G. Moffat - Blindside

Cahill called Tom Hardy: a six-foot-four Texan hard-ass and his second in command at CPO — the company he ran to provide close protection for anyone who needed it and could afford the best. They had set up CPO together after a career in the army and the US Secret Service.

‘You up yet, Tom?’ Cahill asked when Hardy answered.

‘Fixin’ breakfast,’ Hardy said in his Texas drawl. ‘Been for a run already.’

Cahill believed him.

‘You in contact with any of the guys from back in the Service?’ Cahill asked.

‘A couple,’ Hardy answered. ‘Why?’

‘You remember Tim Stark?’

‘FBI guy?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘What’s going on, Alex?’

‘I got a call from Tim’s wife this morning. She thinks he was on the plane that went down over in Denver.’

‘I saw that on the news. Looks bad.’

‘They’re saying no survivors.’

‘Why’d she call you?’

‘Me and Tim stayed in touch. Anyway, she said Tim got fired last year and might be caught up in something illicit now.’

‘Tim? No way.’

‘That’s what I said. He told her he was going to be on that flight but his name’s not on the passenger list and apparently the cops are being tight-lipped about it.’

‘What’s this got to do with you?’

‘A good friend might be in trouble, Tom. Or worse.’

‘She didn’t call the cops?’

‘Yeah, but they won’t talk to her. Plus, I called Scott Boston and it sounded like he almost had a heart attack when I told him that Tim was supposed to be on a plane heading for Washington. Wouldn’t tell me why Tim got fired — or much of anything, for that matter.’

‘Let me call the guys I know. See what I can find out.’

Sam came into the study as Cahill finished the call with Hardy, walked over to him and sat beside him on the couch, laying her head on his shoulder.

‘Can’t sleep?’ Cahill asked.

Sam shook her head.

‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘Anything important?’

‘I don’t know. Could be something, could be nothing. One of the guys I knew back in the Secret Service might have been on that plane and his wife called me looking for help.’

Cahill nodded at the TV screen and Sam sat up to watch the news, Cahill turning the sound back on.

‘Want some breakfast?’ Sam asked.

‘Sure.’

Cahill watched the news feed some more while Sam made scrambled eggs with toast and coffee. He began to feel a little more human with food in his belly. Sam ate her breakfast with him and went back upstairs when she heard their two daughters — Anna and Jodie — starting to stir noisily.

It was close to seven when Cahill called Logan Finch, his best friend and in-house lawyer at CPO. They shared a history of more than just business dealings.

Logan sounded alert when he answered the phone; Cahill heard lots of voices in the background.

‘Hey, Logan,’ Cahill said. ‘Sounds like you had a sleepover last night?’

Logan was heavily involved with Rebecca Irvine — a detective constable in Strathclyde Police. She was divorced with a young son and they socialised with Logan and his daughter, Ellie, at weekends. Sometimes the socialising for Logan and Rebecca went on into the night. Cahill was glad. It was a good relationship for both of them.

‘What can I say?’ Logan answered. ‘It was fun.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘I take it this is more than a friendly call, given we’re due to be in the same office in less than two hours.’

‘Yeah, it is. Did I remember right that when you were in private practice you had a couple of cases with the US Government? Or at least some kind of organisation connected to it?’

‘It was at DHS. Homeland Security. I defended them against a couple of claims in the courts over here by Scottish tourists who did not appreciate their very thorough customs examinations.’

‘Criminals, eh?’ Cahill said. ‘Never happy getting arrested.’

‘Something like that,’ Logan said, laughing.

‘Can you make contact?’

‘I don’t know. I can try. Why?’

‘I’ll fill you in later.’

‘Okay. We’ve got to get the kids ready for nursery and school. Can we catch up about it in the office?’

‘Okay. But get there as soon as you can, okay? I get the feeling the longer we wait on this the more likely that the lines of communication will close up.’

‘Sounds mysterious.’

‘You ain’t heard nothing yet.’

CNN was showing a helpline number for families to call at the airline in the US if they wanted information about the crash. Cahill thought he’d give it a go while he waited to hear back from Hardy.

It took a while for the call to be connected and a man’s voice came on, sounding harassed.

‘Uh… it’s about the crash.’ Cahill did his best to sound upset and distracted.

‘How can I help, sir?’

‘My brother. He’s-’ Cough.

‘I know this is difficult, sir,’ sounding sympathetic now, ‘but before I can do anything for you I need a name.’

‘Sorry, of course.’ Sniff. ‘His name is Tim,’ Cahill said. ‘Tim Stark. I just know he was on it. He told me he would be.’

‘I’m checking for you now, sir.’

Silence.

Cahill heard fingers tapping on a computer keyboard. Then some more tapping.

The guy started talking to someone beside him, but was covering the mouthpiece of his phone.

The talking stopped.

‘I’m going to put you on hold for a minute, sir,’ the man said. ‘Please stay on the line.’

Cahill held.

Held some more.

Looked at his watch and saw five minutes tick by. No way to treat a grieving brother, he thought.

‘Good evening, sir.’ A different male voice came on the line. ‘You’re asking about your brother. About Tim Stark.’

‘Yes.’

Cahill had given up the pretence of trying to sound upset. This man sounded like he was not in the mood for anyone’s bullshit.

‘What’s your name, sir?’ the man asked.

‘Alexander Cahill.’

Pause.

‘Sir, I don’t understand.’

‘We’re half-brothers.’

The line went dead again — back on hold. Cahill had given his own name because he knew that they would check him out and find out that he had been a serious player, and had a connection with Stark in the Service.

He held again for a while. It was approaching ten minutes this time when the same man came back on to the line.

‘Mr Cahill,’ he said, ‘what’s your interest in this matter?’

‘Are you with the airline?’ Cahill asked.

‘I think you know that I’m no more with the airline than you are Mr Stark’s half-brother.’

‘We’re being honest with each other, are we?’

‘Let’s see how we get on.’

‘Tim and I go back a ways.’

‘We know. We looked into it.’

‘So you know that he’s on our side, right?’

‘I know that he was.’

‘His wife called me today in a state. Tim told her he was going to be on that flight but his name is not on the passenger list. And no one will tell her anything. So I offered to help. I’m good that way. Helpful, I mean. Especially where my friends are concerned.’

‘The information she was given is correct. His name did not appear on the passenger manifest for the flight.’

‘That’s a very carefully worded answer.’

No response.

‘Which agency are you with?’ Cahill asked. ‘FBI?’

‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help.’

‘Are you there because you think that plane was brought down deliberately?’

‘This is a very serious incident and a lot of families are suffering tonight. A lot of people lost their lives.’