Stephen Leather - The Double Tap

Cramer returned her smile. ‘Me neither.’

‘They take the oxide and dissolve it in mercury and irradiate it for three weeks.’

‘So the stuff in the case is radioactive?’

‘Slightly. Don’t worry, it’s shielded.’

‘Yeah? So was Chernobyl.’

‘I’m being serious, Mike Cramer. If the red mercury is going to be used in nuclear weapons, plutonium has to be added and it’s irradiated again. Then it is radioactive, but it can only be stored for thirty days. The sample we have is inert.’

‘So what is it that your boss is hoping to buy? The inert stuff or the radioactive stuff?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. Cramer narrowed his eyes. ‘Really,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t know.’

Cramer nodded at the stack of papers. ‘What else does it say there?’

‘Most of it’s very technical.’ She scanned the sheet of paper. ‘It explains how the red mercury works — it’s something to do with the way it changes the mass value of isotopes which makes the nuclear material more effective. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Cramer shook his head. ‘You lost me at the cubic structure part.’

Su-ming smiled. ‘I don’t follow it either. I can translate it, but that doesn’t mean I understand it. Mr Vander Mayer has experts who will be able to tell him what it means.’ She took off her glasses again. ‘It’s not something you should be worried about. You should be more concerned about the man who’s trying to kill you.’

Cramer shrugged. ‘There’s nothing I can do but wait.’

Su-ming stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek, close to his lips. It was a fleeting touch, little more than a peck, but it electrified Cramer. He sat with his mouth open as she moved away and put her glasses back on. ‘What was that for?’ he asked.

Su-ming didn’t look at him. She began to read again. ‘Just curious,’ she said.

Cramer watched her, stunned by the sudden kiss, and the longer he sat there, his fingers still interlinked, the more it seemed that he’d imagined it. Su-ming brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, as she studied the typewritten sheet, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the technical information. Cramer wanted to press her, to get her to tell him why she’d kissed him, but somehow the question seemed inappropriate. He stood up and rubbed the spot where her lips had brushed against his skin. ‘I guess I’ll go to bed,’ he said.

‘Good night,’ she said, not looking up.

Cramer left her sitting on the sofa. He closed the door behind him and walked slowly to his room. By the time he was lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t even remember what the kiss had felt like.

The Colonel was studying his chess computer, his brow creased in concentration. He had the machine set to its highest level which meant it took almost fifteen minutes between moves, and after two hours of play it had the Colonel in an almost impossible situation. Computers were taking almost all the fun out of chess, thought the Colonel. Now that they could regularly beat human grandmasters, what was the point? He sat back in his chair and pulled a face. It would be mate in four moves, maybe five, unless he was missing something. One of the three telephones on his desk rang, jarring his concentration. He stared at the black and white plastic pieces as he picked up the receiver. It was an overseas call.

‘Colonel?’ The accent was American.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Dan.’

Dan Greenberg, the Colonel’s liaison in the FBI headquarters in Washington. ‘What’s the problem, Dan?’ There was no mistaking the tension in Greenberg’s voice.

‘Discenza’s dead.’

‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that it was natural causes.’

‘It was a hit. Poison.’

The Colonel slumped back in his chair. ‘That’s the last thing I want to hear right now, Dan.’

‘Tell me about it. Heads are rolling as we speak.’

The Colonel closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If Greenberg had been one of his own men, the Colonel would have ripped into him. There was no excuse for losing a man in protective custody. None. And Discenza had been Greenberg’s responsibility: if anyone’s head was going to roll, it should have been his. ‘Do we know who it was?’

‘White male, early thirties, about six feet tall, brown eyes. Got in as a waiter. Had the right ID, Discenza had just ordered room service. .’

‘And the real waiter turned up dead?’ The Colonel opened his eyes again. He looked out of the window at the Conrad Hotel to his right. The Colonel was sitting in a disused apartment which had been requisitioned because of its proximity to the tower block which housed the Vander Mayer apartment. In an adjoining room sat two SAS troopers in leather jackets and jeans, drinking coffee and watching television with the sound turned down. Another trooper was sitting at the stern of a large motor yacht moored in the marina below. The trooper had dressed for the part in a white turtleneck sweater and blue jeans and was drinking from a can.

‘In a storeroom. Garrotted.’

‘How many of your men saw the killer?’

‘Two.’

‘And that’s the only description you have?’

‘He was wearing a false moustache and a wig,’ said Greenberg defensively. ‘We’re not even sure about the eye colour. One of our guys thought he might be Mexican but that was probably the moustache. Do you think it was our man?’

‘How close did he get to Discenza?’

‘He stood right next to him. Why?’

‘Because if he was that close and it was our killer, he’d have used a gun. A shot to the face, a shot to the heart. Business as usual. Did anyone else get hurt?’

‘Nah. He pushed in the trolley, opened a couple of beers, and left. Two minutes later Discenza was dead. We’ll have the poison identified by tomorrow.’

‘It doesn’t sound like the man we’re looking for,’ said the Colonel. ‘As far as we know, he’s never used poison.’

‘You know what it means if it was,’ said Greenberg.

‘Yes, Dan. I know what it means.’ If the assassin had discovered that Discenza had betrayed him, then the operation was blown. ‘Has Discenza got any other enemies?’

‘Like a dog’s got fleas. He’s crossed a lot of heavy guys in Miami.’

‘The sort of people who’d be prepared to kill a man in protective custody?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Possible or probable?’

There was a long silence, then Greenberg exhaled. ‘I’m not sure what it is you want me to say,’ he said. ‘We fucked up. I don’t know who knocked off Discenza. It could have been the killer, it could have been someone hired by people in Miami, hell, it could even be someone from out of town. And the way things are going I don’t think we’re going to be any the wiser, not with the description we’ve got. It’s got to be your call. If you want to cancel the operation, we’ll understand.’

The Colonel tapped the receiver against his ear. ‘No, we go ahead,’ he said. ‘As things stand, we put Discenza’s death down to bad timing. If our killer doesn’t attempt to carry out the Vander Mayer contract within two weeks, we’ll know then that he’s onto us.’

‘Agreed,’ said Greenberg.

‘Can you keep a lid on the situation there, at least for two weeks?’

‘No problem,’ said Greenberg. ‘We’re doing the autopsy in-house and no one else knows that Discenza’s dead.’

‘Good,’ said the Colonel. ‘I don’t want to be accused of trying to teach my grandmother to suck eggs, but you might want to look into how the killer discovered Discenza’s location.’

‘It’s been taken care of,’ said Greenberg. ‘If I get anything, you’ll be the first to know. Oh yeah, by the way, I got our guys to cross-check with previous killings, to see if the same method had been used before the current rash of killings. The guys at Quantico had already done it, but I did a check internally, just to be one hundred per cent sure.’