“Then, yeah, I want to meet the guy. Alone, preferably.”
“Can’t do alone,” she said, getting up and heading for the desk. “But don’t worry. You’re going to love what I’ve got for him.”
I watched Lesley open one of the lower drawers, then the cell phone she’d given me started to vibrate in my pocket. It was Tanya.
“Deal’s done,” she said. “We’ll be at the helipad at 9:00 A.M. tomorrow, waiting for your call. The three guys you specified and me.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Thanks. Any problems getting it set up?”
“Don’t ask. You owe me, big-time.”
“Dinner’s on me, then, when this is over.”
“Three dinners, minimum. Don’t forget that stunt with Lavine. And you still owe me one from Madrid.”
Lesley had started back before I hung up.
“We’re in business,” I said.
“I heard,” she said.
She was carrying a lumpy, vaguely cylindrical parcel, nine inches long by four inches diameter. It was made of gray suede, held together by a fine silver chain. I heard the tall guy shifting in his chair, and I saw his eyes were glued to the object as Lesley gently laid it down on the table in front of her.
“Something you should think about,” she said. “We own people. They tell us things. Your name. Where you were staying.”
“You mentioned that already,” I said.
“It goes further. Let me give you an example. Louis Breuer received a secret e-mail from London this afternoon. One of our guys got to it first. We’d read it before Breuer or Rosser or Varley. We know all about you. What you do. All your little trips around the world. Not a bad life, for a sailor boy.”
“And your point is?”
“You need to believe, anything goes wrong tomorrow-accidentally or otherwise-we’re going to know before you leave the building.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“I am. Like this afternoon. You outsmarted the FBI. Got away from them, easily enough. But not me. Because my ear’s to the ground. Always. I heard what you did. And I had two cars outside before you even found the door.”
I allowed myself a little smile. She still didn’t realize the favor she’d done me back there.
“OK,” I said. “If anything goes wrong tomorrow, it won’t be down to me.”
“Good,” she said. “ ’Cause there are penalties for people who let me down.”
“Like what? You don’t let them shoot tramps anymore?”
“Yeah. Kind of like that. I was going to tell you about it, but then I thought, why not show you?”
Lesley nodded at the tall guy. His face was blank, bordering on sullen. He paused for a moment then hauled himself up and stalked out of the room, his big feet clattering along the landing and down the stairs.
“Watch what happens next,” she said. “Then see if you still have a taste for wisecracks.”
THIRTEEN
I passed my test at seventeen. And learned to drive at twenty-two.
It’s one of the first things the navy does when they recruit you. For intelligence work, anyway. They take your license away and make you earn it back. Which sounds fine in principle, because you know you’ll not be dealing with Nissan Micras and three-point turns anymore. You’ll be in modified vehicles, on private racetracks, getting to grips with the A to Z of defensive maneuvers.
There’s only one snag.
They insist you understand the cars before you drive them.
I remember on the first day they showed us two groups of twenty different models lined up on opposite sides of an old aircraft hangar. One half were regular civilian cars. The others were from the motor pool. We knew the navy cars had been adapted. They would have special engines. Brakes. Tires. Suspensions. Electronics. You name it. But it was all so discreetly done that no one could tell which was which.
It was a pain, learning enough mechanics to be let loose behind the wheel. And at the time I thought I was just finding out about cars. But over the years I’ve seen it’s the same story with people. Compare pros and amateurs in any field, and there’s only ever one conclusion.
They might look similar on the surface.
But underneath, they’re completely different animals.
Lesley sat and watched me, completely still except for her left hand. It seemed to be moving on its own, creeping steadily across the tabletop toward the gray parcel. Her fingertips reached it, paused, and climbed on top. Then they started to caress the soft suede, rippling across the smooth surface like a spiteful sea creature tormenting its prey.
Her fingers only stopped circling when the door opened and a man took a couple of hesitant steps into the room. He would be in his mid-twenties, reasonably tall-a shade over six feet-with jeans cut to show off his narrow waist and a pair of broad, powerful shoulders showing through a plain black T-shirt. His short blond hair was a little shaggy, like he was growing out a crew cut, and he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. The only off note was his face-it was slightly pointy, and he had beady brown eyes that were a touch too close together. They made him look like some kind of rodent.
The tall guy came in next. He didn’t come over to the table this time but stayed by the door, like a sentry. George-the guy who’d brought my food and caught Julianne in the dining room-was last. He came across and stood next to the wall, near me. He was looking down, fiddling with a small video camera. The strap was looped safely around his right wrist.
“David, this is Cyril,” Lesley said, nodding toward the new guy. “Actually his name isn’t Cyril, but we call him that ’cause we think he looks like a squirrel. It kind of suits him. Cyril the squirrel. You Brits like rhyming words, don’t you?”
“Not particularly,” I said.
“Recognize him?”
“No.”
“He recognizes you. Don’t you, Cyril? Had to take a real close look, before he made that 911 call. Surprised you didn’t see him.”
“He was hiding by the time I got there,” I said. “In a kiddies’ playground, apparently. Not the kind of place I spend much time in.”
“That true, Cyril?” she said.
He didn’t reply.
“Cyril, David and I have been talking about your performance last night,” she said. “We’re not real impressed.”
“Lesley, I-” Cyril said.
“Quiet. Don’t make it any worse,” Lesley said, and then turned to me. “Cyril made a mistake last night. He hasn’t worked for me long, but a mistake’s a mistake. Can’t have my people making mistakes. And he made a big one. So now he’s going to do something useful.”
“Make a cup of tea?” I said.
“Maybe later. If we have any. But first, he’s going to show you what happens to people who let me down.”
Lesley turned the gray parcel over and I saw that the clasp on the silver chain was shaped like a tragicomic mask.
