Brian Freemantle - The Watchmen

“How’d they work?”

“Again it’s preliminary thinking, but it looks like antipersonnel stuff with a slack wire connected to the detonator or pin. When the boat started to move the wire tightened, activating the detonator or pulling out the pin.” She hesitated. “And they were antipersonnel. Shrapnel-packed, for maximum physical damage after detonation.”

“Russian manufacture?” pressed Cowley.

“Nothing on that yet. The metal’s being analyzed, obviously.”

On the helicopter flight from New York he’d said overkill was better than underkill, Cowley remembered. He remembered, too, the forensic team leader’s praise of the local organization and the remark about spending more time with wives and families. “Jefferson Jones have any kids?”

“Six,” the woman said shortly.

“You told me you were with the terrorism unit?”

“I’ve taken Burt’s place. Temporarily at the moment.”

“Tell Ross I’m not off the case.”

“I think I should have some input here,” intruded Pepper but Cowley spoke over him.

“I’m not off the case! We are looking for people- some people at least-with special military experience and training. The whole thing was planned like a military operation: the attack on the UN, everything that happened afterward. I want every militant or crazy in the New Rochelle area-everywhere in New York State, Connecticut, and New Hampshire-checked out. If it wasn’t local knowledge, they reconnoitered, certainly the creek. Patrolman Mitchell talked of a marina farther downriver. Check every single boat owner and marina-and I mean every single one -for strangers seen moving about, as if they had a special interest: taking notes, photographs, stuff like that. And go hard on the military. They’re ducking. I want the names of every guy-and girl-whose records show a connection with any militant group that got them recognized or into trouble. Especially if it got as far as a court-martial. OK?”

“Bill,” said the woman upon whom he couldn’t properly focus. And paused. “Bill,” she started again. “A few hours ago you thought you were dead. So did a lot of other people, me included. We’ve got to get these bastards before they kill anyone else, which means everyone’s got to be thinking straight, seeing straight.” She stopped. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be smart about seeing straight. The director’s asked me to report back, how you are. And I don’t think and the hospital doesn’t think-Dr. Pepper here doesn’t think-that you’re in any fit state to go on heading this investigation. That if you tried you’d endanger it. We’re not talking feelings or attitudes here. We’re talking operational practicality.” And my future, Pamela Darnley thought. My big chance, once-in-a-lifetime fast-track future opportunity.

“You got any problem with the way I’ve been thinking, analyzing?”

There was a pause. “No.” Who the fuck did this guy thing he was, Superman?

“You believe you can organize the manpower-switch it from the concentration upon finding the boat, which we don’t need to do anymore-to pursue the special services’ check?”

“Yes.”

“You got any other line of inquiry to follow at this precise moment?”

“No.” She wished she had.

“I’ll judge my own capability. And if something comes up before I think I am capable, I’ll back off. Not for one moment, for any half-assed personal reason, will I endanger a successful investigation. You do me a favor and tell Ross that? Say that’s how I feel and ask him to go with me.”

“I’ll tell him,” promised the woman. She wouldn’t have had to-could have used different words and expressions without actually lying-if the damned neurologist hadn’t been there as a witness.

“Tell him that although the Hoover Building isn’t a line office, that’s where I think the incident room should be, where he has instant access. Bring Terry Osnan in as controller and evidence officer.”

Pamela nodded, hating what she considered the subsidiary, gofer role.

“Anything else?”

“There was a call from Russia. Dimitri Danilov. Just to find out about you.”

“You take it personally?”

“No. But he’s calling back.”

“Get all the Russian calls put through to you personally. Tell him you’re in temporary charge; that he should tell you all he gets. He’s a good guy. Straight as an arrow. Anything else?”

“A Pauline called. Your ex-wife?” She sounded doubtful.

“Pauline is my ex-wife.”

“Needed to check: Director’s imposed personal security regulations and you’re getting a lot of media coverage at the moment. You want me to call Pauline back?”

“I’ll do it.”

A nurse had to dial the number, because Cowley couldn’t see to do it, and it was difficult for him to listen with the phone to his right ear because he normally held it against his left. The ringing tone hurt. Pauline wasn’t in her apartment so he left a message on the machine that he was fine and would call again.

The overpoweringly perfumed smell in the BMW was beginning to nauseate Dimitri Danilov, along with all the other things he was sickened by.

It was impossible to calculate how many thousands more biological and chemical weapons had been stored all around him in Plant 35. Or equate the total, disregarding cynicism with which international pronouncements were made about peace and stability. Portentious reflection. What about personal attitudes? Although, since Larissa, he’d imagined he’d had no interest in his career or his future or in anything-content to operate virtually as a nonfeeling, nonreactive automaton-there was an unexpected, even surprising, uncertainty at the extent to which he was going to challenge the highest level of government without the slightest degree of personal insurance.

There was a very real physical distaste now, this very moment, enclosed in a sick-making car with two policemen epitomizing in suit-shining flamboyance the core of what was wrong with Russian justice. Despite their knowing he was not one of them, they still believed themselves capable of manipulating him. And above all, in the very forefront of his mind, was the distraction of not knowing if William Cowley-with whom the thought of working again had penetrated the self-pitying lassitude-was alive or dead. Thinking back to his earlier impression of several separate but connected parts making up a whole, Danilov recognized all the different aspects and emotions-his concern about Cowley most of all-had made him start thinking like the detective he was supposed to be.

“We should have obtained an official search warrant,” complained Colonel Oleg Reztsov.

Danilov actually sniggered at the mere thought of this man being eager to observe the law. He said, “I’m the ranking officer. It’s being done upon my authority and I accept all and every liability.” He’d actually delayed telling them what he wanted to do-search without warning the apartment of Viktor Nikolaevich Nikov-until he’d gotten into the car.

“An illegal search will make illegal anything we find,” persisted Reztsov.

Or which could have been planted for them to find, if there’d been time, thought Danilov. Enjoying the question before he asked it, Danilov said: “You always so particular about legality, Oleg Vasilevich? And you, major? Haven’t either of you ever moved first and bothered about procedure later?”

Averin made no attempt to answer. It was some moments before Reztsov said: “It was you who stressed from the beginning the need for nothing whatsoever to go wrong.”

“Viktor Nikolaevich Nikov has disappeared, according to your information. Entering his home will not be an illegal search for evidence. It will be a search to satisfy ourselves that he has come to no physical harm. Have you any problem or objection with that explanation, Oleg Vasilevich?”