Even dt-1

by Andrew Grant

  Mitchell Varley, the guy on Rosser’s left, lifted up a slim black briefcase and balanced it on his lap. He popped the catches and took out a small, clear Ziploc pouch. It contained a fragment of charred paper about an inch wide. He held the tiny bag at arm’s length for a moment, gripping it between his finger and thumb, then gently placed it on the table.

  “You have some ash in a bag,” I said. “Should I be impressed?”

  “We searched your hotel room,” Varley said. “Guess those bill wrappers didn’t burn quite as good as you figured. This was from a ten-thousand-dollar block. Enough in the room for five of them. What was that-the down payment? Half before, half after? That’s the normal deal?”

  “So a hundred thousand dollars was the price of Michael Raab’s life,” Rosser said. “Question is, have you got what it’ll cost to save your own?”

  EIGHT

  It was early in December when we moved away from Birmingham.

  I remember the date because I’d just been given a part in the school nativity play. It was my first one. I was going to be Joseph. The plot wasn’t too convincing, but acting it out sounded fun. I was disappointed to miss the chance, at first. But at my new school we heard all sorts of other Bible stories. Some were much better. David and Goliath, for example. That was the best of all.

  The hero shared my name, for a start.

  And when the chips were down, I liked how he stepped up and faced his enemy alone.

  The reflection of Rosser’s pale, humorless face floated in the polished granite like a ghoul hovering over a giant overturned gravestone.

  “Downstairs, was the death penalty mentioned?” he said.

  “It might have been,” I said. “I can’t remember. People are threatening to kill me all the time. And yet, here I am.”

  “Good. Because I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got something else lined up for you.”

  “An apology? A first-class ticket back to London?”

  “An eight-by-ten cell,” he said, reaching to his left and slowly drawing the edge of his hand across the shiny surface. “Think about it. That’s about a quarter of the size of this table.”

  “I don’t see a judge in here.”

  “Eight feet by ten. Your whole world. Twenty-three hours a day. How long would you last?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Not long, a guy like you,” he said. “So this is what you’re going to do. Go back downstairs with Lavine and Weston. Tell them about the guy who hired you. Every last detail. Help us take him down. Him, and his rat buddy in the bureau. Then, maybe we’ll think about sending you back to London.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said. “There’s no one to tell them about. No one hired me. I’m not involved.”

  “We can prove you are. Don’t kid yourself. Force us into court with this and the whole thing will land right at your door. It’ll destroy you.”

  “You can prove nothing. And London will never stand by and watch me walk into a courtroom.”

  “They’ve already agreed. You’ve been disavowed, Mr. Trevellyan. You’re not a lieutenant commander anymore. You’ll walk into that courtroom a private citizen. It’ll be you and a public defender against the bureau’s attorneys. How do you think the cards will be stacked then?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Don’t believe me?” he said. “OK. Louis-get London on the phone.”

  Thirty-five minutes later the door swung open and Tanya Wilson strode into the room. She was wearing the same smart suit as before, but had replaced the briefcase with a small, blue leather handbag. There was no sign of the prop glasses and her expression was aloof and impatient, like an executive who had been called into a meeting with people she thought were going to waste her time. She scowled at me as though that were my fault, then took a quick look across the table.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, and introduced herself.

  I glanced at Tanya’s watch. It had just turned five to four.

  “Ms. Wilson,” Rosser said. “Sorry to drag you across town, but you have some information for Mr. Trevellyan?”

  “I do,” Tanya said. “Though I’d appreciate a moment’s privacy with him. This episode has been embarrassing enough. London wouldn’t thank me for airing any more of their dirty laundry.”

  “Understood. Agent Lavine-find Ms. Wilson a suitable room down the hallway. Will five minutes be enough?”

  Tanya nodded. I got to my feet and we followed Lavine back out into the corridor. He led the way to the first door on the right. Tanya pushed it open and stood aside for me to go through before her. She followed me in and seemed surprised to find Lavine hard on her heels. He walked to the center of the room and turned slowly around, surveying the blank walls and empty floor space. The only object to be seen was a set of emergency evacuation instructions. They were in a plain clip frame on the wall to the side of the door. It had a glass front. Lavine removed it on his way out.

  “Four minutes thirty,” he said. “I’ll be right outside.”

  “What are you doing here, Tanya?” I said. “It seems you’re not my attorney anymore.”

  “No, I’m just a messenger now,” she said, stepping closer and taking hold of my lapels. For a moment I thought she was going to reach up and kiss me. At least I hoped she was. “I’ve been sent to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “London has been on the phone,” she said, letting go of my coat and taking a step back. You can always rely on Headquarters people to dampen the moment.

  “And?”

  “I’m sorry, David. There’s no easy way to say this. They dressed it up in a load of bullshit, but the bottom line is, London is washing their hands. As far as this current situation is concerned, you’re on your own.”

  “They’re cutting me loose?”

  “I’m sorry, David. I wouldn’t personally go this way, but it’s London’s call.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why?”

  “This dead agent. The eyewitness. Something about some physical evidence the FBI found at your hotel.”

  “That’s nothing.”

  “It’s something to Washington. Whatever they found, it somehow convinced them you’ve been freelancing. They say they’re coming after you personally unless you give up your client.”

  “And London? They believe that?”

  “They don’t know either way.”

  “So they just gave me up, anyhow?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time someone crossed the line. And Washington thinks they’ve got a traitor in the bureau, which is making them extra crazy.”

  “That’s their problem. London should have stood up.”

  “I’m sorry, David. I agree with you. I think they’re making a mistake. I tried to argue with them, but who am I?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tanya. It’s not your fault. You didn’t go over there and remove their backbones.”

  “I still feel bad, though.”

  “That’s life. Shit happens. It’s what you do about it that counts.”

  “But what can you do? You didn’t kill their agent, and you don’t have a name to give them. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

  “Something will come to mind.”

  “Like what? If you don’t cooperate they’ll think you’re holding out on them. They’ll come after you extra hard, out of spite.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  “How can you avoid it? The moment they get you in a courtroom, you’re finished. The odds are totally stacked in their favor.”

  “So maybe I won’t go into a courtroom.”

  “David, there’s no way to avoid it. Without London’s help you don’t have a choice. Face the facts. You’re stuck with it, so we’ll just have to think of a different approach. Something to balance the scales a little.”

  “Such as?”

  “This legal aid person Washington is offering? Their public defender? Forget him. Hire a better lawyer. It would be expensive, but if you work
ed with them to build a really strong case you could beat the FBI at their own game. And make London eat humble pie at the same time. How sweet would that be?”

  “Work with a lawyer?” I said, moving over to the window. There were fewer people on the street now, and the ones that were left seemed somehow smaller and farther away. “That’s one option.”

  There was a bang on the door.

  “Sixty seconds,” Lavine said, from the corridor.

  “His watch must be fast,” Tanya said. “Arsehole. So anyway, decision time. What are we going to tell Rosser when we go back in?”

  “Tell him whatever you like,” I said, crossing to the opposite corner of the room. “But for now, do me a favor. Stay where you are.”

  “David? What are you doing?”

  I found a spot where I’d be concealed by the door when it opened and got into position, lying on my back with my right knee slightly bent and my arms stretched out above my head, as straight as the handcuffs would allow. Then I slowed my breathing right down and relaxed my whole body until it was perfectly still.

  Lavine didn’t knock a second time, and he came into the room well before the final minute was up. He took a step toward Tanya and then stopped abruptly with one hand still holding the door. After a moment the closing mechanism pulled the handle clear of his fingertips and it swung back into place with a bang.

  “Where is he?” Lavine said.

  Tanya nodded in my direction. She looked nervous.

  If Lavine had been sensible and headed back to the corridor for help I’d have had a problem. But he didn’t. He came over to gawp at me. People can never resist the sight of a body. I should know.

  I stopped breathing altogether as Lavine approached. He stepped into the gap I’d left next to the wall, bent over me, then knelt down for a closer look. I could feel his breath on my cheek. It was damp. I guess he was worried, wondering how to explain this fiasco to Rosser.

  Before he could move away I whipped my right leg up, hooked it around the back of his head and dragged him down toward me, trapping his neck between my thighs and jacking myself up into a sitting position at the same time. My arms were still above my head, and in one continuous movement I swung them over and brought them down in front of me, slamming the edges of my fists into his left temple like a pair of sledgehammers.

  Tanya rushed over and stood for a moment, staring down at the pair of us entwined on the floor. She looked completely aghast. Then, without me asking, she began to haul Lavine’s slack body off my leg.

  “David, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” she said. “How are we going to fix this?”

  “Give me a hand,” I said. “I need his keys.”

  “What’s going on inside your head? Why did you attack him? Talk about making yourself look guilty. Who’s going to believe you now?”

  “Tanya-keys.”

  “Things were bad enough already. Now you’ve made them a thousand times worse. Just be quiet for a minute. I need time to think.”

  “We don’t have any time. I need to be out of here before they come looking for Lavine. They’ll wonder where we are.”

  “You’re running away? Things are getting a bit tough, and this is how you react?”

  “I’m not running away, Tanya. Never have, never will.”

  “Then what are you doing? You might as well sign a confession. Do you want to die in jail?”

  “Stop thinking inside the system, Tanya. I gave it a chance. It came up short. Now it’s time to take care of business for myself.”

  “How?”

  “Find out who’s framing me.”

  “Then what? Have you thought about this at all? Have you got any idea what you’re going to do?”

  “Bring them back here. Accept Rosser’s apology. Go back to work.”

  “You’re taking the law into your own hands? You really think that’s the best way to go? You’ll be a fugitive. A cop killer. The FBI, NYPD, everyone you can think of will be out there, hunting you down.”

  “They can try, Tanya. It’s nothing new. And who else is going to sort this crock out? Lawyers? I don’t think so. Washington? Too busy throwing me to the lions. London? Sitting back, watching. You? Running around, delivering messages?”

  Tanya turned away. Her breathing sounded sharp and fast but she made no attempt to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t fair.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” she said, without moving. “I’ve been trying to help ever since I got your call.”

  “I know. But if you really want to do something helpful, please, get me the damn keys.”

  Tanya found them in Lavine’s pants pocket, which was the first place she looked. She pulled them out, stalled for a moment while she pretended to examine his Bart Simpson key ring, and then very hesitantly released my wrists.

  “OK,” she said. “So I’m an accessory now. What else can I do?”

  “Nothing,” I said, taking Lavine’s gun and $130 in bills from his wallet. “London has washed its hands. You can’t get involved.”

  “Hello? News flash-I am involved. I want to be. What London’s doing is wrong. I’m not going to just stand by and see you stabbed in the back.”

  “Sure?”

  “Absolutely. Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “You’ll end up in hot water.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “OK then. Maybe there are a couple of things you could do.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Keep your phone on. Hook me up with the right people when I’m ready to come back in. No one too trigger-happy.”

  “You’ve got my number. What else?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” I said.

  Something on the wall had caught my eye. About waist height, fifteen inches in from the corner. From a distance I thought it was just a dent, but looking up from the floor I wasn’t so sure. I moved closer and saw it was actually the mouth of a metal socket. It was square, about half an inch across. The plaster had been chipped away all around it, disguising the shape. I ran my hand across the surface and into the narrow alcove that formed where the two walls met. I reached up inside the dusty channel but didn’t find anything. Then I moved my hand down again and my fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. I took hold, pulled, and it came away from its moorings quite easily. It was a steel bar, shaped like the starting handle from a vintage car. One end was squared off. I tried it in the socket. It fitted perfectly.

  I turned the handle gently, but nothing happened. I tried a little harder, and very gradually the entire side wall began to move. It was sliding away toward the far side of the room and gathering up like a concertina between two banks of windows. I could have wound it all the way back to join our room up with the next one, but there was no need. I stopped after a dozen turns, leaving a space just wide enough to squeeze through.

  I poked my head through the gap and quickly scanned the room. It was a similar size, also empty, with nothing on the walls. I didn’t go through. There wasn’t time for a thorough inspection, but that didn’t matter. I could see enough from where I stood. A socket for winding the folding wall back into place-this time with a metal plate around it-and a door leading to the corridor. Everything I was going to need.

  Tanya had her back to me, still gazing down at Lavine.

  “That other favor,” I said. “Tell them I overpowered their guy on my own. Don’t mention that you found the keys. Then say I knocked you down, and you don’t know what happened after that. OK?”

  “Do you think they’ll swallow it?” she said.

  “Just keep it simple, don’t elaborate, and stick to your story.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Oh, Tanya?” I said, pulling the handle free from its socket. “One last thing. I need you to scream.”

  She didn’t disappoint. I kissed her-just for luck-then hooked her legs out from under her. She went down, hard, already yelling before she even landed on Lav
ine. I dived through into the next room. The handle slotted into place and I quickly started turning. A door opened in the distance. It sounded like the boardroom. Rosser and the others coming to investigate. More footsteps thundered down the corridor. Two people, running. Coming from the opposite direction. The agents who had been stationed by the elevators.

  The wall inched across as if it were being pulled by a snail. I turned the handle even faster and the edge finally slotted home just as I heard the door fly open on the far side. People rushed in. I heard them milling around. Their voices were raised. They sounded angry and confused. I moved over to my door, eased it open a crack and peeped out into the corridor. It was clear. I opened the door wider and slipped through. Then I had to wait there for a moment, easing the door closed against the mechanism so it didn’t bang into the frame.

  But thanks to Tanya, there was no one around to see me.

  NINE

  Stairs are your enemy, my Escape and Evasion instructor used to say.

  He repeated it constantly, never missing a chance to drum it into our heads. At first I thought he must be mad, but pretty quickly I came to see his point. Run up or down enough of them and your legs turn to jelly, however fit you are. Bad if you’re carrying a tray of coffee back to your office. Worse if there are people with guns waiting for you at the other end.

  I figured that with their top brass in an insecure building the bureau guys would be doing everything by the book. The agents who had been stationed by the elevators would be the inner perimeter. I didn’t have to worry about them. I’d got through, and I’d hear if they tried to follow me. But there’d also be an outer perimeter, either on the ground floor or in the garage. And probably a backup vehicle outside on the street. That put a lot of stairs between me and anyone with a hostile disposition.

  I decided to take things nice and slow.

  I stopped on the twentieth floor to see if anything was happening with the elevators. There was only one in service-the same one that Lavine and Weston had taken me up in-and the display showed it was on the ground floor.

  I stopped again on the first floor. This time I went straight through the lobby area and down the corridor, looking into all the various rooms. The first few on both sides were empty. Then I found one with a desk in it. That wouldn’t work. Too big to carry. A large cardboard box had been left in the next room, but it was damaged. Too flimsy to stand on. But in the next room-the last but one-I found a small set of wooden shelves tucked away in a closet in the corner, next to the window. They were three feet wide, two feet high, and nine inches deep. Sturdy enough, and a perfect size. I picked them up and headed back to the elevators.