‘Temple Bar.’
‘I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. College Green, in front of the Bank of Ireland.’
‘I’ll be there.’ The line clicked in his ear. Lynch tapped the receiver against the side of his head. McCormack was unhappy. Very unhappy.
The Colonel settled back in his chair and put his stick on the desk. Cramer stood at the French windows, looking out over the lawn towards the main gate where two men in jeans and sports jackets were standing, their backs to the building. Cramer had seen at least twelve different guards over the past few days, all of them members of 22 SAS. It was ironic, when he’d most need protection, when he was out in the real world taking the target’s place, he’d be more or less on his own. A Judas Goat. Bait. Waiting for the assassin to strike.
The Colonel’s voice jarred him out of his reverie. ‘You’ve read all the files in detail?’
Cramer turned to face him. ‘Yes. All of them.’
‘So you know what you’ll be up against? He’s never failed. Never been caught. Never pulls his gun until he’s up close. What do you think your chances are, Joker?’
Cramer tilted his head to the side. ‘Long term, nil.’
The Colonel cleared his throat as if something there was irritating him. ‘I meant your chances of taking him out.’
Cramer shrugged. He was wearing a denim shirt and black Levi jeans. The suits, even though they were made-to-measure, always felt confining and he took every opportunity to change out of them. ‘If I can get him in my sights I think I’ve a good chance.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘The problem is, I can’t pull the gun out until I’m sure it’s him. And I won’t be sure until he’s pointing his gun at me.’
The Colonel studied Cramer with unblinking brown eyes. ‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘Come on, Colonel, we both know why I’m doing this. Who shoots who first doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘I’m not sending you on a suicide mission, Joker.’
Cramer returned the Colonel’s stare. ‘Aren’t you?’
The two men looked at each other in silence. It was the Colonel who spoke first. ‘And you’re still prepared to go ahead?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
The Colonel tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘The next stage is to take photographs of you, and those will be sent to the FBI in Miami along with details of the target’s movements. From there they’ll be forwarded to Zurich. Once the contract is placed with Zurich, there’s no going back. You understand that, Joker? The way this killer works, there’s no further contact once the contract has been placed.’
‘Just do what you have to, Colonel.’
The Colonel nodded slowly. ‘I will.’
‘So when do I leave here?’ Cramer sat down and crossed his legs at the ankles.
‘We’ve still got some work to do,’ said the Colonel.
‘You haven’t yet explained what it is that I’ll be doing. And what’s happening to the guy I’m replacing?’
‘I wanted to be sure that you were committed to the operation, first.’ The Colonel picked up a thin blue file and passed it across the desk. ‘This is the target. Andrew Vander Mayer. A multi-millionaire, self-made.’
Cramer opened the file. There were only two sheets of paper inside. ‘This is it?’
‘That’s it. There’s very little about Vander Mayer in the public domain. And there are no photographs. That’s in our favour. No matter how much research the assassin does, he won’t get more than you have there.’
‘And who is it who wants him dead?’
‘A former business partner, a lawyer by the name of Frank Discenza.’
Cramer frowned. ‘Italian? Why didn’t he get the Mafia to do the hit?’
The Colonel smiled. ‘Not all Italians are connected to the Mafia, Joker. And the Mafia can be a double-edged sword. If they do something for you, eventually they’ll come looking for the favour to be repaid. Our man works only for cash.’
‘And how did you know this Discenza was planning to have Vander Mayer hit?’
‘The IRS and the FBI mounted a joint surveillance operation on Discenza earlier this year and they picked up the Zurich connection on one of their phone taps. Discenza was being circumspect, but one of the FBI agents heard enough to realise what was going on.’
‘Who was Discenza calling?’
‘A banker in Zurich. A very small bank, private clients only, just a brass plate on a wall and a couple of telephones. The banker’s just a middle man, a conduit. The client contacts the banker, the banker lodges the fee and passes on the details. It’s a damn near perfect system.’
‘And Discenza is cooperating?’
‘He’s got no choice. The FBI have him for conspiracy to commit murder, the IRS have him for major tax evasion. He was facing a long jail sentence on both counts, so yes, he’s cooperating.’
Cramer frowned. ‘But what exactly am I supposed to do?’
‘You live Vander Mayer’s life. You visit his homes, you travel in his personal jet.’
Cramer shook his head. ‘Live his life? How will I know what to do? Where to go?’
‘You’ll have help. He has a personal assistant who travels everywhere with him and she’ll be with you every step of the way. Vander Mayer will be on his yacht, he’ll effectively run his business from there, but he’ll act as if he’s where you are. If you’re in his London flat, he’ll say he’s calling from London, and so on.’
Cramer studied the sheets. ‘An arms dealer? He’s an arms dealer?’
‘More of a middle man than an actual dealer. You don’t go to Andrew Vander Mayer if you want to buy a couple of dozen Kalashnikovs. But if you want to equip your air force with the latest air-to-air missiles and your country is on the UN blacklist, then he’s your man.’
‘I don’t know anything about arms dealing.’
‘You don’t have to,’ said the Colonel. ‘You won’t be in on any business meetings, Vander Mayer will handle it all from his yacht. His assistant will deal with any small things that crop up.’
The second sheet in the file contained a list of dates and places. ‘This is my itinerary?’ asked Cramer. The Colonel nodded. ‘I’m getting around. London. New York. Hong Kong. Paris. St Petersburg.’
‘That’s the sort of life that Vander Mayer lives.’
Cramer looked up from the itinerary. ‘This is for the next two weeks.’
‘We don’t know how long it’ll be before the killer makes his move. Hopefully it’ll be sooner rather than later.’
‘Hopefully,’ Cramer repeated quietly. His right hand moved towards his stomach as if it had a mind of its own and Cramer stopped it. He scratched his ear instead. The fact that the cancer was gradually eating him away was never far from his thoughts, even when the pain had retreated to little more than a dull ache. Four weeks. It was a long time when you were waiting to die.
‘You’re all right with that?’ asked the Colonel.
‘Fine.’
The Colonel opened a drawer and took out a blue American passport. He held it out. ‘You’ll be needing this when you leave the country.’
Cramer took the passport. It was his photograph, but the name inside was Andrew Vander Mayer.
‘It’s genuine, you won’t have any problems with it,’ said the Colonel. ‘We’ve got the full cooperation of the US State Department.’ He tossed over three more passports of various colours: one was a European-style British passport, another was Uruguayan, a third was Israeli. Cramer frowned. ‘He’s Jewish?’
The Colonel shook his head. ‘No, but he’s done a lot of business with Israel. Done a lot of favours for them, too.’
Cramer flicked through the passports. They all contained his photograph but Vander Mayer’s details.
‘He travels with whatever passport is most convenient. His assistant will take care of all your travel arrangements, just as she does for him. She’ll tell you which one to use.’
Cramer nodded and put the passports back on the desk. ‘This girl. The assistant. How much does she know?’
‘She’s knows that Vander Mayer has been threatened, and she knows that you’ll be taking his place for a
