textured surface of the handgrip, took hold, and smoothly withdrew my arm. The safety was on the top left of the frame, at the rear. I held my hand out so the guy could watch me flick it down. Then I pointed the gun straight at his face.
“This is what’s going to happen,” I said. “I’m going to shoot you in the mouth. Twice. The first round will sever your spinal cord, just where it joins your brain. That way, no nerve signals can reach your trigger finger. The second is just for insurance. Then I’m getting lunch.”
“I don’t think so,” the guy said. “I’m going to blow her brains out.”
“What do you fancy, Tanya?” I said. “I feel like a big sandwich. Pastrami and Swiss, maybe. I had a great one the other day. Are there any good delis around here?”
“It won’t work, the mouth thing,” the guy said. “Shoot me, and she dies.”
“Shut up,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but I do this for living. And in three seconds’ time, you’re going to lose the back of your skull. Unless you put your gun down. One…”
The guy didn’t move.
“Two…”
His hand started to shake.
“Normally I don’t bother with three,” I said. “I just pull the trigger on two. But I’ve got a feeling about you. I don’t think you came to kill anyone. So put the gun down. There’s still time to straighten this out.”
He didn’t react for fully five seconds. Tanya closed her eyes. She didn’t breathe. Then the guy started to sag. He lowered his right hand. The gun slipped from his grip. It hit his foot and clattered six inches across the sidewalk. He dropped down onto his knees. For a moment I thought he was trying to retrieve his weapon, but he’d just lost his balance. He fell forward again, landing on all fours. And then he puked. Three long gut-wrenching torrents, flooding the ground in front of him and spattering up his sleeves.
Tanya turned to me, holding her hands out like a shield against the stinking puddle. She looked half shocked, half disgusted. Finally she opened her mouth, but before she could speak her phone began to ring.
“It’s Lavine,” she said, holding the handset away from her mouth. “He’s got a lead on Mansell. The NYPD have picked him up. Or someone that might be him. They want us to go and see. They’re still bogged down prepping for the clinics.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Maybe this has a happy ending, after all. But tell him to send someone to sit on these guys till we get back.”
“David, let’s not waste time. You’re not going to make a big deal out of this, are you? I mean, no harm’s been done. They’re only kids. Couldn’t we just let it slide? Or leave it to the police?”
“Why? Do you recognize them?”
“No.”
“Have you had a row with anyone lately? Someone in your building?”
“No. I only moved in a couple of days ago.”
“At the consulate?”
“Of course not.”
“What about work? Anything that could come back and haunt you?”
“No. Nothing. I haven’t been here long enough. I’ve had no problems at all. Until you turned up.”
“Then, no. We can’t let it slide. They were stalking you. They tried to snatch you off the street. And they know where you live. Where you work. That’s not something you turn a blind eye to. Ever.”
“OK. I guess you’re right. I’ll tell Lavine to send some people.”
“Good. And Tanya-tell him they’ll need a sponge. I’m not spending time with this guy till he’s been cleaned.”
THIRTY
I don’t remember a great deal about my grandfather.
He died when I was too young. I’ve seen photos of him, and heard stories from relatives. But I never got a sense of what he was really like until a couple of years ago when his few remaining possessions found their way through to me, sealed up for years in his old army trunk.
It turned out the old man had been fascinated by the Titanic. He’d built up a whole hoard of books and articles and clippings about it. Accounts of how it was built, in Belfast, near where he was born. The night it sank. The conspiracy theories. The expeditions to find the wreck. Biographies of the survivors. Histories of its sister ships. I read every word. But it wasn’t the technical details that struck a chord with me. It was how that final night must have felt for the passengers. One minute, their ship was indestructible. An unsinkable engineering marvel. The next it was a metal coffin on the way to the ocean floor. Their world was turned on its head. In an instant. With no warning.
I’ve had that feeling, myself. On more than one occasion.
And, as with icebergs, you never know when it’s going to strike.
The trip to pick up James Mansell was a complete waste of time. The NYPD’s “ninety percent match” turned out to be a sad, confused drunk with an English accent. He’d been spotted dancing naked in the turtle pond in Central Park. The police had fished him out, dried him off, covered him up, and taken him to their station house. That part was easy enough. Getting an ID was another story. They were going nowhere until Lavine’s bulletin came through. Then they saw the chance to palm him off on the bureau. Which seemed like a good idea, until we got there. When Tanya realized what they were trying to pull I was lucky to get her out without any blood being spilled.
The dead end at the police station set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. Tanya was too disappointed to speak much on the way back to the FBI building. She preferred to sit and stare silently at the traffic. Every street we tried was completely choked with it. There was no obvious reason why. There was no construction work. No accidents. It was as though the other vehicles had come out specifically to get in our way. There were so many we only just made it back by five o’clock. And just as we were jumping out of the car, Lavine phoned. They weren’t ready. Coordinating with the other cities was taking longer than expected. He wanted to postpone the meeting till 8:00 A.M. tomorrow. Which I didn’t mind, in itself. It would give us a chance to interrogate Tanya’s stalkers. Only Tanya chose that moment to remember some critical task she had to complete at the consulate. Something so important there was no way she could leave it till the morning. The only upside was a clear shot at dinner. A good chance to cheer us both up.
Tanya had suggested Fong’s. She was probably thinking we could pick up where we’d left things on Tuesday, but I wasn’t so sure. The same restaurant three times in five nights would be a stretch, even if the previous visits had ended happily. So instead we settled on a French place I know not far from Union Square. The food’s good, the service is discreet, the tables are large and well spread out, and the lights are always turned down low.
Ideal if you have to wait a while, for any reason.
We’d agreed on eight o’clock. I arrived on time. Tanya didn’t, but I wasn’t worried. I figured that after her previous no-show she wouldn’t be more than five minutes late. Ten at the outside. There was plenty to keep me occupied. Thinking about spending time with her again, outside work. The assortment of other diners, subtly shepherded together near the window to make the restaurant look extra popular. The waiters, silently gliding around with their order pads and plates of food. The solitary barman, halfheartedly flicking a bar rag over a stack of wine glasses, and a pair of youths, eyeing the twenty-inch chrome wheels on a BMW coupe parked across the street.
My phone rang at eight fifteen. I went outside to answer. I’d expected Tanya, calling with an apology, but it turned out to be Lavine.
“News,” he said. “The Iraqi doctors from the clinic? We traced them. There were four. But they already left the country. Flew out of Newark on Monday.”
“Only four?” I said. “Are you sure?”
“That’s just New York. It’s the same story in Boston and D.C. Four medics in each place, all flew out three days ago. We’re still checking Chicago and Miami, but I’m assuming we’ll find the same thing.”
“Did anyone come in to replace them?”
