01 - Deceptive Cadence (25 page)

“Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Danny-boy?” Sedgwick growled into his ear. “You’re not the only one who can pull a fast one.”

“Sure,” Conor shot back. “But when I take a crack at you, it doesn’t come out of my wallet.”

“Shut-up, smartass. You just make me want to draw this out a little longer and enjoy it more.”

With a sudden twist, Sedgwick turned and threw him against the wall again. There was very little light in the alley, but as he went down, Conor saw Thomas at the top of it, straining to escape from two muscular men. He recognized them as the
taporis
that had administered the savage beating in the Sewri godown two months earlier.

“Sedgwick!” Thomas shouted. “What the hell are you doing? He’s sick.”

“Oh, I know he’s sick,” Sedgwick snarled. “Believe me, that word is getting around. But he’s not half as sick as I’d like him to be.”

Conor climbed to his feet again, and with a desperate intake of breath, launched himself at the shadowy, blond figure. He was knocked down again by a precisely aimed shot to the ribs. He fell down onto his back, chest heaving.

“Leave him alone!” Thomas roared.

“I will,” Sedgwick purred. “As soon as he stops getting up. Are you finished getting up, McBride?”

He was too winded to speak, but as he saw Sedgwick’s hand move in the darkness he rolled away and snatched the Walther from its holster. A second later, he and the American agent had guns trained on each other in a stalemate. Sedgwick’s eyes widened with surprise. He was silent for several seconds, glaring at Conor impatiently.

“Damn, you are such a pain in the ass,” he said. Without turning his head, he called up to the
taporis
. “
Arrey
, let him go. Let the
gora
come down here. Stay there and make sure no one else does.”

The two men released Thomas and stepped back as he raced toward Conor.

“Nice and easy, Tom,” Sedgwick warned, as Thomas, seeing the standoff, pulled up with a startled grunt. “Let’s all slow down and stay calm. Could you see from up there that Conor was pointing a gun at me?”

“No, it’s too dark,” Thomas said, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

“Good,” Sedgwick said. “Finally, I get a break. Put the gun down like a good boy, McBride. Tom, tell him to put the goddamn gun down.”

Thomas looked at Conor in amazement. “I thought you left it under the pillow. What’s going on, here?”

“Oh, quite a lot, really,” Sedgwick remarked, sarcastically. “Haven’t shared the news of your recent escapades with your big brother,
Con
? Can’t imagine why not.”

Conor said nothing. He was still breathing hard and struggling to hold the gun steady. He couldn’t yet manage talking as well.

“The crux of it,” Sedgwick continued, “is that Ahmed Khalil sent me to kill you, and the
taporis
are here to make sure I do. If I don’t, they have instructions to do it themselves and take me out in the process. Now, I’ve got a number of pretty good reasons to ice you, McBride, but oddly enough, I don’t feel inclined to do it. So here’s the plan. While the Khalil boys stand guard up there, I’m going to march you down to the car, throw open the rear hatch, fire a few rounds in your general direction, and then pack you into the back and drive you away.”

With a snort, Conor managed to find his voice. “You’re an awful feckin’ eejit, if you think I’m believing that.”

Sedgwick gave a low, ironic laugh, shaking his head. “I was afraid of that. This was going to be very straightforward until you pulled the gun out, but now we’re stuck role-playing a Fort Monckton case study. You’ve got to decide if I’m telling the truth, or if I’m going to plug you as soon as you drop your arm. It’s a tough call. I am pretty pissed at you, and you know why. Not a whole lot of trust between the two of us right now.” He glanced at Thomas. “This is how it’s been with me and your brother, for the most part. We end in a draw.”

“Bullshit,” Conor said. “I’ve kicked your ass more than once.”

He could easily believe that Sedgwick was compromised for his indirect responsibility in letting a thief loose—a foreign one, no less—within a prestigious Indian mafia organization. Not only had Ahmed Khalil lost money, he had been made to look like a fool, which was worse. That part of the story was plausible, but he was far from convinced that the ridiculous scenario just outlined represented Sedgwick’s true intention.

“Looks like we’re going to need your help, Tom,” Sedgwick said, grimly. “He isn’t going to trust me, but I’m sort of hoping you will. This is the only way it’s going to work. I’m trying to save the bastard’s life as well as my own.”

Thomas had been standing off to the side, watching them in dazed confusion. Now, he rubbed a hand fretfully over his head and turned a questioning look at Sedgwick. “I don’t understand any of this. What’s Conor got to do with Ahmed Khalil, and why would Khalil want him—”

“There isn’t time,” Sedgwick said gently but with a note of urgency. “Please, help me out here before it’s too late.”

Thomas sighed, and to Conor’s horror, turned toward him with a look of firm purpose. “Put away the gun, Conor. I’ve known him a long time, and I believe what he’s telling you. If I didn’t, would I put you in danger? I don’t know what the hell is going on but if he says this is the way we’ve got to do it—”

“You don’t know what’s going on, and that’s the point,” Conor hissed. “You don’t know what I’ve done. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known him, you don’t know what you’re getting into with this. He’s got good reasons for wanting me dead or at least missing. We don’t need to make it easier for him.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Thomas argued. “It’s three against two, and I’ve got no weapon. Those two at the end of the lane would finish off at least one of us.”

“Not necessarily,” Conor said, and added with some reluctance, “I’m a pretty good shot, Thomas. We might be able to—ah, shit.”

His brother had moved in front of Sedgwick, effectively shielding him. He walked up to Conor and squatted down, hand outstretched. “Trust me, then, if nobody else. I know I’ve not spent ten weeks in a training camp learning to read faces and pick the liar out of a crowd, but we’ve got our own special instincts as well, you and me. Give it to me, will you now? I don’t want to see you killing anybody.”

“Instincts can be wrong, even if they’re special,” Conor said, but he saw further argument was useless. He lowered the gun, and with practiced efficiency engaged the safety and tucked it back under his shoulder.

Thomas dropped his hand, his brow creasing sadly. “
Deartháirín ó mo chroí
. I can remember when it was the fiddle you had to have with you everywhere. Did you bring it over here with you?”

Conor looked quickly away. The line of Irish was from a sentimental song their father had often played—“little brother of my heart.” It had a gentler sound now than in the days when Thomas had teased him with it.

“No,” he said, curtly. “I haven’t had the fiddle with me for a long while.”

“Ah, well.” Thomas sighed, and, standing upright, pulled Conor to his feet.

“Progress. This is good,” Sedgwick remarked. “Next item. Do you know the Candlelight Bistro on the Causeway down near the Sassoon Docks?”

Sedgwick directed the question to Thomas, who nodded. “Excellent. I’m going to fire a shot in the air, and you’re going to take off up the alley. It’ll be fine. They don’t even know who you are. I’ll pick you up in front of that restaurant in about an hour.”

He stepped back and pulled the trigger. “Now, get the hell out of here,” he shouted and then called out to Khalil’s
taporis
. “Let him go. We don’t need him, and Mustafa, I told you to wait in your goddamned car.”

As Thomas ran back up the alley, Sedgwick directed a cold, angry stare at Conor. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What were you thinking? Did you have any idea what kind of position you would put me in with your idiotic heroics?”

“I didn’t,” Conor admitted. “I’m sorry. It seems obvious now, I suppose. It never occurred to me Khalil would hold you responsible. Is Raj all right?”

“Oh, sure, Raj is fine,” Sedgwick snapped. “He was robbed at gunpoint and knocked unconscious and had to spend a few hours wondering if he’d be decapitated, but he’s great. Raj was smart. He reported you as soon as he woke up. Some of us have been looser with the rules. A little more soft-hearted, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. I’m sorry,” Conor repeated.
 

“Yeah, sorry, sorry,” Sedgwick mimicked. He grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, planting the gun at his back. “Let’s go.”

At the end of the alley, he lifted the hatch of the SUV, revealing a large, bloodstained bundle lying across the back.

“What the hell is that?” Conor looked at the bundle distastefully.

“Your dead body,” Sedgwick said, with relish. “Trussed and ready for its disposal next to the Sassoon Dock. This evening, the part will be played by the fresh carcass of a young water buffalo.”

“This is really the plan?”

“Yeah, this is the plan. You still thought I was going to kill you, McBride?”

“I’ve got to be honest, I thought you might try,” Conor admitted. “Or at least go on beating the crap out of me.”

“It’s tempting.” Sedgwick smirked in sour amusement. “Now, get against the wall there. Once you’re down, I’ll heave you into the back. I’ll dick around for a while with the door open, looking like I’m wrapping you up. There’s a tarp on the floor of the back seat. By the time I shut the back, you need to have scrambled forward and moved under it. Are we clear?”

“Clear.” Conor peered into the rear of the SUV and then walked over to the wall. “What do you want me to do?”

“Fall down when I shoot you.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Conor said patiently. “Any particular direction? Slumped against the wall? On my back, stomach?”

“Oh.” Sedgwick chewed his lip. “On your back; easier to pick you up from that angle. I guess. Hell, I don’t know. I’ve never tried this before.”

“Hmm. That’s a comfort.”

Conor watched with an odd, watery feeling in his stomach as the agent chambered a round, took aim, and then hesitated. “I’m going to spray the wall to the right of you. Don’t fidget or jerk around, for God’s sake.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.” Sedgwick raised the gun again.
 

“Wait a minute. My right or your right?”

“What difference does it make? Don’t fidget in either direction.”

“Right.”

In the next instant, the area next to his right ear and shoulder exploded in a fusillade of bullets. He closed his eyes as fragments of concrete flew out from the wall, and then, sinking to his knees, flopped onto his back and lay motionless.

“Conor. Jesus, are you all right?”

He opened his eyes to see Sedgwick crouched over him, rigid with alarm. Conor gave a slow, solemn wink, and the agent’s face relaxed.

“That was—damn, that was pretty convincing. You really looked like something hit you.”

“Something did. I think a few bits of concrete went into my arm.”

Sedgwick leaned in for a closer look. “Yeah, you’re right. You’ll have to dig those out later.”

After being unceremoniously dumped next to the bloody bundle in the rear, Conor fumbled his way for ward as instructed until he was arranged awkwardly on the floor of the vehicle, under a tarp. A few minutes later, Sedgwick slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. They rolled up the alley and then came to a stop, and he heard the window slide down. Sedgwick spoke gruffly to Khalil’s men. “We’re done here. Follow me to the docks.”

The car began moving again, and although it would have been safe to talk, they rode to the southern end of the city in a tense, unbroken silence.

The Sassoon Dock was the site of Mumbai’s largest fish market. It looked onto a large harbor on the city’s bay side, where fishing boats arrived daily to unload a variety of sea creatures that moved from baskets to handcarts to trucks, eventually making their way to plates in every corner of the city. At first light, the market would be busy, and by early morning, jammed. At this time of night, the area would be marginally quieter, with most of the activity centered on the main jetty, where boats would be arriving throughout the night and jostling for mooring space.

The docks were located at the southernmost end of Mumbai, in the Colaba district, and although he could see nothing, Conor could tell by the smell when they had arrived. The SUV shuddered over the rutted roads of the harbor area for what seemed like miles before finally coming to a stop.

“Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes,” Sedgwick said over his shoulder as he exited. A moment later, the rear hatch was lifted again.

He listened to the grunts of effort as Khalil’s men lifted out the stiffening “body” and then heard their swearing fade into background sounds of lapping water and a clamor of fishing vessels. It might have been only a few minutes, but to Conor, perspiring heavily under the suffocating tarp, it felt like hours before he heard an engine revving and then speeding past. Shortly after, Sedgwick jumped back into the car, chortling.

“Stupid bastards—thank God for that. It worked like a charm, at least for now. I got them to stuff it under a pile of fish guts, and they’re practically puking from the stench. Not anxious to hang around and chat.”

“Glad to hear it,” Conor said, shifting uncomfortably. “Can I get up now? I could use a bit of fresh air myself.”

24

B
Y
THE
TIME
THEY
ARRIVED
TO
COLLECT
T
HOMAS
OUTSIDE
THE
Candlelight Bistro on the Colaba Causeway, he’d had ample opportunity to work up a towering rage. Barely waiting for the car to stop, he threw himself onto the front seat and shut the door with a violent slam.

“What the hell have you been up to? ” he demanded, accosting Sedgwick with a vicious scowl.

Conor saw the agent’s head pivot sharply toward his brother. At first, he appeared ready to meet the challenge with equal hostility but then took a deep breath and turned his eyes back to the road. Putting the car in gear, he transferred his aggression to the clutch, and the SUV lurched into traffic, heading north.