by Jason Dean
‘I do have some stuff that will interest you,’ he said. ‘Let me think on a place to meet. I’ll call you back in ten.’
He hung up and closed his eyes again. He thought about what he planned to give Arquette and what to hold back. For a moment, he briefly considered telling him about the mystery man in Canada. Arquette was a Fed, after all, and he was sure to have connections with other government departments with access to international criminal databases. But he quickly dismissed the idea. It was tactically unwise to give Arquette too much information about what he was up to. Fed or not, he was still law. But he would have to tell somebody if he was going to learn the guy’s identity. And good as Muro was, this kind of thing was well beyond a private detective’s remit.
Then it hit him. He did know somebody who might be able to get the information he wanted. Somebody from his distant past. Assuming he was still alive.
He thought back to a hot and humid summer in the Caribbean sixteen years before. Specifically, an air-conditioned seventh-floor hotel corridor, where a man had handed him a card with a number. Everything was blurry and indistinct, though. Bishop focused on that card and concentrated. Over the course of a minute, his memory worked on it until the phone number slowly came back into focus.
He smiled and opened his eyes. That little ability of his never ceased to amaze him. Just a shame he couldn’t bottle it and sell it.
He keyed in the New Jersey number that had been on the card. Anything could have happened in sixteen years, but it was worth a shot. He counted nine rings before it was picked up. A harsh male voice said, ‘Hello?’ The man sounded a little out of breath.
‘Is that Kelvin McIntyre?’ Bishop asked.
‘It is. Who’s this?’
‘My name’s Bishop. You gave me this number a long time ago in a hotel in Haiti, shortly after that incident during the Secretary of State’s visit. Do you remember?’
There was a long pause. Then McIntyre said, ‘Corporal Bishop. Well, well. You made sergeant shortly after that, I recall.’
‘That’s right. I heard that was partly down to you.’
‘I may have put in a letter of recommendation to your CO. So you held on to that number I gave you, after all?’
‘In a way. And you’re still in Trenton, then. I would have expected you to have a large corner office in that big building in DC by now.’
‘Well, they keep trying, but over there I’d just be a small fish in a big pond. I like it here where people actually do what I tell them. More important, my family likes it here. Look, Bishop, I was just on my way out of the door before I picked up, so is there anything I can do for you or was this just a social call?’
‘I don’t do social calls,’ Bishop said. ‘But I would like to come out and see you today. I need your professional input on something.’
‘You finally calling in that favour, huh?’
‘If you like. I believe this’ll be mutually beneficial, though.’
‘In that case, feel free to come over to the office and say hello in person. You know where the courthouse is, right?’
‘Yeah. It’ll probably be early afternoon sometime.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you later.’
Bishop hung up and looked out at the traffic. A sign informed them there was a place called Clarks Green five miles ahead.
Kidanu turned to him. ‘Who is this Kelvin McIntyre?’
‘A face from the past. But he might be able to help identify the dead man. Can’t hurt to ask.’
Bishop thought about the route into New Jersey and tried to recall the positions of the various rest areas along the interstates. Recalling one in particular, he began dialling Arquette’s number and said to Kidanu, ‘Turn off for the next town, okay? I need to find an internet café.’
SIXTY-FIVE
At 11.54, Bishop was leaning against the Infiniti in the large parking lot of the Secaucus service area, off the New Jersey Turnpike. It was one of those fully stacked rest areas with an on-site gas station and a small shopping plaza. Arquette was due at noon. Kidanu was getting himself a coffee from one of the stores in the plaza across the way. Bishop had advised him to stay there out of sight until Arquette was gone. As far as anybody was concerned it would be best if he was working solo today.
Playing things close to his chest, as usual. But then, some habits were hard to break. Especially when the law was involved.
At 12.04, Bishop spotted the same dark limo as before coming towards him. The thing looked as if it was gliding on air. The driver finally parked in a space twenty feet away from Bishop’s car. Two other vehicles were between them. The rear door and the passenger side door opened at the same time and Arquette and Nowlan got out.
Bishop thought Arquette’s thinning hair looked frail and wispy in the harsh daylight, and he noticed the Fed hadn’t shaved in a while, either. There was at least a day’s worth of stubble on his face and neck. But his black suit looked as crisp as ever. Arquette smoothed his jacket with a palm and walked towards Bishop, while Nowlan shut both doors and strolled off in the direction of the plaza entrance.
Bishop frowned as he watched Nowlan walk away. He kept his eyes on the man’s back. When Arquette was close enough, he said, ‘Where’s he going?’
‘To get me a very strong coffee,’ Arquette said. ‘I need something to keep me awake. So shall we talk here or in your car?’
‘In the car.’ With a final look at Nowlan, Bishop opened the driver’s door and got in. Arquette came around and got in the passenger side.
He shut the door and said, ‘So Kidanu’s no longer with you?’
‘I prefer to work alone when I can.’
Bishop reached over, opened the glove compartment and pulled out a CD in a generic paper wallet. Both had been provided earlier by a friendly internet café owner in Clarks Green. He handed it to Arquette and gave him a summary of what it contained. The EMC-Med and Continental Surveying bills. The bank letters and account details for Xerxes. It was missing the file containing Janine Hernandez’s address, though. Amy had kept that one doubly hidden for a reason, and Bishop wasn’t about to ignore her wishes. And also that list of names. Amy had worked hard to get that information. Bishop wasn’t prepared to hand it all over to Arquette without good reason.
Once Bishop had finished his summary, Arquette looked down at the CD in his hand and said, ‘So this is Amy’s back-up of what she took from Artemis?’
‘That’s right.’
Arquette smiled. ‘Good for her. This is better than I could have hoped for. I’ll get on it as soon as we finish here. So is there something you want from me?’
Bishop looked out the windshield and saw Nowlan already on his way back, holding a tray with two disposable coffee cups. ‘Just everything you find out,’ he said.
‘That’s only fair,’ Arquette said. ‘I was planning to keep you in the loop, anyway.’
Nowlan come over to the Infiniti’s passenger side and almost stumbled at the last moment. Arquette rolled down the window and took the cup Nowlan held out. ‘You get me some sugar, too?’ he asked.
‘Sir.’ Nowlan searched the tray, then looked at the ground and stooped down for something. He came back with the sugar packet he’d dropped and handed it over. ‘Sorry.’
Arquette rolled the window back up as Nowlan walked back to the limo. Bishop had been watching carefully and hadn’t seen any unspoken messages pass between them. It looked like Kidanu hadn’t been seen. Arquette shook the little bag and turned to Bishop. ‘So are you any closer to finding out who was behind your sister’s attack?’
‘I’ve got one or two ideas.’
‘Care to share them with me?’
Bishop just looked at him and said nothing.
Arquette smiled, tore open the sugar packet and emptied its contents into the cup. He stirred his coffee and said, ‘You still don’t fully trust me, do you?’
‘There any reason why I should?’
Arquette took a sip of his coffee. The strong aro
ma already filled the car interior. ‘Well, I am a federal agent. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason.’
‘And I’m an ex-con. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason why I shouldn’t.’
‘A pardoned ex-con. There’s a difference.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Any time a cop checks my record, all he sees is I spent three years inside. The rest is irrelevant. To people like you, I’ve got the mark of Cain on me.’
‘And that really bothers you, does it?’
Bishop smiled. ‘Not really. The law goes its way, I go mine. And except for Amy, I’ve never cared what anybody thought of me.’
‘Okay, I get the message.’ Arquette blew on his coffee and took another sip. ‘So have you discovered anything further about Artemis’s illicit arms trade?’
Bishop shook his head. ‘No, but then I wasn’t really looking. Like I told you before, all I really care about is protecting Amy from further harm.’
Arquette nodded. ‘Fair enough. Well, if you do discover something . . .’
‘I’ll let you know.’ Bishop rattled the car keys and said, ‘Well, I guess that’s it.’
Arquette snorted at the dismissal, pocketed the CD and opened the door. ‘It’s been a real pleasure as always, Bishop. I’ll be in touch.’
Arquette got out and Bishop watched him walk back to his limo, sipping from his coffee as he went. When he was in, the vehicle pulled out and slowly headed for the exit. The moment it joined the access road for the interstate, Bishop took out his cell and called Kidanu and told him to wait outside the front entrance. Then he turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life.
Next stop: Trenton.
SIXTY-SIX
Bishop’s soles squeaked faintly as he walked along the brown tile floor of the Trenton Federal Building & Courthouse, a six-storey art-deco building with Charles Wells murals affixed to the white marble-effect walls. Bishop felt as if he’d travelled back in time to the 1930s. The place smelled of floor polish, and the sounds of people walking and talking echoed in all directions.
He and Kidanu reached the main elevator bank and Bishop checked the directory attached to the wall. Soon the elevator arrived and they got in. Bishop pressed the 3 button. They exited on the third floor and turned left down the corridor.
Bishop stopped at a wooden door bearing the legend Trenton Field Office in small copper letters. Underneath was the suite number. There was no other identification. He pushed open the door and they entered a large waiting area.
Directly ahead was a long counter that doubled as a security barrier, covering the width of the room. The lower half was wood, probably with steel behind it. The upper half was thick glass. No doubt bullet-resistant. There was a door on the right with a keypad next to it. Behind the partition, Bishop saw a young, smartly dressed woman with neat brown hair down to her shoulders inputting something on her computer. She had a headset over one ear, but didn’t seem to be conversing with anyone.
Bishop walked over to her and waited. The woman kept typing, even though she had to know he was there. Her long brown hair had a reddish tint to it. Bishop looked at her unlined face and guessed early twenties. He was counting the freckles on her forehead when she finally paused in her work and looked at him with raised eyebrows.
‘I’ve come to see McIntyre,’ he said through the gap. ‘My name’s Bishop. He’s expecting me.’
The woman just looked at him, then at Kidanu. She picked up a phone, pressed two buttons and spoke quietly into it. After a few seconds, she replaced the phone with a frown.
‘Agent McIntyre will be right out,’ she said in a clipped voice. She pointed behind them. ‘You can wait over there.’
Bishop turned and saw half a dozen empty chairs to the right of the entrance. He shrugged at Kidanu and they went over and took a seat.
‘Friendly people,’ Kidanu said.
‘That’s government employees for you. Kind of remind me of embassy staff.’
Kidanu just smiled and said nothing.
Two minutes later, there was an electronic beep and a medium-built man in a dark suit came through the door on the right and walked over to them. McIntyre had aged badly. He still had his hair, but it was cut close to the skull and was almost totally grey. He also had deep grooves running from nose to mouth that Bishop didn’t remember seeing before, and the once youthful pale eyes now had heavy grey bags under them.
‘Well, you look about the same as I remember, Bishop,’ McIntyre said.
Bishop rose and shook the proffered hand. ‘And you look like death, McIntyre. If this is what a career in the Secret Service does to you, I made the right choice.’
McIntyre snorted. ‘Jesus, Bishop. Speak your mind, why don’t you? It just so happens that it’s the job that keeps me young. Blame the laugh lines on my four boys. Word of advice: you ever have kids, make sure you get daughters. Then it’s the wife who gets all the headaches.’ He raised an eyebrow at Kidanu.
Bishop introduced them to one another. As they shook hands, Bishop said, ‘There someplace else around here we can talk? I get nervous around government offices.’
‘Well, there are a couple of small conference rooms we sub-lease in the next hallway down. I know they’re both free at the moment.’
McIntyre opened the outer door and let them exit first. They walked along the corridor until McIntyre halted before an unmarked door. He took out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked and opened it.
Bishop went in first. It was a long, nondescript room. The wall opposite contained a shuttered window that looked out at more office buildings. Running down the length of the room was a wooden conference table, surrounded by around two dozen executive chairs. McIntyre closed the door, switched on the lights and sat at one end of the table. Kidanu took a seat near the centre. Bishop stood by the window.
‘You called this meeting,’ McIntyre said. ‘So you get to go first.’
Bishop stepped over to McIntyre and handed him the scrap of rag paper he’d taken from the farm. ‘I thought this might interest you.’
McIntyre took the scrap and studied it carefully. He rubbed it with his fingers and grunted softly. Then he reached into his inside jacket pocket and brought out something that looked like a jeweller’s loupe. Holding the lens an inch away from his right eye, he held the piece of paper up to the light as he inspected it.
After a minute, he lowered the loupe and sat back in his chair. He looked at Kidanu. Then at Bishop. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘From a farm in Ontario,’ Bishop said. ‘How good is it?’
McIntyre brought his brows together. ‘For a hundred dollar bill? I’d say this is the best I’ve ever seen. In fact, this could be the real stuff.’ He held it up to the light again and said, ‘It’s practically all there already. The Ben Franklin watermarks, the colour particles embedded in the paper. All that’s missing is the security ribbon and the colour-shifting ink. And the plates themselves, of course.’
Bishop nodded. ‘Well, I don’t know about the ribbon, but I saw plenty of large pots next to the paper rolls. I couldn’t open one to check, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they contained your special ink. And I also wouldn’t be surprised if the plates themselves weren’t being held in a safe somewhere. And all of it in a space large enough to hold an intaglio printer.’
‘And did it hold one?’
‘No, but I imagine it will soon.’
‘Wonderful.’ McIntyre sighed and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. ‘Look, Bishop, maybe you’d better start at the beginning. What’s your interest in all this? And where’s this so-called farm you mentioned?’
Bishop took a seat and began to explain. He didn’t cover everything, just the relevant details. Amy’s assault. His vow to track down those responsible. The CD she sent to herself. The lead that took them to a farmhouse in Canada owned by Roger Klyce. What he’d found in that windowless room. And the man who was living on the premises. Bishop didn’t mention he wasn’t living any l
onger.
When Bishop had finished, McIntyre said, ‘So no printing press means they’re not actually in production yet. That’s something, at least. But this guy living in the annexe. You’ve not got any idea who he is? Didn’t you talk to him?’
‘No,’ Bishop lied. ‘I don’t know what junk he’d taken recently, but it must have been pretty strong shit. He thought I was a hallucination or something. But that’s why I’m here. I’ve got his photo on my cell phone and I managed to take his prints once he’d passed out, but I’d really like a name. And when it comes to counterfeiting I know you guys keep files on all the major players around the world. I’m just hoping this guy’s one of them.’
‘Well, I’ll admit it’s possible I could identify him. But what’s in it for me?’
‘You still owe me that favour.’
McIntyre’s eyes became hooded. ‘Oh, yeah. But you know, what I’d really like is a more precise location for this farm of yours than “somewhere in Canada”.’
‘And I’ll give to you. But later, not now. I can’t risk word getting back to Klyce that we’re onto that aspect of his operation yet.’
‘We don’t have leaks in the Secret Service, Bishop.’
Bishop smiled. ‘And said with a straight face, too.’
‘You think I’m kidding?’ McIntyre turned to Kidanu. ‘I’m also curious as to where you fit into all this.’
‘It is no concern of your department, Mr McIntyre,’ Kidanu said. ‘All I will say is the Konamban government is interested in anything Bishop finds out about Roger Klyce.’
McIntyre turned back to Bishop and said, ‘I can see why you two get on.’ He gave a long sigh and held out his hand. ‘Okay, Bishop, let’s see what you got.’
SIXTY-SEVEN
