He sounded like he was pleading. Calm down. Stop drinking the shitty coffee. Get a grip. He looked up at Marinov's blank face.
'Can you find him?'
'I've got someone on it now,' Marinov said. Cool as you like.
'Who?'
'Alex.'
MacIntyre winced. Alex – Dr Death, by all accounts. Gierek was in trouble.
'There's nothing for you to worry about,' Marinov said. 'Nothing has got out. The FBI are off the case – it's been handed back to the Baltimore Police Department.' He smiled a sickly grin. 'Your brother-in-law is a powerful man. What have you got to worry about?'
'The disk?'
MacIntyre wished he could control the tone of his voice, keep it level, unhuman. Like Marinov. God, his eyes were bleak. Empty.
'We don't know there's anything on it,' Marinov said.
Did anything ever get to this man?
'When we have it back, we'll have a look. We have all the quantum computer's plans. We have the machine. We've not lost anything.'
MacIntyre lifted an arm and rubbed the back of his head. Yep, he was definitely thinning.
'If there's any hint . . . anything at all, I could lose everything.' He pushed manicured fingernails into his scalp. He thought for a moment about threatening Marinov, saying they'd all go down together. Like in the movies.
Don't be ridiculous. Get a grip. Marinov had those eyes fixed on him. He seemed fascinated. MacIntyre suppressed a shudder. There was nothing to worry about. Marinov wouldn't tolerate a loose end. He was far too meticulous for that.
'What did you do to him?' MacIntyre said. 'To this Radcliffe guy?'
Almost imperceptibly, Marinov lifted his eyebrows, then leaned his body slightly forward. There was a smile on his lips.
'It wasn't me. It was Alex.'
MacIntyre opened his mouth, then paused and shook his head. Marinov's smile broadened.
'Alex will do the same to Laszlo. If there's anything more to know, anything that Radcliffe held back, we'll soon have it. My hunch is, Laszlo will lead us to this Virgo character.'
'How soon?'
Marinov shrugged, and sipped at his coffee. 'Laszlo's on a flight to London, apparently. I'd give it twenty-four hours at the most. He is well practised at hiding. He knew a lot about that even before he got in with us. But Alex is more –' He searched for the right word. 'More determined.'
The waitress appeared at their table. MacIntyre waved her away before she had a chance to speak. Her smile faltered, but only for a moment. Service with a smile, the American dream. Did she recognise him? He was surely imagining it: she was a waitress; she was hardly going to have read Forbes recently. He breathed deeply, then assumed his hardest stare. For no reason that he could think of, his daughter's face flashed into his mind. Jennie. Five years old. Her daddy in prison.
'You know how important this is.'
Marinov returned the stare. 'You've told me enough times. How long have you been using the software now? Has anyone ever caught so much as a sniff of it?'
MacIntyre shook his head. Like a scolded schoolboy. Marinov leaned back into the bench seat.
'I keep my business under very tight control, MacIntyre. No one else in your company knows about it: you should have learned to trust me by now. I have nothing to gain by this coming out – and everything to lose. Just like you.'
Had this all been worthwhile? Jennie flashed into his mind again. Five years old, and her daddy going to prison. MacIntyre concentrated on breathing.
He looked up. Marinov was smiling. A cold, empty smile, like Death on vacation.
Enough.
'I have to go.'
Marinov opened his arms. 'Call me later. I'll bring you up to date. Alex is landing at Heathrow in a couple of hours.'
'And then?'
'Finishing up, then coming back. We all have to be there for the spectacle; Wheelan insisted on it.' Marinov almost smiled. 'Relax. This will all be over in a couple of days.'
MacIntyre didn't want to know. The spectacle? Is that how he saw what they were about to do? What if it all went wrong? Connections made you in this world. And connections could break you.
He looked at his watch. 'I have to go,' he said again.
Marinov didn't say anything more. Just raised his hand, and stared his empty stare.
MacIntyre could feel Marinov's eyes on his back as he walked out into the parking lot.
CHAPTER 10
THE DOOR SLAMMED.
'I'm back,' Rachel called. 'Present your hard-working wife with a drink, sweetheart. I'll be on the sofa.'
Two minutes later, Virgo was standing before her, holding out a gin and tonic. Rachel smiled as she reached for it.
'Thanks.'
'Good day?'
She nodded. 'These clients are not like the other apes: they like my work and they like me.'
'Someone out there likes you?' Virgo took a sip from his gin. 'No wonder you need a drink.' Despite himself, he let out a sigh. Rachel sat up slightly and looked at him out of the corner of one eye.
'I got your message, international man of mystery. What was that about?'
Some of their friends would be enthralled by a tale of covert interrogation. But Rachel would just be furious with him for lying about the disk.
'I'll tell you about it later,' he said.
He left the room and headed up the stairs.
'Nat,' she called after him, half-irritated.
'Can't hear you. What?'
She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister in a mock-seductive pose. 'Did you say something about James Bond?' She pouted. 'Tell me more, Mr Virgo, I'm intrigued . . .'
He couldn't help but smile. 'I'll tell you over dinner,' he said. 'I thought we could eat out, then come back and pack. Katie's upstairs in her room with some friends – they can come too.'
'Katie's got a race tonight.' Rachel followed him up. 'We told her we'd go and watch. Don't say you'd forgotten?'
'No, of course not.'
A lie – and a lame one, too. He couldn't hold the blank look from his face. How come he could spin a convincing line to an FBI interrogator but not to his own wife? And there it was again: work making him forget his daughter had a life too.
'You know she wants to take her running prosthetic away with us?' Rachel said. 'She's worried about missing a whole week's training with the Leicester meet coming up.'
The British championships. His daughter, competing for the 100-metre paralympic sprint title. The thought made him glow and choke up in equal measure. He had cried the first time he watched her bound down the straight. It wasn't in pity; it wasn't even in guilt. It was the fact that she had got up after the accident and gone straight back to the track. It was the broad grin on her face as she crossed the line, the defiance in her eyes. Nothing could stop Katie Virgo from running wherever, whenever she liked.
Rachel was watching him, reading his thoughts.
'She is amazing, isn't she?' she said, and took his hand. 'I don't understand where she gets that sheer bloody-minded determination.' Rachel squeezed her palm against his. 'You, maybe?'
It was 9.30 by the time they got back home. Katie slumped on the sofa in her track pants, nonchalant about her victory. She flicked on the TV, and began the ritual of phoning round her friends. She'd waved goodbye to them three hours ago; it was time to check in, see what everyone was doing, make sure no one missed out on any of the gossip. Virgo sat down next to his daughter, put his arm round her shoulder and pulled her towards him. He kissed her hair, and she turned and smiled at him. Then her friend picked up, and Katie shifted away from him.
'Gem – hey – it's me. Where are you? Are you out? Is that Darren I can hear? What are you doing?'
Their moment was over. It was always over too soon these days.
'Come round,' she said. 'I've got to pack, but come round and I'll tell you all about this boy at the track.' She laughed down the phone, a sound like joy unleashed. 'He totally checked me ou
t, gave me that look, you know? And then he saw my leg.' She laughed again. 'He didn't know what to do.'
She was away; Virgo knew he wouldn't get onto her radar screen again tonight. It seemed cruel that he could love her that much, need to be around her, watching her, and yet seem so peripheral to her world. But that was a father's burden. Still, they'd all have a week away together now. It would be paradise. He got up from the sofa, and went upstairs.
Rachel was already packed. She was never happier than when throwing stuff into a battered case. The dilapidated state of their luggage reminded him of the times they'd travelled together as students, meandering through the vibrant tones of Morocco, the shock of West Africa, the slow luxury of camping below Arizona's towering landscapes. This time it would be a lazy week of sunbathing, late breakfasts in a hotel room, and long, slow dinners over rich wines.
He nearly wrenched his shoulder out heaving Rachel's case off the bed.
'God, Rach, what've you got in here?' he said.
She grinned defiantly at him. 'All my shoes.'
'All?'
'Almost all. You still don't understand about a girl and her shoes? Katie will do the same, you know.'
'Only because you've taught her your evil ways.' He dragged the case across the floor and leaned it against the wall. The handle creaked.
'This case was built before women's shoes took over the world,' he said. 'I hope it can handle the weight.'
'Of course it can.'
'Well you can carry it. It weighs a bloody ton.'
'Weakling,' she said, laughing, and walked into the bathroom. He breathed a relaxed sigh. In twelve hours they'd be among the clouds.
'Did you get the passports out?' he called.
'I put them on the dining table with the tickets and stuff.' She wandered through to the bedroom, dripping foam from her toothbrush. 'And I left a note for Maria with the hotel details and your phone number in case something happens. I'm not taking my work phone. Jeremy's bound to call it as soon as he loses my drawings.'
'Maria's still coming, even when we're away?'
'The house is dirty whether you're here to see it or not, Nat.' She wiped toothpaste from the corner of her mouth with one finger. 'Come on, let's get to bed. We'll finish up in the morning.'
CHAPTER 11
WHEN VIRGO WOKE, THE first hints of cold sunlight were filtering through the blinds. He looked at his clock: 7.25. He got up, pulled on a T-shirt and knocked loudly on Katie's door.
'Time to wake up, sweetheart. Rise and shine.' Not that it would do any good.
He went downstairs to make some coffee.
Through the kitchen window, he could see birds hopping on the lawn that ran down to the alleyway at the back. Their garden was big – too big, really – but Rachel said she couldn't live with less. She called it her therapy area: some corner always needed attention, which meant she always had somewhere to lose herself. Sometimes she talked about having someone come in to do the weeding, but she never followed up on it.
The kettle was just beginning to throb with the pressure of boiling water when something snagged in his mind. He replayed his walk past the dining room; how he'd glanced towards the table. Rubbing a sleep-crusted eye, he went back through. He was right: the plane tickets were topped by two passports. Not three. He lifted them up, and opened the burgundy covers.
Rachel's and Katie's. He leaned down to look on the floor, under the table. Nothing there. Had he put his passport back in the desk? He didn't remember doing anything with it. He went upstairs again, to the spare bedroom, and pulled open the desk drawer. The jolt sent his wireless internet router tumbling off the desk. He picked it up, and pushed the power lead and phone connection back into place. His passport wasn't in the drawer.
Frowning, he made a pot of coffee and put it, with two mugs, onto a tray. He carried it upstairs and slid it silently onto Rachel's bedside table.
'Rach.' She always slept so deeply, so peacefully; he envied her easy contentment. He leaned gently on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. She stirred and smiled, but didn't open her eyes. He kissed her again.
'Rachel, time to wake up.'
She screwed up her eyes, then flashed them open and reached out to pick up her polished chrome alarm clock.
'What time is it?' she asked, squinting at the clock face. 'We're not late, are we?'
He pursed his lips. 'No.' He hesitated. 'Do you know where my passport is?'
'I put it on the table, with mine and Katie's.'
'It's not there.' He tried to keep his voice calm, but he could feel a disquiet rising.
She pulled herself upright. 'It must be. I put them all there last night, before we went out.'
'Mine isn't there,' he repeated.
Rachel fumbled on the bedside table for her glasses. 'Where have you looked?'
'On the table. On the floor under the table. In the desk drawer.'
'I remember putting it on the table, I'm sure. Is it under the other stuff?'
She got up, looked again at the clock, and swore. 'We've only got an hour to get out of the house. Is Katie up?'
She swung her legs from under the duvet and planted her feet on the carpet. 'I remember getting it out of the drawer. It is there.'
He shrugged, and went downstairs to start a search.
They went through the house, emptying every drawer, checking every pocket of his clothes in the wardrobe, every file in the spare room. After twenty minutes, Rachel began to give up. He knew she was right to; it wasn't going to turn up. He felt sick. This couldn't be happening. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Everything was the same.
'You hear about these things,' he said. 'Pickpocketed last time you came through the airport and you never even notice it's gone. It's probably being used by some drug mule.'
Rachel still looked bemused. 'But I –' she began. She didn't bother to finish the sentence.
He reached into a cupboard in the lounge, pulled out the Yellow Pages and flicked through to the general enquiries number for Heathrow. He picked up the telephone and dialled.
The girl who answered his call listened patiently while he explained his problem. She couldn't help, but put him through to the airline's ticket desk. He listened to the low buzzing of the hold tone for an excruciating three minutes. Why were these places always deserted when you needed them? What kind of shifts did these people work? Eventually, someone picked up.
'Hi, I hope you can help me.' He tried not to sound desperate. 'I'm meant to be flying with you to Cuba today and I seem to have mislaid my passport. Is there any way I can travel without one?'
'If your flight is this afternoon, you might be able to get a replacement in time.'
The woman sounded weary.
'It's this morning.'
'Then I'm afraid you won't be flying with us today, sir.'
Virgo slammed the phone down. Of course he couldn't travel without a passport. He didn't know why he'd even made the call.
Rachel slumped into an armchair at the other end of the room, staring into space. Katie appeared at the doorway, wrapped in a dressing gown.
'Your dad's lost his passport,' Rachel said, trying hard to retain some calm in her voice. She looked up at him. 'So, what's the plan?'
'I'll drive you to the airport, you two go, and then I'll go and get a new passport. There must be another flight they can put me on.'
Rachel raised her eyebrows and sighed heavily. Katie shrugged and turned to go back up the stairs. 'OK,' she said. 'I'll get showered.'
Virgo watched Rachel trudge off behind her daughter, then followed them. He pulled on some clothes, struggled back down with Rachel's case, set it by the front door, and went into the kitchen to make a piece of toast. Just as he was finishing the last bite, Katie appeared, her hair still damp.
'I put my case next to Mum's,' she said. 'Are we really going without you?'
'I'll be out on the next flight,' he said. He resisted the impulse to ruffle her hair. He was learni
ng. Slowly.
Rachel stuck her head round the door. 'Come on,' she said, her tone flat and defeated. 'Let's go.'
Driving out through west London took nearly forty minutes of awkward silence. The drop-off area at the departures terminal was bristling with taxis and traffic wardens. Whining jet engines punctuated the grating noise of dragging cases and rattling luggage trolleys, while a dozen nervous, halting goodbyes were taking place beyond the parking bay. Virgo pulled the car to a halt, opened his door, and went to get the cases out from the boot. He set them down next to where Katie and Rachel were standing. Rachel wrapped her arms around him.
'Don't be long,' she said, her voice softer now that they were here and really parting.
They kissed, then settled their foreheads together.
'I won't. I'll be out as soon as I can get a flight. Maybe even later today.' He turned to Katie, who offered only a perfunctory objection as he hugged and kissed her.
'Look after your mother,' he said. 'Don't let her talk to strangers. You know what she's like.'
Katie smiled. 'Well, just make sure you hurry out, Dad. Mum will be much harder to live with while you're not there.'
So she did appreciate him after all.
Virgo watched them disappear into the terminal. You could hardly tell Katie was walking on a prosthetic leg, her gait was so smooth these days. He got into the car and headed back into the traffic.
The house seemed strangely empty. He threw his jacket onto the kitchen table, and looked at his watch. The passport office next to Victoria station had already opened, but he needed to organise photographs, the legal stuff, and someone to countersign his application. One of the neighbours would do it. He ran upstairs and opened the door of the spare room.
The shock at the sight was physical, visceral. The pain in Virgo's chest might have come from the sharp expansion of his lungs as he took in breath. Or it might have been because his heart tried to bounce through his rib cage. A man was sitting on the sofabed, holding Virgo's passport in the air.
'Hello, Nathaniel. Were you looking for this?'
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