We didn’t return to our barracks straight after the fire incident.
Instead, we were sent to an army base in Wiltshire for a hostage rescue exercise. None of us could see why. If anyone was being held captive in an embassy it wouldn’t be our job to get them out. Blowing holes in walls and smashing through windows isn’t up to us. But that kind of speculation is pointless. In the navy, you go where you’re told. And besides, it sounded fun.
The briefing for the first exercise was pretty basic. They told us eight terrorists were holding two hostages in an abandoned vicarage. As far as they knew, the terrorists were dispersed throughout the premises and the hostages were in a windowless room on the second floor. I was allocated to the first rescue team. There was me, another navy guy, and four special ops soldiers who weren’t too keen on working with us.
The navy guy and I created a diversion, pretending to attack through the basement. The soldiers went through four separate ground-floor windows, entering simultaneously and tearing through the building like wildfire. We came in after them and helped with the sweep. Between us we found the terrorists-only six, it turned out-and neutralized them easily enough with orange paintballs. The hostages were harder to track down. They’d been moved to a tiny cupboard in the attic. One was injured. She was barely conscious, and bleeding badly. Her companion was in a blind panic, convinced she was going to die. The soldiers slapped on a battlefield dressing and started to haul them out. Only by the time we reached the front door, all of us were covered in sweet-smelling red jelly. Because the hostages were already dead. The women were the seventh and eighth terrorists. And no one had found the remote detonator in the casualty’s shoe.
We didn’t have to take part in any more hostage exercises after that. In fact, there weren’t any. The whole thing had been staged. The soldiers had been in on it from the start. And the point wasn’t to teach us how to storm a building. It was to hammer home something entirely different. To take nothing and no one at face value.
Or, as I’ve found over the years, it’s usually the person you’re least expecting who causes the most trouble.
It was a ten-minute cab ride back to the FBI building so I made sure to use the time carefully. First I called for someone to come over and scoop up Taylor and his boys. Then I settled back to think. If I could make sure every angle was covered, there was a chance I could get Varley to sign me off the job after the 12:00 P.M. conference. That way I could take the rest of the afternoon for myself, have dinner with Tanya, and be back in London by suppertime tomorrow. Or suppertime the next day, if things went really well. Only I’d been as far as JFK already, yesterday morning. I didn’t want anyone pulling the rug out again today.
I was expecting some heavy flak after visiting Taylor on my own, and I could see I was right about Varley’s reaction before the meeting even started. He crashed through the boardroom doors, stomped over to his place, and sat there glowering at me until Tanya arrived. He let me talk first, but I guess that news of the arrests had reached him through the grapevine because he interrupted, sniped, and criticized at every turn as I brought the others up to date. Weston and Lavine weren’t much more constructive. But as the briefing wore on they began to see the possibilities. Bringing down organ smugglers is hard to beat for headline potential. Especially when the operation spans five cities. Coordinating something like that is a dream for career development. A task force would be needed. Leading roles would be up for grabs. Practical details started to dominate the discussion. And no actions were coming my way. There was no mention of James Mansell, so no need for a British presence in general. They had Taylor in custody, so no need for me in particular. Things were looking good.
Until I realized I was looking in the wrong direction. If anyone was going to trip me up, it wouldn’t be the FBI. It would be Tanya.
“I don’t agree,” she said, out of the blue. “What you’re proposing, it’ll take too long. It’s turning into a circus. We should hit the New York clinic now. This afternoon. There’s no time to delay.”
“We can’t do that,” Varley said. “We need confirmation that no other agencies are already into this. They could have people in there, undercover. Then we need surveillance. As of now, we have no idea what we’d be walking into. Or whether the big fish are even there. And we need foolproof cooperation from the other cities. It’s no good taking one crew down and letting four more walk away.”
“And something else,” Weston said. “The other end. Iraq. We need someone to sweep that mess up.”
“What a jurisdictional nightmare that’ll be,” Lavine said.
“I’m not a fool,” Tanya said. “I understand the big picture. But while you’re worrying about ‘what if this’ and ‘what if that’ the people we really want will be long gone. David proved that. Look how Taylor reacted.”
“We don’t know who’s involved,” Varley said. “We don’t know how many there are. We don’t have names or faces. And you’ve picked out targets?”
“Yes,” Tanya said. “The people who ordered the five murders. They’re the ones that count. Lives are worth more than money, however much we’re talking about.”
“Agreed,” Varley said. “And we’re going to take them. Because I know what you’re thinking. They’re to blame for your friend’s death. Well, the way I see it, they’re to blame for Mike Raab’s death, as well. Lesley’s guy pulled the trigger, but Mike’s path only crossed because Tungsten was dropping bodies everywhere. These guys, they’re top of the list. We’ll get them. Have faith.”
“Those are just words,” Tanya said. “I want action. We’re not going to get anyone, sitting here. I want us to do something, now.”
She was starting to sound alarmingly like me.
“OK,” Varley said. “What?”
“We know they’re at the clinic,” Tanya said. “A few streets away. Taylor told David. So we find another reason. Tax evasion. Operating without a medical license. Immigration issues. Anything. Then throw a net over the others later, when you’re ready.”
“No,” Varley said. “And don’t obsess over later. We’re not talking days. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll get onto INS. Kyle will get the tech crews rolling. I’ll liaise with the other cities, personally. I’ll talk to the overseas guys, as well. Then, when we know the who and the where, we’ll move. It’ll be tomorrow morning, at the latest.”
“What if Taylor warns them before tomorrow?” Tanya said.
“We’ll up the watch on the airports,” Lavine said. “All flights in and out of that region.”
“And Taylor can’t warn anyone,” Varley said. “He’s in jail. They’re holding him in solitary.”
“What if he already did?” Tanya said. “David left him alone in the apartment. He could have phoned before you picked him up.”
“The phone was broken,” I said.
“How do you know?” Tanya said. “Did you check?”
“No. I broke it,” I said.
“What about their cell phones?” Tanya said.
“They lost their cell phones,” I said.
“All three of them?” Tanya said. “Doesn’t seem likely.”
I reached into my pocket and laid the three phones on the table.
“What if his disappearance spooks them?” Tanya said.
“Tanya, I know you’re frustrated,” I said. “And no one cuts more corners than me. But this is not the time. The organ smuggling, the hit on Simon, finding Mansell, they’re part of the same thing. We’ve led the horse to water. Now leave it. It’s up to these guys to make it drink.”
Varley took Weston and Lavine downstairs to hit the phones, leaving me to keep an eye on Tanya. He didn’t trust her to stay away from the clinic until we reconvened at 5:00 P.M. The conversation left me wrong-footed. One minute he was shooting me daggers, the next swearing me in like I was his deputy. All I needed was a tin badge. It was a strange role to give me. And not one I was interested in playing.
I went across to the window and watched the city drift by for a couple of minutes. Looking down through the glass made the streets seem remote, like a museum exhibit. Which reminded me of something. I turned and headed for the door. Tanya came with me. She stayed close all the way down in the elevator and through the garage, but she didn’t open her mouth until we’d climbed the ramp and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“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.”