'Coincidences like that do happen. Anyway, like I said, Middleton probably did some crowing about what he'd done. He would have been proud of it. Maybe they thought it would be fitting to waste him in the same way.' Nevis hesitated as though struck by a sudden thought. 'Wait a minute. While we're on the subject, what happened to your weird ideas about the state of Guin and Garner's bodies? You thought they'd been dropped off something higher than the apartment, then their bodies moved and planted outside. What happened to that wonderful line of reasoning?'
Leith bit his lip. 'They hit the ground outside the apartment, all right. Wills had the sidewalk slabs examined and it turns out the fracture points were consistent with being impacted by two things the size and shape of bodies. But there was some question about the momentum of the falling objects.'
'What do you mean?'
'Both the bodies and the slabs were shattered,' Leith swallowed, 'perhaps more than would be expected from a drop of only a hundred feet or so.'
'Perhaps?' Nevis replied mildly, sensing weakness.' Can't they work it out accurately? Surely it's a straightforward problem in mechanics?'
'It's not something the forensic people have studied before, ' Leith answered miserably. 'After all its hardly been a problem. If you find a squished-up body it's usually pretty obvious where it's fallen from. The only way they could work it out would be by dropping bodies from various heights onto a series of surfaces. I can't see relatives of the recently deceased letting their loved ones' remains get used like that. Professor Murchison from the Newark labs has had a lot of experience with leapers, but all he'd say was he was surprised at the extent of the damage to the bodies. He said if he hadn't known otherwise, he would have reckoned the damage consistent with the bodies reaching terminal velocity — about 120mph.'
'But he was only surprised. Not flabbergasted, or devastated, or so convinced by the evidence that he supported your crazy idea.'
Leith kept quiet. The acid tendrils of doubt were growing stronger.
Nevis smiled. 'In other words you were talking bull.'
'Ok, maybe on that point. But I’m still sure they were pushed. There's just no reason to suppose they jumped of their own accord.'
'You think.' Nevis made it sound stupid. 'You think. And on the basis of what you think, you want to start a witch-hunt.'
'If we make the assumption all three were murdered then I can't see any other alternative. I can't see why other intelligence services, even Mossad, would go to the trouble of wiping out a cell that was going after American nationals. If the terrorists were killed by their own group, then why did they die in such unusual ways? Bullets would have been so much simpler. Even if by some chance some of the victim’s relatives had tracked them down, which might make some sense out of the style of the executions, then why didn't they toss Middleton out of the window too?' Leith realised he had been rolling and unrolling the end of his tie. He let it go, but the end stuck out a few centimetres. He brushed at it distractedly.
'The killers must have had the kind of resources which were available to me, otherwise how would they have found out about Whitehouse? They must also have been able to call on considerable expertise to wipe out three fit young men like that. The eye-for-an-eye style of the deaths are maybe indicative of some kind of Judaeo-Christian right wing cabal,' he added, but it sounded weak even to him. Then paradoxically, as his uncertainty grew his anger flared. 'Sound familiar?'
Nevis' face reddened. 'Oh, thanks!'
Leith quickly held up his hands. 'No,' he said. 'Stan, I'm sorry. You got me a little mad that's all. I don't believe you would be involved in something like this, not even for a minute. If I hadn't felt that I wouldn't have confided in you. My point is that certain intelligence personnel do take that kind of extreme view.'
Nevis looked at Leith for several seconds. 'So what do you expect me to do?'
Leith was surprised. 'You're the boss. I've passed on my suspicions. You run with it.'
'Forget it.'
'I've given you evidence of a conspiracy involving our intelligence services. It's your duty to pass this information on.'
Nevis gritted his teeth. 'Let me spell this out for you: there is no real evidence to connect the deaths of Middleton and Whitehouse. It's true there isn't any direct evidence that the three cell members were gay but some kind of triangular murder/suicide pack makes the most sense. It all hardly constitutes grounds for a conspiracy. The most likely explanation is that you've been working too hard, or your success with bombs has gone to your head — whatever. You are way, way out of line.'
Part of him was telling him to stop, to give in as gracefully as he could, but Leith heard himself saying: 'Then I'll go find someone who'll listen.'
'Like who?'
'Hudson, Peres, Carver, whoever. I'll just take the elevator to the third floor over in the main building and buttonhole the first mover-and-shaker I see.'
'What if they're part of your conspiracy?'
'I'll take my chances.'
'Wait a minute!' Nevis stood and followed Leith over to the door. 'Since you insist, I'll talk to Spencer.' Spencer was two echelons up from Nevis. Long-serving, easy going and fair, he seemed a reasonable choice.
'What'll you say?'
'I'll tell him exactly what you told me, but I'm going to be distancing myself totally. I'll make it clear that I do not in any way support your views.'
He knew Nevis was just trying to contain him, to minimise a source of embarrassment. But he was satisfied the man would keep his word. He'd never let him down before.
Leith opened the door. Before he could step through, he felt Nevis' hand on his shoulder and he smelt the man's expensive aftershave as he leaned in close.
'You had to push it too far, didn't you Bob?'
CHAPTER 7
The Outskirts of Prester, West Virginia
Sleep wouldn't come. The cosy bedroom with its creaky weathered pine bed tonight held no comfort for Leith. Even the country silence, normally soothing, seemed oppressive.
The scene in Nevis' office played on an endless loop in his brain. What an asshole, he kept thinking; how could he have been so stupid? Of course Guin and Garner killed Middleton. Maybe their far-away masters had let them down in some way and they had blamed the messenger: Middleton must have told them how he wasted Whitehouse, so they did him in the same way just out of spite. Perhaps they were strong guys. When they'd done it, when they realised they'd become terrorist targets themselves, suicide probably seemed the only way out.
Ok. As an explanation it was pretty glib, but it was streets ahead of some of the crazy stuff he'd been thinking. What had possessed him? What would Spencer say? What would he do?
Tossing and turning, he managed only a few brief intervals of rest between the waking and the fever dreams.
Coming out of one dream filled with loss and despair he saw dark shapes looming over his bed. Mussily thinking them the residue of nightmare he tried to blink them away.
They didn't go.
He opened his mouth to yell, but the hard cold muzzle of a gun was shoved into his mouth. He felt its front sight scrape painfully across his upper palette.
His hair was yanked hard and then the lights blazed. He jammed his eyes shut then opened them slowly; desperately fearful of what he might see. One man was standing back from the bed, his gun levelled. Another was grasping Leith's hair with his left hand while holding the gun in his right.
Pulling his hair tighter the man leaned close so that his mouth was next to Leith's ear. 'Say one word and I'll kill you,' he whispered.
For emphasis he shoved the barrel deeper into Leith's mouth. As soon as it touched the back of his throat, Leith gagged. The gunman snatched the gun back quickly, the gunsight cracking against a tooth. Leith turned his head and vomited across the duvet.
After the paroxysms subsided he lay rigid in this wretched position. When no one shot him he slowly turned his head. Both men had their guns trained on him. The one who had spoken
lifted a gloved finger to his lips, then beckoned him to get up.
Naked, he climbed out of the bed. The man gestured to lift his hands above his head and turn to the wall. Leith felt a push at his shoulders, and he leaned forward, his hands pressed against the wall.
Trying not to move his head he glanced down to his right. He could see the top part of the bed. The second man was feeling the bedclothes and pillows with one gloved hand while waving a small black device across the bed with the other.
The faintest of sounds came from his left and Leith automatically turned his head. He just had time to make out a third man entering the bedroom carrying a large suitcase, then a hard, warning cuff across his neck made him turn back to the wall.
Glancing down to the right again he saw part of the opened suitcase. Behind him he heard the wardrobe being opened, then some clothing was thrown into the case. The black device was run over the crumpled clothes.
Leith closed his eyes. They're not going to kill me, he thought. At least, not right now.
He watched as they filled the suitcase then closed it. He heard the third man move, over to his right by the bed. Straining his eyes he saw him lay out some pants, underwear, one of his old college tee shirts and some socks. Leith nearly jumped out of his skin when the first man spoke directly into his ear. He wore no aftershave nor had he used perfumed soap or toothpaste recently. You couldn't even smell him coming.
'Get dressed and keep quiet.' The voice was so low it was impossible to make out any accent.
Leith dressed as quickly as he could but his hands were shaking badly. Finishing, he turned to look at the first man.
The guy was about five-ten with broad shoulders and hips. He had swept-back blond hair and widely spaced blue eyes. His face was unmarked and not unhandsome, but was devoid of expression. He kept his gun levelled at Leith's midriff.
He heard the suitcase being closed and then the man moved the gun in a circle. Leith complied by turning round. He noticed the second man's gun was trained on him. 'Put your hands behind your back,' he heard the first man whisper in his ear.
Leith felt metal hard against his wrists then heard two snaps as the cuffs were closed. These were the loudest sounds since the men had entered his bedroom. The third man carried the suitcase out. Leith could hear his heavy tread as he descended the stairs. The second man crossed to the door and at the same time the first man started to move round in front of Leith.
'Down the stairs, out the front door and into the car. Do anything stupid and you're dead.'
Leith walked to the bedroom door. The second man was already at the bottom of the stairs, covering Leith with his gun held in both hands. As Leith walked down the stairs he heard the first man following. He saw the second man take a couple of steps to one side. Leith guessed this was so if he had to shoot there would be no danger of the bullet hitting his colleague. After it had passed through Leith's body, of course.
The comfortable old house seemed alien now, something from his past he felt he would never see again. The laughter of friends around the big kitchen table, the soft low moans of a woman in his bed, were echoes from another dimension. It was his past, and warm and friendly though it was it could not help him now. The house had become a frame, a cold and uncaring backdrop against which he had played the last few years of his easy life.
He hesitated on the porch. The night was chill and clear. With no city lights to drown them out, the stars shone down in their full glory. He thought of their timelessness in contrast to his own transitory existence and it made him want to cry.
He made his way carefully down the short drive until he got to the large dark car parked at the end. He couldn't tell the make but he could discern the deeper blackness of the opened trunk.
'Get in,' the first man had crept up on him again.
Leith climbed in with difficulty and flopped down. Twisting round he looked back up at the man now framed by a powdering of stars.
'You're not going to kill me, are you?' he heard himself ask.
The lid of the trunk came down, blotting out the night sky.
He tried to work out their heading from the movements of the car. He was confident that they were following the road to St. John and tried to picture a map of the county. They should cross three bridges before getting to the small farming town. The bridges should have come at approximately one and two mile intervals. He had just worked this out when the car did a series of rapid manoeuvres that felt like figures of eight and zigzags, tumbling him around the trunk, confusing his sense of direction.
While rattling around he lost count of his pulse and hence the time. When he eventually remembered, it was too late.
The car kept going for what seemed like a very long time before finally stopping. He waited for the trunk to be opened.
And waited.
The engine noise had long since died and he expected to feel some movements from the passenger compartment, but there was nothing. He became aware of the pounding of his own blood and a trickle of sweat rolled down his brow and into his eye. His bowels started to feel loose.
Maybe they were just going to shoot into the trunk. Just kill him there and leave him.
He seemed to wait forever. Crazy thoughts chased each other across his mind. Maybe they were just trying to frighten him and had already left and gone home. Maybe they had gone but had left the car parked across a railroad track. Perhaps this was all just a horribly realistic dream.
Panic attacks alternated with dumb acceptance, and by the time the trunk was flung open he had worried himself into state of near exhaustion. He was unable to assist them as they pulled him out.
It was already light and he guessed it must be at least seven o'clock, maybe a lot later. They were parked on a junk-filled lot surrounded by fields of burnt stubble. Five yards away was an ancient pay phone. They unlocked the handcuffs and led him to it.
While the third man dialled, the first dug his gun into Leith's ribs. The man spoke normally now but still there was no trace of an accent.
'You're phoning in sick. You ate something bad and you've been puking all night. Use the phrase 'life's hard' and your brains'll be all over the phone booth.'
'Life's hard' was the company's code for trouble. Leith nodded agreement. Able to glance at his watch he saw that it was only seven thirty. They had timed it so he wouldn't have to lie to someone he knew. His colleagues would all still be at home or travelling to work.
Personnel took maybe one hundred sick calls a day, so Leith was disappointed but not surprised to have his accepted without query. The men put the handcuffs back on and he got back into the car. This time, they blindfolded and gagged him.
By the time the car started again he had given up all hope.
Next time out of the car he was kept gagged and blindfolded. He smelt newly cut grass and heard a door open. Stumbling over a step, he was pulled into a room reeking of antiseptic.
When the blindfold came off, he saw the room was small with only a wooden framed table and a wooden partitioned cubicle. A second glance at this revealed that the wood was only a veneer on both faces, sandwiching a centimetre thick sheet of dull metal.
'What the fuck are you going to do?' he asked the first man who was covering him with a gun.
'Shut up.' Leith noticed how the men were dressed for the first time. Subdued sports jackets, dark grey trousers, like three sombre professional men on their day off.
The second man undid the cuffs and stepped away to Leith's right, drawing his own gun.
'Take your pants off!' The second man had dark, crewcut hair over a thick, unattractive face. Like his colleagues, he was keeping expressionless, but Leith could detect the faintest trace of excitement in his voice.
Leith, confused, didn't move for a second.
Then he figured it out. He remembered the small country hospital he had been taken to as a boy, with its cramped x-ray room and its technicians with their big heavy aprons. They had shown him crystal clear pictures of the brea
k in his collarbone, and he remembered clearly the revelation that he was, after all, only a bag of flesh and blood.
'You're going to x-ray me. Why?'
'Take your pants off,' said the second man again, bringing up a second hand to steady the gun.
Leith did as he was told.
They got him down on the table, which was very cold. The second man busied himself positioning the gimballed arm of the x-ray generator. He seemed to know what he was doing but he wasn't slick at it. Taking x-rays was clearly not what he did for a living.
Leith guessed the third man was outside standing guard. The first man just kept his gun trained on Leith all the time. Every time they fired off a burst of x-rays he and the second man would retreat behind the lead screen for maybe two seconds, before quickly emerging again.
He thought about using one of these brief moments to try to escape. The one door to the room was on the same wall as the controls behind the screen. He figured he would be dead even before he could grab the door handle. Even if by some incredible chance he made it through the door, he'd be cut down by the man waiting on the other side.
Seeing the two men retreat behind the screen did help him, though. It showed they were afraid of something. It showed they were human.
The second man came back after every shot to readjust the position of the tube. It was being done in a systematic manner, Leith realised, to scan every cubic inch of his body. Leith began to look at the man more closely and began to notice the tiny imperfections. The man had a small erratic tick under his right eye and he had missed a few beard hairs under his chin when he had last shaved.
After the twelfth x-ray the man did not reappear. Instead he heard a humming sound from behind the screen. Leith guessed they were developing the films. He glanced across and saw the first man pointing his gun at him.
There was a sudden bright flickering from behind the screen and then the sounds of hard films being shoved into viewing slots. It was a sound he had heard in a thousand hospital scenes on TV.
Judgement Page 14
