and forensics. The FBI are experts at that stuff. They’re the ones you should be talking to.”
“They won’t listen. I’ve tried.”
“So make them listen. Don’t just nag at them. Find something positive to engage them with.”
“Such as?”
“Use your brain. Think it through. You reckon the Ukraine IDs were planted?”
“Right.”
“So go back to Simon’s body. Get someone to check his dental work. Vaccination scars. Surgical scars, if he has any. All that stuff is done differently in the U.K. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“I don’t know. It sounds a bit tenuous.”
“OK then, how about this-how did Simon and this other guy get back to the States?”
“They flew.”
“On a commercial flight, or does this firm have their own planes?”
“They do have planes, but Simon said they took a regular flight because of the short notice.”
“Good. Which airport did they use?”
“JFK, I think.”
“Excellent. The INS fingerprints every foreign national who arrives there. The FBI can get access. Ask them to compare the prints from the railway victim with the passengers on Simon’s plane.”
“Much better. That would put it beyond doubt. Excellent, David. Thanks.”
“No problem. Just let me know how it works out. I’m in your corner. And let me know if the feds give you any grief. I’ll make some calls. See if Weston needs any more help closing his computer.”
TWENTY-ONE
I can still remember what my new commanding officer said to me when I first stepped into his office in Canberra, thirteen years ago.
“I like to rattle cages, me.”
I remember wondering what on earth he was talking about. Was it a threat? A confession? Had he confused me with someone else? But I soon found that this was his motivation technique. Or what passed for it. He thought he could get the best out of people by frightening them. Only no one was exactly quaking in their shoes. A few people felt sorry for him, certainly. But the net result was that he ran the most inefficient and unpopular unit anywhere in the Royal Navy. Even the torpedo refurbishment plant in the Falkland Islands had a better reputation. No one wanted to stay a moment longer than necessary, so I did what most of the others did. Kept my head down, bided my time, and transferred out at the first opportunity.
The whole experience wasn’t a total waste, though. It did teach me two things.
You can bully people all you like, but they’ll only go the extra mile if they want to.
And you don’t have to be the boss to take advantage of that.
Regular travelers all have strategies for dealing with long-haul flights. Some are pretty complex. Others are simpler, but just as effective. My personal routine, for example, has been honed to perfection by years of experience. I eat in the airport. And I sleep on the plane.
The breakfast they serve in the old Concorde room at JFK is pretty good. Not quite the whole nine yards, but big enough to last until we land in London. I like to take it slow, savoring every mouthful, and then move over to the armchairs for the last part of the ritual. A second refill of coffee, and a good hour catching up with the U.K. papers.
I was coming to the end of the final broadsheet with ten minutes to spare when a stocky man in a gray suit eased his way through the gaggle of passengers loitering near the reception desk. He paused, scanned the room, then came across toward me. He stepped in close so no one else could see and took out a Homeland Security ID for me to inspect.
“Someone would like to speak with you,” he said.
“Really?” I said. “Who?”
“A woman from your consulate. She says it’s urgent.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Wilson. Ms. T. That’s all her ID said.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I know her. Tell her to come in.”
“No can do. She’s not traveling today. Not permitted this side of security. You’ll have to come with me.”
I checked my watch.
“Well, OK,” I said. “But she better make it quick.”
Tanya was waiting for me by the self-service machines in the check-in hall. Two other people were with her. The first was Agent Weston. And as I moved closer I realized the second, allowing for his swollen, discolored face, had to be Agent Lavine.
“No one told me Herman Munster would be here,” I said. “Who let him out?”
“Now David, I want you to take a deep breath,” Tanya said. “Count to ten before you say anything.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you probably won’t believe me. This isn’t what I meant to happen. It was London’s idea.”
“What was?”
“You’re not going back today. You have to stay a little longer.”
“How much longer? What for?”
“Turns out we’ve got a bigger problem than we thought. I talked to London. Brought them up to speed. And you were their solution.”
“Solution for what? Is this about your friend?”
“Partly. There’s more to it, now. But look, we can’t talk here. Come back to the car. I’ll fill you in properly.”
“Let me do that,” Lavine said. “I’ll fill him in permanently.”
I’d expected Tanya to still have the Jaguar, but they’d obviously switched to Weston’s car at some point during the morning. It was the one we’d used yesterday to raid Lesley’s house. Lavine was in the passenger seat this time, so I climbed into the back with Tanya.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“It started with your idea, funnily enough,” Tanya said. “We got the INS records for the plane Simon and the rest of his team were on. We did the comparison. And we got a match straightaway.”
“Simon.”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
“Well, I’m sorry you lost your friend, Tanya, I really am. But what’s that got to do with me? These two geniuses notwithstanding, the FBI are world experts on serial killers. They’ll get the guy who did it.”
“We don’t think it was a serial killer,” Weston said. “Not in the accepted sense.”
“There’s an unaccepted sense?” I said.
“Stop it,” Tanya said. “We didn’t just test Simon’s prints. We also checked on the other four railway victims. And got four hits. From a military database. I ran the names past my brother. He confirmed it. They were the four U.S. guys from Simon’s team in Iraq.”
“Someone took out that whole team,” Weston said.
“Except for James Mansell,” Tanya said. “The other Brit. He’s still out there somewhere.”
“Unless his body hasn’t turned up yet,” I said. “Maybe it got eaten by a bear.”
“Alive or dead, we need to find him,” Tanya said.
“Someone needs to find him,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be me.”
“London wants you on the team,” Tanya said. “The FBI has agreed.”
“Reluctantly,” Lavine said.
“I’m not a team player,” I said.
