Even dt-1

by Andrew Grant

  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.”

  THIRTY

  I don’t remember a great deal about my grandfather.

  He died when I was too young. I’ve seen photos of him, and heard stories from relatives. But I never got a sense of what he was really like until a couple of years ago when his few remaining possessions found their way through to me, sealed up for years in his old army trunk.

  It turned out the old man had been fascinated by the Titanic. He’d built up a whole hoard of books and articles and clippings about it. Accounts of how it was built, in Belfast, near where he was born. The night it sank. The conspiracy theories. The expeditions to find the wreck. Biographies of the survivors. Histories of its sister ships. I read every word. But it wasn’t the technical details that struck a chord with me. It was how that final night must have felt for the passengers. One minute, their ship was indestructible. An unsinkable engineering marvel. The next it was a metal coffin on the way to the ocean floor. Their world was turned on its head. In an instant. With no warning.

  I’ve had that feeling, myself. On more than one occasion.

  And, as with icebergs, you never know when it’s going to strike.

  The trip to pick up James Mansell was a complete waste of time. The NYPD’s “ninety percent match” turned out to be a sad, confused drunk with an English accent. He’d been spotted dancing naked in the turtle pond in Central Park. The police had fished him out, dried him off, covered him up, and taken him to their station house. That part was easy enough. Getting an ID was another story. They were going nowhere until Lavine’s bulletin came through. Then they saw the chance to palm him off on the bureau. Which seemed like a good idea, until we got there. When Tanya realized what they were trying to pull I was lucky to get her out without any blood being spilled.

  The dead end at the police station set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. Tanya was too disappointed to speak much on the way back to the FBI building. She preferred to sit and stare silently at the traffic. Every street we tried was completely choked with it. There was no obvious reason why. There was no construction work. No accidents. It was as though the other vehicles had come out specifically to get in our way. There were so many we only just made it back by five o’clock. And just as we were jumping out of the car, Lavine phoned. They weren’t ready. Coordinating with the other cities was taking longer than expected. He wanted to postpone the meeting till 8:00 A.M. tomorrow. Which I didn’t mind, in itself. It would give us a chance to interrogate Tanya’s stalkers. Only Tanya chose that moment to remember some critical task she had to complete at the consulate. Something so important there was no way she could leave it till the morning. The only upside was a clear shot at dinner. A good chance to cheer us both up.

  Tanya had suggested Fong’s. She was probably thinking we could pick up where we’d left things on Tuesday, but I wasn’t so sure. The same restaurant three times in five nights would be a stretch, even if the previous visits had ended happily. So instead we settled on a French place I know not far from Union Square. The food’s good, the service is discreet, the tables are large and well spread out, and the lights are always turned down low.

  Ideal if you have to wait a while, for any reason.

  We’d agreed on eight o’clock. I arrived on time. Tanya didn’t, but I wasn’t worried. I figured that after her previous no-show she wouldn’t be more than five minutes late. Ten at the outside. There was plenty to keep me
occupied. Thinking about spending time with her again, outside work. The assortment of other diners, subtly shepherded together near the window to make the restaurant look extra popular. The waiters, silently gliding around with their order pads and plates of food. The solitary barman, halfheartedly flicking a bar rag over a stack of wine glasses, and a pair of youths, eyeing the twenty-inch chrome wheels on a BMW coupe parked across the street.

  My phone rang at eight fifteen. I went outside to answer. I’d expected Tanya, calling with an apology, but it turned out to be Lavine.

  “News,” he said. “The Iraqi doctors from the clinic? We traced them. There were four. But they already left the country. Flew out of Newark on Monday.”

  “Only four?” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s just New York. It’s the same story in Boston and D.C. Four medics in each place, all flew out three days ago. We’re still checking Chicago and Miami, but I’m assuming we’ll find the same thing.”

  “Did anyone come in to replace them?”

  “None that we can see, but we did link four other Iraqi nationals to Tungsten. They also bailed out Monday. Via JFK. Probably the ringleaders Taylor talked about. So it doesn’t look like they’re just changing shifts. More like they’re folding their tents altogether.”

  “Does Tanya know?”

  “I just called her cell. No answer. I’ll try her landline in a minute.”

  “Any other agencies involved?”

  “No. Not a one. Wasn’t on anyone’s radar.”

  “But we didn’t start sniffing till yesterday. So why cut and run on Monday?”

  “My guess is they weren’t running. They were leaving because they were ready. Which means we’re looking at a whole new scenario.”

  I checked the street. No one was in earshot.

  “The organ thing,” I said. “Maybe it’s not just a gold mine.”

  “No,” Lavine said. “More like a direct pipeline into five major cities. It gave these guys access to people. Locations. Technology. Expertise. And who knows what else.”

  “I’ve seen this before. A team moving in on the back of something else. Time to worry is when the key players pull out.”

  “Right. Means whatever they’re planning, it’s about to happen.”

  “They just leave the bare bones behind. Expendable nobodies. Drones, to press the button.”

  “It’s a standard terrorist MO. They keep the key assets safe. Ready to go again, somewhere else.”

  “But if they pulled out on Monday, we’re almost out of time. They won’t wait much longer. Too much risk. Another day, maybe. Two, max.”

  “That’s cutting it fine. We don’t even know what their target is.”

  “Taylor might. I’ll talk to him again. If he knows, he’ll tell me.”

  “He won’t. He’s in the wind. His lawyer got him out. Took two minutes, after the job you did on him.”

  “What job? I didn’t touch him.”

  “That’s not what he says. But it’s beside the point. He’s gone.”

  “Did he get his possessions back?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “If he’s got his phone, I could call him. Set something up.”

  “I already tried. He didn’t answer.”

  “He might do, if he sees my number. Or Mansell’s. I hung on to the SIM after we dumped his calls.”

  “Maybe. But listen. Could you hold off on that, at least till tomorrow? When we couldn’t reach Taylor, I spoke to Varley. He’s trying to bring the schedule forward on the raids. It could spook them, if Taylor thinks you’re still one step behind.”

  “OK. If we move fast on the raids. Because this is going to be huge.”

  “We don’t know that. There’s no need to scaremonger.”

  “We do know. Think about it. How much does a black-market kidney cost? Including the surgery?”

  “I don’t know. One hundred fifty thousand dollars, maybe? Why?”

  “Taylor said they were doing one procedure a day. They have five clinics. That’s $250 million a year, even if they stop for Christmas. You’d want a pretty big bang to turn your back on that amount of bucks.”

  The two youths had moved farther down the street. They were lurking near another row of parked cars. I strolled to the end of the block to take a closer look. I saw one of them hook a piece of gum out of his mouth and stick it to the top of the aerial on an old, square Chevrolet. Then they moved on to the next car in line. It was an XKR in slate-gray metallic, gleaming as though it had just rolled out of the showroom.

  The guy who’d been chewing the gum leaned on the Jaguar’s front wing with both hands, fingers spread wide like fat starfishes. He pressed down for ten seconds before straightening up and looking to see how much grease and filth had been transferred to the paint. His pal nodded and started to idly pick at the tip of the windshield wiper. Then they noticed me watching them. Instinctively I began to melt away, but I stopped. Because something struck me. I wasn’t working. I was on my own time. There was no need to be invisible, that night. It didn’t matter who saw me, or if anyone remembered my face afterward. I could stare at those guys as blatantly as I liked. I could even go over and encourage them to show a little more respect for other people’s vehicles.

  The idea was growing on me. But before I could act on it my phone began to ring again. And this time, it was Tanya.

  “David, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “You’re not coming,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Why not? What is it this time?”

  “Don’t be cross, David. I’m in trouble.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Inside my apartment. Two guys grabbed me. Now they’re holding me.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m OK. So far.”

  “Good. Now, where are you?”

  “At the clinic.”

  “They’re holding you at the clinic? On Sixty-sixth Street?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have they said what they want?”

  “Yes. You. They want you to come here, to the clinic, on your own.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. They say if you come alone, inside one hour, they’ll let me go.”

  “They asked for me by name?”

  “Yes. But David, don’t do it. Find Mansell. I’ll be-Ow. Someone just hit me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Tanya. I’m coming to get you. Don’t worry. This will all work out fine. Now, tell me. How many people are holding you? One. Two. Three. Four.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which part of the building are you in? The basement. Ground floor. First floor.”

  “Yes. Ow. They hit me again. They say our time’s up.”

  “OK. Stay strong then, Tanya. I’m on my way. There’s nothing to worry about. And whoever these guys are, they’re going to pay.”

  “One more thing. They’re going to text a photo of me to your phone. To remember me by. Because they say if you don’t make it here inside an hour, or don’t come alone, you won’t recognize what you find.”

  “Tell them not to bother,” I said. “I won’t be needing it.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Dead-letter boxes went out with the ark, but the navy still trains you to use them.

  It’s not that unreasonable, if you think about it. Often the simplest solution is the best, and it’s unwise to always rely on technology. And whether we thought we’d ever need the skill or not, we were sent into a south London housing estate, in pairs, to practice. One person to leave a coded message, the other to retrieve it.

  My role had been to retrieve. I waited until the agreed time, then approached the drop. I walked past twice, to be sure no one was watching. But when I was happy the coast was clear, I found there was no package to pick up. I was annoyed, rather than worried. I assumed the other guy had screwed up, so I pulled back to our rendezvous point to share my thoughts on his performance. I was fifty feet away when someone sprang out a
t me from a gap in a broken-down fence. It was a guy from the next group up on our course. He said my partner had been mugged by a bunch of local youths and dragged into a lockup garage around the next corner. There were eight of them, and they’d been laying into him with baseball bats. He was hurt pretty bad.

  We moved silently forward and peeked around the end of the fence. I could see the garage. It was on its own, surrounded by crumbling, gravel-strewn tarmac. A trail of blood led to a single vehicle-sized door at the front, which was now closed. The guy from the course wanted to rush it. With two of us he thought we’d be OK. I wasn’t so sure. There was no way of approaching silently or under cover. We had no weapons. No knowledge of the youths’ objectives or disposition. Nothing to force open the door. No information on the area or surroundings. And strong odds we’d end up giving them three hostages instead of one.

  I pulled out my phone. It was the right decision to make. The whole scenario had been staged. The emergency procedures were drummed into us every day. We all knew the backup facilities that were available to us. The question was, did you have the presence of mind to use them when it really counted? Or would you become John Wayne and make the situation worse?

  Varley, Weston, and Lavine were already in their mobile command center when I got there, twenty minutes after I sent the balloon up. It was tucked in at the end of a row of maintenance vehicles behind Temple Emanu-El on Sixty-fifth and Fifth. All three were in the control room. Weston was nearest the front, sitting at a console. The others were standing behind him. They were all staring at an array of flat-panel monitors. There were nine, arranged in a square that covered the whole end wall. None of them were working.

  The central panel flickered into life just as I walked in. It showed a dainty four-story building, only two windows wide with ornate stone carvings around the frames and a sloping roof covered with embossed copper sheeting. The hulking, utilitarian offices that bore down on each side made it seem tiny and out of place, like a slice of old-world Europe sandwiched between two concrete cubes.