by Tom Wood
The man quit the game and slid the phone in a pocket of his cargo trousers. He ignored the pockets of his jacket because there was a good chance it would come off, one way or another.
‘What was my mistake?’ he asked, not looking at Victor – at least not making eye contact.
Victor saw no harm in answering. ‘You ignored the three women.’
The man paused, recycling through events. ‘I could be gay for all you knew.’
‘Then you wouldn’t have ignored me.’
His lips tightened and he nodded.
Victor said, ‘Take comfort in knowing you did everything else right. I would not have made you otherwise.’
The man thought about this, then shrugged. ‘A failure is still a failure, however close.’
Victor said nothing. He had no intention of placating the man any further.
‘What now?’ the man asked, meeting Victor’s eyes.
‘That depends.’
‘On?’
‘Whether you’re a better fighter than you are a shadow.’
They stared at one another.
‘I’m good,’ the man said.
Victor nodded. ‘I believe you. You’re a good shadow too.’
‘But you still made me.’
Victor nodded again.
‘Then,’ the man said after a long moment, ‘maybe I’ll stay sitting here when you get off.’
‘That sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had,’ Victor said. ‘Do you know what your second best idea will be?’
‘To tell you everything I know?’
Victor said, ‘Right first time. Who sent you?’
‘Halleck.’
‘I figured as much. Why?’
The man said, ‘To keep you under observation.’
‘Termination too?’
‘No.’
Victor was surprised to find he believed the man. ‘How many of you guys are there?’
‘Twenty.’
Victor raised an eyebrow. ‘Twenty?’
‘Well, twenty-one including me.’
‘Three seven-man teams on eight-hour rotations?’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything about the others.’
‘Then what are you doing exactly?’
‘Keeping an eye on you. Reporting back. That kind of thing.’
‘But not interfering.’
The man said, ‘Surveillance only.’
‘You’re ex-military, right? Not intelligence.’
‘Ranger,’ the man clarified.
The train slowed as it neared the next station.
‘This is me,’ Victor said as the doors opened.
The man said, ‘Thanks for the lesson.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘And thank you for not killing me.’
‘Don’t thank me for that just yet. I still might before I leave town.’
The man nodded to himself. ‘I’ll tell them you gave me the slip.’
Victor said, ‘Tell them whatever you want to. But know that if you’re put back in circulation and I see you again —’
‘You’ll never see me again,’ the man interrupted.
‘Ah,’ Victor said. ‘Now that is the best idea you’ve ever had.’
He disembarked and the train rolled away. Victor, alone on the platform, watched it disappear into the tunnel.
THIRTY-ONE
The Metropolitan Museum of Art stood on Fifth Avenue in the Upper East Side. Victor arrived on foot, having taken the subway to 86th on Lexington Avenue, followed by a meandering route around the local area to lose possible surveillance. The neighbourhood was overflowing with other museums and galleries, grand apartment buildings, and upmarket stores and boutiques. It smelled of money and culture.
It was a good area for counter surveillance too. Watchers and shadows tended to wear casual clothes to blend into the widest variety of environments. Here, the populace fell into two distinct categories: residents and tourists. The residents wore stylish and expensive attire whereas the tourists were even more casual in appearance than the typical watcher.
He saw no one that registered on his threat radar, but the area was so busy with foot and vehicle traffic it would be impossible to be sure no set of eyes watched him.
He approached the museum from the north, walking alongside Central Park behind a crowd of German tourists. He didn’t look like them. Neither was he dressed as they were. But their numbers were of use to him.
When they reached the museum, the Germans hung around on the wide stone steps outside near an American flag fluttering in the breeze. They were waiting for one of their number to join them. Victor overheard something about someone oversleeping. He left them – waiting around only increased his exposure – and climbed the steps up to the entrance framed by enormous pillars.
There were lots of tourists outside the entrance, milling about and taking photographs. He saw signs for exhibitions, noting the ones he was most interested in seeing while at the same time working out which ones would be best for drawing out shadows while he looked for Raven.
The building was huge and spectacular; a sprawling Gothic giant that housed seventeen acres of galleries – the largest in the United States. The museum spanned almost a quarter of a mile from the south corner to the north. The façade was a stunning example of neoclassical style with high, arched windows, deep cornices and elaborate sculptural decoration. Victor, well used to beautiful architecture, was impressed. The museum occupied over two million square feet and contained some of the greatest examples of art in the world. Victor had longed to visit for many years, but he stayed away from the United States for anything less than vital visits.
Locating Raven in a building of this size was going to be a challenge. If he was still being shadowed without his knowledge, he would have a better chance of identifying shadows in an interior environment where he could control the situation and set them up to reveal themselves.
He passed through the entrance and into the Great Hall, a huge cavernous space where visitors stood in awe, necks straining to look up at the beautiful domed ceiling above. Others paid for admission or checked the maps of the museum and collected information on exhibitions, tours and lectures.
Victor waited his turn and paid the suggested donation for admission. He wanted to pay more – he loved museums – but he had to remain inconspicuous at all times. Generosity now, even that which he felt was just, would make him memorable. The English woman behind him donated a dollar.
The main entrance hall was no good for trying to identify watchers. There were too many people passing through or hanging around, too many ways in and out, and overlooking balconies. And Halleck’s team had the advantage of knowing what he looked like. Victor had only seen five of twenty-one.
He headed into the gift shop. An uncommon first choice for a visitor, and a far smaller space with fewer people than the entrance hall. It also had two entrances/exits, so shadows either had to follow him inside or divide forces to watch both. He loitered for five minutes, memorising anyone who came in after him. As he left, he did the same with anyone in a good position to watch the exit he passed through.
He browsed information leaflets and purchased an audio tour guide of the museum, in German, while his gaze swept the area for women matching Raven’s description.
As expected, he saw no woman that could be Raven in the hall itself. He had no idea where she might be located, so he did the same as the other visitors tended to do. He walked straight ahead towards the Grand Staircase on the far side of the hall, which led up to the European galleries.
He felt guilty for not taking the proper time to walk around and marvel at the masterpieces displayed, but he wasn’t here to sightsee. He was here to end a threat on his life. Maybe when he had a new face and enough downtime between jobs he would return and spend a week exploring all the museum had to offer. He wanted to absorb everything. He wanted to miss nothing. He glimpsed Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm. It reminded him of
wallpaper in the corridor of a Parisian hotel.
Another time, he promised himself. It was nearing half past three in the afternoon. If Raven was as careful as Victor, which he believed from what he had witnessed and learned, then she would be here already to perform her own counter surveillance. He imagined she was meeting a client or broker or contact of some kind.
He perused the Greek and Roman galleries next. They were teeming with people. No Raven among the tourists staring at the various statues and artefacts from ancient times. He stood aside to let a guided tour walk by. As a participant in such a tour he would have the advantage of anonymity, but the rigid structure of the route around the museum would make looking out for Raven, and any potential threats, all the more difficult.
Paintings and drawings, sculptures and furnishings, arms and instruments from throughout thousands of years of human history all competed for his attention as he passed through the museum. There was so much to see, so much to distract him, it was almost a challenge to remain focused on his objective. But a lifetime of discipline and adhering to protocol meant any distraction lasted but an instant.
In the sunlit atrium that housed the Temple of Dendur he detected a potential problem. He stood with the other visitors as they admired the great sandstone blocks that formed the Egyptian place of worship to the goddess Isis. A pool of water set within the hall reflected the sky above the atrium and those that stood nearby. Victor’s own reflection danced on the surface.
So did that of a man in a blue suit. He was tall and slim, about thirty, with pale skin and receding brown hair cut clipper short. There was nothing remarkable about him. He did not pay Victor any attention or do anything to suggest he was trying not to pay Victor attention, but he felt wrong.
It was impossible to qualify why. Maybe Victor had seen him somewhere else, whether on the subway, on the streets of the city, or perhaps even elsewhere inside the museum itself. He did not recognise the man, he could not place when or where he might have seen him, but that did not mean he had not and was now remembering.
He didn’t seem like one of Halleck’s guys. That was obvious by his dress, build and manner. Victor moved on, curious to see what the man in the blue suit would do as a result.
In the hallway leading to the next gallery, Victor stopped and thumbed through one of the leaflets he had picked up from the information desk inside the Great Hall. He skimmed over text and photographs relating to a new, temporary exhibition while he waited to see if the man in the blue suit followed.
He did not.
Victor continued on his way.
THIRTY-TWO
Victor saw no more of the man in the blue suit while he scouted through the rest of the museum, but he had only identified a fraction of the watchers. Twenty-one men formed a huge crew. To shadow one man it seemed beyond excessive, but after Victor had managed to steal Halleck away from eleven men it made a certain sense. Halleck was taking no chances. As eleven hadn’t been enough, he had almost doubled the number of men. But the eleven in Ireland had been there to protect him. The twenty-one in New York were here to keep track of Victor. That didn’t make sense.
The watcher on the train wouldn’t know the overall objective. If he had, he would have told Victor. He had been too intimidated to withhold any information. And he knew Victor wouldn’t let him walk away a second time, so however the watcher managed it, he would find a way to get out of his duty – pretending to be sick or injured or perhaps even going AWOL. Whatever the excuse, Victor had taken the total number of Halleck’s men down to twenty. Still a huge opposition. Although, at least for now, they were just a nuisance.
It was a task made more difficult whilst trying to hunt down Raven without her knowledge. He kept moving. He didn’t know how long she would be in the museum. There was a chance that if Raven was in motion too, he might fail to see her as they both passed along their separate routes, never crossing through the same place at the same time. It was a risk he had to take. This was the only lead he had. With federal agents on to her safe house, Raven might never return to it, and Victor might not get another opportunity to take her by surprise.
Then, he might only see Raven again in the second before she killed him.
The museum housed a number of cafés and bars where visitors and staff alike took breaks for refreshment and reflection. He checked them all out because if Raven was meeting someone here one of these locations seemed an obvious place. He drank a bottle of water to stay hydrated, but did not linger in any one place. He had to be fast. He was running out of time.
In the Ming-style scholar’s garden of Astor Court he saw a woman from behind who was an equal for Raven’s height and physique, but on closer inspection she proved to be a negative match.
He headed for the Modern Art wing and ascended to the museum’s roof and its outdoor sculpture gallery and garden. The roof garden would be a good place for a meeting – no through traffic of tourists; fewer opportunities to be observed and overheard. It was ten to four. The cool air was refreshing and now the rain had ceased the autumn sunshine felt warm on his face. Visitors stood, mouths open, awed by the magnificent views of Central Park.
He wandered around the roof garden, his gaze passing over tourists and art lovers, looking out for slim women over five foot nine or the man in the blue suit.
The sculptures were comprised of installations by contemporary and twentieth-century artists, changed each year. Victor had little time for modern art, but the arrangement of the sculpture garden, its position on the roof, and the sweeping backdrop of the park to the west of the city made it a pleasurable space. The sculptures were almost unnecessary. The panoramic view of Manhattan alone was worth the trip up to the roof. The sun was low and the skyline to the west was a silhouette of black against blazing red and orange.
He saw a woman in a grey dress standing by the wall and hedge on the roof garden’s southern edge. She had her back to him as she gazed out. At what, he didn’t know. He judged her to be five-nine, made almost six feet by heels. She had dark hair tied up in a bun. The height and physique were right. She was alone. If she was here to meet someone they hadn’t arrived or had already gone.
As he neared he adjusted his trajectory, wandering close to sculptures he did not understand to disguise his intentions. He looked around. The whole area was busy with people engrossed in the sculptures, the views or one another.
This would not be a clean kill. There would be witnesses. It might even be captured as an image or video recording by the numerous cameras and cell phones that were everywhere.
He wanted to end the threat now. He didn’t know when, or if, he would get another opportunity to strike.
But the risk of exposure was too high. He would follow her instead and wait for a better opportunity.
He became aware of someone standing next to him a second before Raven said, ‘Do you have a light?’
THIRTY-THREE
Victor turned and took a step back to create distance, but did not raise his hands to strike or defend for the same reason he had decided against attacking the woman in the grey dress he had thought to be Raven. The rooftop was too exposed. If it was not, Raven could have killed him. He hadn’t seen her. His focus had been on the woman in the heels. Raven had a cigarette in between her right fore and index fingers.
Raven said, ‘Why don’t you quit staring at her and ask for her number? You look like a creep.’
She had red hair and wore tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a well-tailored business suit, black with a pinstripe. A smart black bag hung from one shoulder. Her manicured hands were free of weapons, but unencumbered save for the cigarette, which was no encumbrance at all.
‘So, about that light?’ she asked.
Victor said, ‘You can’t smoke here.’
She sighed, as if a genuine sadness had come over her. ‘Next you’ll be telling me that I shouldn’t be smoking at all.’
‘It’s bad for your health.’
She held his
gaze. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. Hers were even darker.
She said, ‘It’ll kill me?’
He stared back, right into his own reflection. ‘No, smoking isn’t going to kill you. That’s one thing you can be certain of.’
She put the cigarette away into a silver case. It snapped shut and she dropped it into her bag.
‘I take it you want to make sure my demise is sooner, rather than later.’
Victor nodded. ‘How did you guess?’
She looked away and out over Central Park. ‘Do you even know why?’
‘I’m not irrational, if that’s what you’re asking.’
She looked back at him. ‘Because I took a few shots at you?’
‘You did more than that.’
‘So you’re after revenge?’
He said, ‘Revenge is never part of my actions,’ thinking about the single time it had been.
She regarded him as if she could see both the truth and the lie at the same time. ‘Then why?’
‘Self-preservation,’ he answered. ‘That’s the only reason I kill anyone I’m not paid to.’
Her eyebrows moved closer together. ‘So no one paid you to come after me?’
‘I’m paying myself. Pro bono.’
She smirked at that. ‘I like you.’
‘The feeling isn’t mutual.’
‘Give it time. You’ll end up quite besotted.’
‘Nothing is going to stop me from killing you.’
‘Then why don’t you kill me now? I’m standing right here next to you. I’m unarmed. Vulnerable. Just a weak little woman against a big strong man.’
‘You’re not weak,’ he said. ‘And you’re not vulnerable.’
‘So you’re chicken?’
He smiled to acknowledge the joke. ‘Two reasons: one…’ He glanced around at the numerous witnesses. ‘And two: I want information first.’
She seemed surprised. Which in turned surprised him. ‘About what?’
‘About who sent you after me. I want everything you know about them.’
