“You’re probably right. But hey. London has agreed, and you have fences to mend. Better put a smile on your face and get on with it.”
“One condition.”
“What?”
“Book us somewhere nice for dinner.”
“Really? I didn’t know if you were serious about that, after everything that happened. And three years is a long time to wait.”
“I was dead serious. But you better make it late, though, in case this raid nonsense drags on. We’ll have to trail over there, fake surprise at all the empty rooms, and then haul ourselves back here again. And they’re bound to want a full finger-pointing session afterward.”
“No doubt about that. The blame game’s started already.”
“Really? Who’s in the frame?”
“No one knows who’s been leaking information. It’s too early for that. But for the big picture, fingers are pointing at Mitchell Varley.”
“Varley? Poor bastard. Both sides are after him now. Maybe I should have just let that guy shoot him, after all.”
“There were a few in that room who wouldn’t have complained.”
“How come? He may be an arse, but how is all this his fault?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. But listening between the lines, it sounds like he has some skeletons and they’re not too well buried.”
“What kind?”
“Something professional. It started with a counterfeiting crew, here in New York. Years ago. The bureau tried to take it down. Varley was part of the team. Their inside man. He latched on to this Lesley and used her to get to the others. That’s how their paths first crossed. She was just a lieutenant, back then, though. Sounds like she’s the boss now.”
“So what happened? He took down her crew? She swore revenge?”
“No. Not at all. Apparently the feds had Lesley’s mob on the hook. They were ready to move. Then she pulled a really vile stunt. Some kind of trademark of hers, they say. Ritual mutilation. Of the genitals. Some poor foot soldier who’d screwed something up.”
“Still does that. She’s one sick puppy.”
“Sick, yes. And smart.”
“Not that smart. You don’t need a Ph. D. to terrorize people.”
“I don’t think that’s why she did it. Not just to terrorize. She sounds more calculating than that. I think it was a test.”
“Of what?”
“Her people. To flush out any traitors. Or infiltrators.”
“Sounds a bit far-fetched.”
“No. Because she always does it when new recruits are around, apparently. She knows no one with a conscience would be callous enough to just sit and watch something like that.”
“More likely she’s just a psycho.”
“Maybe. But either way, Varley bit.”
“You’re joking. He blew his cover?”
“Believe so.”
“Cardinal sin. The idiot. What happened?”
“Lesley was wounded, but escaped. So did the other bad guys. Apart from the foot soldier. He died. And none of the other agents made it, either. I don’t know how many there were, but they left behind some friends. And friends with long memories.”
“Oh, dear. Varley’s in deeper shit than I’d thought.”
“He probably is,” she said, opening the door. “But now you better get moving. They want to form up in the garage at nine-thirty. That’s less than ten minutes, and Rosser’s getting uptight.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, following her out. “They can’t leave without me. What was up with the map, by the way? Just now?”
“Oh, that. It was weird. I thought I recognized someone. There are photos around the edge.”
“Really?” I said, moving over to the map. “Which one? Show me.”
Tanya pointed to the photo in the top right-hand corner. It showed a man’s face, in his mid to late thirties. An arrow connected his picture to a point on a railroad just south of the Canadian border.
“Who is it?” I said.
“He doesn’t look familiar?” she said.
“No. Why? Should he?”
“I think it’s a guy called Simon Redford.”
“Who’s that?”
“A Royal Marine. We met him in Spain, when we were there together. You don’t remember him? My brother knew him, too. Same regiment.”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Strange. Maybe I met him before you arrived?”
“Maybe. But why would he be here? All these guys were murdered by some serial killer, apparently. Something to do with trains.”
“I don’t know. But they’ve gone outside, now, Simon and my brother. Could be anywhere.”
“As civilians?”
“No. He went to work for some private security firm. They both did. In Iraq.”
“So what do you think? Is it him?”
“I don’t know. But it really, really looks like him.”
“Ask this guy,” I said, nodding toward Weston. “He’s working the case. Should know the victims’ names.”
“I did,” Tanya said. “He wouldn’t speak to me.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “Maybe I should ask.”
Weston was working on his laptop, pretending not to listen, and he kept up the act as I moved in behind him.
“Agent Weston,” I said, as I leaned over his shoulder and slammed the screen down hard on his fingers. “Perhaps you would like to show my colleague some professional courtesy?”
He tried to wriggle free, but I just leaned down harder.
“Of course,” he said eventually, through gritted teeth. “What does she want?”
“Speak to her,” I said. “She’s right here.”
“I want a name,” Tanya said. “The man in the photo I pointed to.”
“I’ll need to look it up,” he said.
I flipped the screen back up and gave Weston a minute to locate the file.
“Dmitry Blokhin,” he said. “Illegal immigrant from the Ukraine. Deserter, on the run from their army.”
“There now,” I said. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“And it’s just Ukraine,” Tanya said. “Not the Ukraine. They hate that, you ignorant pig.”
I needed a bathroom break on my way downstairs, so I stopped on the first floor and found some restrooms near the elevators. I didn’t exactly rush, so it was past 9:41 A.M. by the time I reached the garage. Rosser and Varley were already there, standing next to one of the black Fords that had escorted the Cadillac when they arrived. Rosser looked impatient. Varley just looked angry.
“First you were an hour early,” he said. “Now you’re late.”
“No pleasing some people,” I said.
“We have a job for you,” Rosser said. “If you want brownie points, do it without anyone else getting killed.”
“Depends what it is,” I said. “Might not be possible.”
“I have two teams ready to roll, outside,” Rosser said. “I want you to escort them to the premises where you
