Andrew Grant - Even

It also meant that covert surveillance was out of the question.

For Lesley’s people, or the FBI.

Two clerks were on duty that night. Neither had been there when I last visited, a couple of years ago, so there was no danger of them recognizing me. The one on the left was sitting down, hunched over a keyboard. It looked as if he were processing a pile of papers stacked up on the desk beside him. His hands were moving-robotically pressing the keys and sorting through the forms-but the rest of his body was absolutely still. He was completely absorbed by his work. Patrick was close enough to touch him but he had no idea that anyone was even near. You could have brushed the thin flakes of dandruff off the shoulders of his navy blue blazer and I doubt he’d have missed a beat.

The second clerk was younger and a little more animated. She was shuffling around behind the counter, gathering some documents and chatting to Patrick as they waited for us to catch up. A badge clipped to her blazer said she was Maxine, the shift manager. Her eyes did occasionally stray in our direction, but she didn’t seem unduly suspicious. She clearly wasn’t checking anyone against a wanted photograph or trying to match us to a description. More that she was just idly curious, and as we got closer she did nothing more sinister than fan out the wad of forms she’d collected, hand them to Patrick, and reach down for a pot of pens.

The registration forms were preprinted with the details George had given over the Net so all that was left for us to do was sign them. There were three spaces, clearly outlined in black. Even so, it turned out to be a major exercise for the guys from the Jeep. Maybe they had particularly difficult names, but they were still scratching away with the cheap hotel ballpoints long after Julianne and I had finished with ours.

George had booked me in as David Van Der Wahl from Ossining, New York. He had some idea that a Dutch-sounding name might misdirect the clerk if she heard my accent and was questioned later about English guests. I wasn’t so sure. I preferred my usual approach-not speaking to anyone-but I supposed his little subterfuge wouldn’t do any harm. At least he’d come up with a more imaginative name than the ones the navy usually gave me.

Maxine handed out our keys one at a time, and even though the elevators and restaurant were in plain sight, she obstinately ran through how to reach the bedrooms and where to go for breakfast with each of us in turn. She issued my key last, and by the time I’d listened to her instructions for the seventh time Patrick and the others had already started to drift away from the counter.

Our rooms were on the tenth floor. Mine was the last on the left, at the far end of the corridor. Patrick’s was next door. Julianne’s was directly opposite.

“See you bright and early,” Patrick said, working the lock on his door and disappearing inside.

“Early, anyway,” I said.

“What about lunch, tomorrow?” Julianne said when he’d gone. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, looking a little lost. “I’m worried. Will you really come back?”

“Of course,” I said, sliding my key card into its slot. “Sleep well.”

The door closed solidly behind me and for a moment I felt a slight pang of regret about leaving Julianne outside, on her own. She looked so forlorn, with her head tipped anxiously to one side and her big brown eyes stretched wide and fearful. Maybe I felt a little bad about lying to her, as well. After what I was planning for tomorrow there was no way they were going to let me out for lunch. I was never going to see her again, and part of me was wondering what other possibilities I was turning my back on. It was a long time since I’d been in a hotel with a woman, voluntarily, and not felt some official eye looking over my shoulder. Tomorrow’s plan wasn’t complex. How much sleep could I need?

But deep down, I knew I was right. If I was going down that road with anyone, it had to be Tanya. Especially now we were back in touch. And tomorrow was about more than the basic ability to stumble through a plan. It was about more than the professional pride of doing a job right. Or even the satisfaction of wiping the smile off Rosser’s smug face.

Tomorrow was about redemption.

Another man’s life would be taken. Mine would be reclaimed.

It deserved my full attention.

Mitchell Varley and his colleagues had seemed innocuous enough when I first met them in their abandoned office building. Devious, certainly, but not physically dangerous. Not like the Nazi from the police cell. You didn’t get the feeling they were going to leap across the table and tear your head off. But with guys like these, superficial impressions don’t count for much. You could say the same for lots of unpleasant species. Spiders, for example. The deadliest ones are always the most harmless looking.

Which is why I changed the plan.

I didn’t call Tanya at nine the next morning, as I’d promised.

I called her at eight.

Tanya answered on the first ring.

“David?” she said. “What’s wrong? You’re an hour early. Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve just brought the schedule forward a little. Are the FBI guys with you yet?”

“But are you OK?”

“Absolutely fine. Are they there?”

There was a pause before she answered.

“Yes,” she said. “All three are here.”

“Good,” I said. “Because here’s some good news for them. They won’t be needing their copter after all. They can save some gas money. We’re going to meet in the city.”

“Oh. OK. Where exactly?”

“The same building they took me to yesterday. Room 3H3. It’s on the first floor, for some reason, not the third like you’d think. End of the corridor. Last room but one, left-hand side.”

“Got that. What time?”

“Eight-twenty. But listen. Tell them I’m set up in the neighborhood with a clear view of the room. If I don’t see Rosser, Varley, and Breuer enter before that time-I walk away. If I see anyone else come in with them, or positioned in the building, I walk away.”

“Got that. What about their guy?”

“He’s stashed somewhere safe. When I’m happy, I’ll lead them to him.”

“Got that. Stand by…”

The phone was silent for forty seconds.

“Confirmed,” Tanya said, coming back to me. “All three are en route. ETA ten minutes. Conditions understood. And David-good luck. I want you back in one piece at the end of this.”

“As always,” I said, hanging up the phone and shifting my position to get a better view of the garage entrance.

It took eight minutes for the first vehicles to arrive. There were five of them. Two black Fords, the Cadillac I’d seen yesterday, then two more black Fords. They swept around the corner, moving fast, only a couple of feet between each one. Then the lead car swung the other way and the others followed it into the garage, disappearing like a snake slithering into a hole.

Two minutes later a white van appeared from the opposite direction, traveling much more sedately. It trundled three-quarters of the length of the street, then drifted to the side and stopped in the same space the backup van had used yesterday. From my position, almost directly above, I couldn’t see any markings on its sides but there was a picture of an engine component-a carburetor?-painted on the hood.

After another two minutes I heard activity in the hallway outside. Footsteps were approaching. It sounded like five sets, but I couldn’t be sure. There was a pause, then the door was flung open. I caught a glimpse of a hand and a gray sleeve, but nothing else.

The door started to close. It was almost back in its frame when someone rammed it with their shoulder and stepped into the room. It was Varley. He was holding a Glock out in front of him, two-handed. He checked both corners to his left and then moved forward. The gun was swinging across to his right when he saw me, standing to the side of the window. He stopped instantly and snapped the weapon back, lining up perfectly on the bridge of my nose.