He'd come to doubt that he'd make it through the day. Durrell's cover story was good — he'd had a chance to speak to the newfound friend who had 'nursed' him — but there was one central and potentially disastrous flaw. Whilst Spencer, the man to whom Nevis had reported Leith's suspicions, was one of Stallard's cognoscenti, Nevis was not. If Nevis had even hinted to anyone else about Leith's weird ideas or even, God forbid, that he was part of the conspiracy himself, then Leith was a dead man.
Durrell seemed to be equally short on confidence. He had stayed with Leith on the Friday. Durrell was pretty much the same height and width as him, but the difference between them was like night and day. With Durrell everything was directed, thought out beforehand and carried through with precision and commitment. The only thing about him that was not lean and finely calculated was his anger. Perhaps with people like Stallard he could keep it under control, but with Leith he made no such effort. The poison pill had been the last straw.
'What?' Durrell had almost shouted.
'There is no way on God's green earth that I'd swallow one of those.'
A finger as hard as a shotgun barrel thudded into his chest. He fought the urge to bring up a hand to protect the sore spot. Durrell was leaning in close.
'Look, you asshole, that thing with Halliday and Sears was just a fucking gag compared to what the bastards'd do to you. Knitting needle up the hole in your dick, boiling oil in your ear, your eyeball scooped out with a...' Leith tried hard not to listen.
'No fucking imagination, that's your trouble,' Durrell said when he'd finished his catalogue of horror. 'If the time comes you'll think I was a saint.'
Leith sat unprotesting as Durrell glued the tiny flesh-coloured pellet inside the fold of skin just above his right earhole. He was assured that the glue was saliva-soluble. He thought he'd try a different tack.
'But if these guys are CIA too they're going to know about the pill.'
'Right! So if you're smart you'll swallow it as soon as you suspect capture. Otherwise you'll be spilling your guts, and I'm not necessarily being metaphorical. Halliday says you weren't exactly Iron Mike Tyson.'
'Would you swallow it?'
'Sure.' Durrell said it in a way that made any expression of doubt both inconceivable and perhaps terminal.
The final conversation with Stallard had taken place the night before at dinner. The food had been sumptuous but Leith had had little appetite. They had taken brandy in front of a roaring fire in the study. Leith had glumly rolled the amber liquid around the bottom of his balloon glass while Stallard had told him his fortune.
'You have no choice, Bob. You do realise that don't you?' Stallard lounged in the deep leather chair, his eyes never leaving the burning logs.
Leith nodded to himself. 'Sure. And I can't tell you how good that makes me feel.'
'I'm sorry son, but there's nothing else I can do for you.'
Leith took a taste of the brandy and looked across at Stallard's classical profile. 'You could give me money for plastic surgery.'
Stallard's brow creased slightly. 'Be serious! The CIA knows the colour scheme on the walls of every nip and tuck set-up in the Western Hemisphere.'
'They think they know!'
'Of course we know.' He looked across at Leith. 'And I wish you'd get it clear in your mind that we are the CIA. They aren’t.' He looked back at the fire. 'And the reason we know is that we have people like you keeping tack of such places. How do you think you'd go about that, Bob?'
It didn't take long. 'The records of medical supply companies,' said Leith dully.
'Quite,' Stallard paused then looked across at Leith again. 'Bear in mind it'd be people like you who'd be set on your trail. Even if you ran away to a commune in the wilds of Washington State, for example. How long do you think it would take to track you down?'
Leith pursed his lips. He had a college friend who lived in just such a commune up from Spokane to the south of Washington State. They'd done the job on him. He shouldn't have been surprised.
'Running men are quite common in our line of work. Mean time to capture is less than a week.' Leith had been involved in such things and knew it was true.
'I still think my sudden transfer to Forbes' section is going to look suspicious.' They had been through this many times. Leith knew he was after reassurance.
Stallard finished his brandy and put the glass down on a table by the side of the chair. 'Forbes' section is genuinely short on staff at the moment. Your apparent success with the Woodhaven business would make you a good choice for a temporary transfer. Being groomed for higher things so to speak. We need you there.'
'What about Nevis?'
'That's up to you dear boy. If he's part of the conspiracy the game’s up right away. If he isn't, then he must be stopped from telling anyone about your allegations. If you don't think you can guarantee his silence then have a word with Durrell. You know the drop-codes.' These were codes to an answering machine, which could be accessed regularly by Durrell from a pay phone. They served to insulate a potentially compromised Leith from the rest of Stallard's group.
'You'll put him through the same process as me?'
The firelight cast the lines on the older man's face into greater relief, making his look of regret almost comic.
'Perhaps not. We've limited resources and not enough time. Forbes tells me others are becoming suspicious like you. They must be protected first. Remember, Nevis dismissed your objections out of hand.'
Leith looked at Stallard in disbelief. 'You can't have him killed just for that!'
'No,' there was real impatience in the man's voice now. 'You'll have him killed. For God's sakes, Bob, the minute you step through that front door you're taking big but necessary risks. Don't foul things up by taking a whole bunch of unnecessary ones.'
Leith went to take a gulp of brandy but found he had already finished it. The delicate handle of the bone china teacup made his fingers seem like sausages. He took a sip of the strangely perfumed liquid and carefully replaced the cup in the matching saucer.
The breakfast room would have put most dining rooms to shame. The heavy wood table with its sturdily sculpted legs could have accommodated eight comfortably. Each wall, like most in the house, had at least two paintings. They looked very old. The Stallards had kept mainly pastoral scenes, and the occasional New England seascape for the living area, relegating what looked like severe family portraits to the less frequented hallways and rooms.
Old houses usually oppressed him, the dark wood and heavy furniture seeming to absorb so much light, particularly in rooms poorly served by windows. But in the breakfasting room, as in much of the rest of the house, artfully placed lighting triumphed, making it bright and airy. It must be a great pleasure living in this house.
The gardens too looked wonderful, though he was only allowed to observe them from within the house itself.
Stallard had left for work early, so there was only one other person in the room.
Lotte Stallard smiled shyly at him as he buttered his toast. Her pleasantly plump face was soft and unlined and her carefully styled auburn hair was luxuriant in its colour and body. The overall effect was of a woman in her early forties. Only her hands belied this: they looked thin and fragile like the china. She had also spoken of a grandson working for one of the hydra-like DC law firms. Did he know that some of them had four hundred or more partners? Wasn't that incredible?
He had nodded politely, privately reflecting that this fitted with his conception of lawyers as tapeworms in the gut of society. They, too, had a high fertility rate and could block up and even kill their hosts if allowed to spawn uncontrolled. A four hundred partner law firm was a telling indication of a critical infestation.
'Were you able to get much work done this weekend?' Her voice could be a little high, a little querulous at times but, like Stallard’s, was short of a recognisable accent. Her questions, though oblique had begun to get embarrassing. Stallard had warned him not to discuss business
with his wife, and that in any case she would not want to know. He had been wrong. Perhaps in normal times this was so but now, with armed men always around and strange people coming to stay for days at a time, she was clearly concerned.
'Some,' he said and tried to change the subject, 'but this is such a beautiful house, it makes it difficult to concentrate. The gardens are gorgeous too.'
She nodded and smiled wryly. 'Bought with slave money, of course. Just like all the other big old houses on this side of the DC boundary. It's a subject that doesn't crop up much at cocktail parties nowadays, although it's something our black mayors try not to let us forget.
'My side of the family, I'm afraid. We had a virtual monopoly for supplying Virginia with 'product'. What's worse is that mine's the first generation to see any problem with that.'
She went quiet, and he guessed that talk of the bad old times had found some sort of resonance with her present problems. She seemed about to speak, but hesitated, and he was afraid she would say something embarrassing like a plea to take care of her husband.
'The garden must need a lot of work,' he rushed in, 'what do gardeners charge nowadays?'
She gave a little nod, as though in acceptance, and told him.The sky was as grey and dull as the day he had arrived at Stallard's house. The tyres of Halliday's car made a faint but continual squishing sound as he drove Leith to pick up the MGB from the garage where it was being repaired. Halliday dropped him a couple of blocks from Sammy's garage, turned the car round and drove back in the direction they had come from.
Sammy, his bald pate gleaming in the light from the fluorescents, had been taken aback when Leith had paid the huge bill without comment. 'You OK, Bob?' the ferret eyes had given him the once-over and there had been real concern in his voice.
Leith had tried out the gastro-enteritis story and Sammy had seemed to buy it.
He had driven the now perky car to Langley, dread tainting every mile of the way. If they were onto him they'd probably stop him at the gate. Either he would be forced to wait until he was collected and taken elsewhere or there would be an 'accident' as he drove up.
He sighed with relief when he was let through with the usual cursory nod — but he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that eyes were watching. Then he remembered that in Langley, they always were.
Nancy looked very concerned when he got to reception.
'How are you feeling Bo, honey?' she asked solicitously.
He gave what he hoped was a brave little smile and gently rubbed his stomach. 'Still a little shaky. The world fell out of my bottom.'
She laughed. 'You can't be that sick if you're back to making tacky jokes.'
'Nevis in?'
'Yeah. He said he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived.'
The others were already busy working. Morgan looked up when Leith entered. 'Ho, Bob! How's it going?' he yelled.
Leith held a hand up, palm down, and waggled it gently.
'Hey, Bob,' DeMarco was smirking at him, 'must have been someone you ate.'
Leith gave him the finger and headed for Nevis' office. Looking queasy now took no effort. Nevis couldn't know it, but if he said the wrong thing in the next few minutes, Leith would have to contact Durrell. The sudden power gave him no pleasure at all.
Nevis was all concern. He almost helped Leith into a chair.
'Feeling better?'
'About my guts? Yeah, much better. About what I said to you last time, not at all. I feel so stupid. I guess so much happened last week, it kind of wound me up inside. I started to see shadows where there weren't any. I hope I didn't cause you any embarrassment!'
Nevis gave him a big smile. 'It's ok, Bob. I reported it to Spencer, as you insisted I should, but he was very understanding. I must admit though, when you didn't come back the next day it made me wonder if perhaps they'd got you,' Nevis gave a little chuckle but Leith thought he saw a trace of uncertainty in his eyes.
He tried to look suitably abashed. 'Please, Stan! Don't even joke about it.' He swallowed. 'This must be bad for my promotion prospects.'
'Not at all,' Nevis seemed relieved, 'in fact your prospects never looked better. They want you on the first floor. Seems Emma Forbe's section is short of a couple of people. They want you to fill in as best you can. This is a great opportunity, it'll give you a better perspective on the work of the whole department.'
'Wow, but why me?'
'The Woodhaven job, of course, what else?' Leith looked and listened closely but Nevis seemed genuine.
'I'm flattered, but there was an element of luck involved.'
'You're too modest, Bob. You should be proud of what you've done.'
'How long is this transfer going to last?'
'They say no more than a couple of weeks, but who knows?' said Nevis archly.
'You could've refused permission. You'd have had every right after what I said to you last time. I hope it can all be forgotten.'
Nevis nodded vigorously. 'Both Spencer and I agree that it doesn't even have to go in your assessment. Your secret's safe with us!'
Afterwards, while winding up his affairs on his terminal, Leith mentally replayed the conversation with Nevis over and over again. It still sounded fine but whichever way you cut it Nevis was no fool. He would be suspicious.
But no matter how dangerous that might be, Leith knew he could never bring the hammer down on an innocent man.
Later on in the day he went up to Forbes' section and pretended he was meeting her for the first time. He was shown around the spacious offices with minimal ceremony and introduced to the people he would be working with. Enthusiastic, neat and squeaky clean they seemed typical company clones, but he knew that in a few days he would begin to appreciate and probably curse their quirks and eccentricities.
Forbes herself turned out to be a surprise. On the surface severe, he soon saw her other side; her kindness and concern for her staff, and the wry humour with which she cajoled them to greater efforts.
He wondered how she had lived under the pressure. By mid-week he was a wreck, starting at unexpected sounds, always checking to see if people were looking at him. Yet Emma had known for almost a month, had lived with her fear all that time. Better than anybody, she knew the world was going mad.
He'd returned to his home only once to get more clothes. The place had felt unsafe and defiled and he hadn't managed to sleep there. He took a cheap motel not far from the Grindstone.
Early on he realised they wouldn't kill him at Langley, nor at the hotel where he was waiting for them every restless night. They'd get him out on the streets, when he was most vulnerable, where accidents happened most.
Day by day the horror grew. He'd been assigned to identify members of the conspiracy by correlating the worst outrages with the availability of personnel. It soon became clear the same team couldn't have been used for all the jobs, that the sheer volume of incident implied a penetration of the Covert Actions Group that must be virtually total. And of course they'd have needed vast logistics and intelligence backup as well. It was like lifting a floorboard and finding a house eaten away by rot.
By Friday he could take the fear and loneliness no more.
Pressing the button, Leith faintly heard the gentle chimes sounding in Lola's apartment, and then a strange thing happened. Time seemed to stretch out away from him and it was like he was going backwards, reviewing his life. Myriad images flashed into his mind in an accelerating profusion until he came to the morning when the men had woken him. The tunnel of time grew hazy, dissolving him, killing him.
Feeling dizzy, he supported himself against the door frame and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them he saw Lola standing looking at him, her brow wrinkled with concern.
'I hope this won't go to your head, Bob, but you look like shit.'
He nodded dumbly. She stepped aside and he walked past her then turned back as she closed the door. She was wearing a red silk Chinese robe and her face was slightly flushed and without makeup.
&nb
sp; 'Did I interrupt your shower?'
She shook her head. 'No, your timing's perfect. I'd just finished drying my hair.' She shook her head to show him and her short hair bounced obligingly like she was doing a shampoo commercial. Leith, his sense of humour skewed by weariness and despair, had to suppress a childish giggle.
'Bob, are you OK?'
He opened his mouth to speak but could think of nothing to say. Instead he put his arms round her and crushed her tiny body to his, burying his head between her neck and shoulder. Her fresh smell flooded into him and he was comforted to feel passion again. Stepping back he undid the belt of her robe, then grasping the lapels he pulled them slowly and deliberately back exposing her small breasts. Her tawny nipples hardened under his scrutiny and he bent down to take one in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue. Then he felt her hands on his hair, pulling him off. He looked up into her puzzled face.
'Please,' he whispered.
She hesitated while her eyes searched his then she nodded slightly. She took his hand and led him into the bedroom before letting her robe fall to the floor. He stood motionless for several seconds until she became uncomfortable under his hungry gaze. She brought her arms up to cover her breasts. Stepping forward, he pushed her gently back onto the bed, then parted her thighs and brought his head down between them.
Later, when he was purged of the demon that had driven him, she placed a firm little hand on his shoulder.
'What was that about?'
He looked at her. Her cheek was still wet from his kisses. A lump came to his throat. 'I can't tell you,' he said miserably.
'Are you in trouble?'
He nodded.
'Big trouble?'
A tear rolled over the side of his nose and dripped softly onto the pillow. Lola seemed as alarmed about this as he did. She reached across and cradled his head against her breasts. He watched in addled wonder as the tears rolled down the tanned skin and started to form a pool in her belly button. She stroked his hair.
Judgement Page 17
