Andrew Grant - Even

I have to admit, I was starting to get annoyed. The bureau guys were obsessing over pointless details. Their desperation to nail down Lesley’s exact role in their railroad case was paralyzing them. They wanted everything neatly defined, but whatever part she played it made no difference that I could see. Lesley needed to be taken off the street. She was a murderer, a kidnapper, a sadist, and a thief-minimum. They should snatch her now, and worry about which pigeonhole to file her in later. Maybe that would leave me with some explaining to do-about Cyril being the actual trigger man or the apparent deal I’d made to execute Varley-but I wasn’t worried. None of that would stick. Varley was alive and it didn’t matter who’d killed Raab, as long as it wasn’t me. The point was, we needed to act. Speed was essential. Rosser should have already scrambled a fast-response team and sent it to secure Lesley’s place before she got word from her sources and vanished. Instead, he was upstairs with his buddies, playing chairman of the board, and every second they wasted tipped the scales a little further in Lesley’s favor.

“How long do these talking-shops normally last?” I said to Weston, and pointed to the ceiling.

“No idea,” he said, turning back to his computer. “People don’t normally bring in suspects who try and execute our senior staff.”

“Really? That’s a shame. Keeps them on their toes.”

“Don’t joke about it. Staging a mock execution-that was sick.”

“There was nothing mock about it. Believe me.”

“Then why do it that way? Varley could have been killed.”

“No great loss, from what I’ve seen of him.”

“You should be locked up. You’re an attention-grabbing maniac.”

“Attention-grabbing? Hardly. The NYPD wouldn’t listen to me, remember. Nor would you. Nor would your bosses. You all had your chance. So stop complaining about how I put right what you failed to fix.”

“Look, finding the guy was good work. I’ll give you that. But why not call it in and let us grab him up? Or just hand him to the local PD?”

“ ’Cause he’d have denied it, Einstein. And I was working alone. I don’t have crime labs and technicians backing me up. I needed your bosses to hear the confession.”

“You had his gun.”

“Yeah. Circumstantial evidence. That’s always good. Till he goes with the ‘holding it for a friend’ defense.”

“Got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Arrogant asshole.”

“There’s a difference between being arrogant, and being right. You should think about that.”

“Or what? Going to break my jaw, as well?”

“That’s a tempting offer. I always enjoy a bit of jaw-breaking. But ultimately, what’s the point? It’s not your mouth I’m listening to.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, if anyone’s talking out of his ass, it’s you. We’ve got one agent in hospital ’cause of you. Another nearly killed this morning. And now…”

“Weston, you want to rant?” I said, getting up from Lavine’s chair. “Go ahead. But do it on your own. I’ve got a call to make.”

I could still see Weston’s mouth moving, but at least with the door shut the glass booth insulated me from the sound of his whining voice. The three chairs were still inside, so I chose the one I’d used yesterday and sat down to dial the number for the hotel switchboard. A receptionist answered on the third ring. She didn’t give her name, but it sounded like the woman who’d checked us in last night. Maxine. She must have been on a late-early. A bit like me.

“Julianne Morgan’s room, please,” I said.

“One moment,” Maxine said. “Connecting you now.”

The phone rang again for another twenty seconds, then Julianne answered. She sounded sleepy.

“Hello?” she said.

“Julianne, it’s David.”

“David? What time is it? Is it lunchtime?”

“No, not yet. But about that. I’m not going to make it, I’m afraid.”

“You’re not? Why? Is everything all right? Are you in trouble?”

“Everything’s fine. No trouble at all.”

“Then why can’t you make it?”

“Something came up, and now the FBI wants my help with it.”

“The FBI? Why? What went wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong. At least, not for me. Can’t say the same for the bad guys, though. That’s why I’m calling. I want you to get out of the hotel, right away.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t do what the bad guys wanted this morning. I went a different way. Completely stitched them up.”

“You did? Fantastic. David, good for you.”

“Point is, they’re going to hear about it. Soon.”

“So they hear. So what?”

“So they’ll be seriously pissed off. Pissed off enough to maybe send someone after you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Lots of reasons. In case you were in on it. To get back at me, through you. ’Cause you’re a journalist. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is, you’re not safe where you are.”

“Oh. Well, have I got time for a shower before I make my escape?”

I caught sight of a figure approaching from the far end of the room. It was Tanya Wilson.

“Better not,” I said. “Safer just to leave. Have you got a place to go?”

Tanya motioned through the glass that she wanted to talk to me, smiled, then went over to chat with Weston.

“Yeah,” Julianne said. “I live in the Village. It’s walkable.”

“Better head for home, then,” I said. “Sorry again about lunch.”

I saw Weston give Tanya the cold shoulder. She stood and scowled at him for a moment, and then walked over to the side wall and started looking at the train maps.

“Don’t worry about it,” Julianne said. “But I tell you what-if we can’t do lunch, what about dinner?”

“Can’t,” I said, watching Tanya. “I’ve got plans for tonight.”

“Already? You move fast. Who is she? An FBI agent?”

“Who said anything about a ‘she’?”

“Come on. You can’t fool me.”

“It’s just a work thing. Something I promised to do a while ago.”

“Oh, yeah? Just business?”

“Absolutely.”

Tanya’s body suddenly tensed as she studied the railway diagrams and I saw her head tilt slightly to the left, as if something critical had caught her attention.

“That’s what you’re telling me now,” Julianne said. “Wait till you’ve had a few glasses of red. What will it be then?”

“The same,” I said. “It’s not a date. Just someone from the consulate. She helped me out with a few things, and I promised to buy her dinner before I head back to the U.K. Nothing romantic.”

Tanya had turned to Weston and was pointing to the lower map-the one of the entire United States of America.

“You owe someone dinner in return for a few favors?” Julianne said. “Come on, David. I’m not buying that.”

“Journalists,” I said. “Too suspicious for their own good.”

“OK. You got me. I’ll back off. But listen, you did me more than a favor. You saved my life. I must owe you a whole bunch of dinners. What do you think-can’t we do at least one before you leave the country?”

“I’d love to, Julianne. But I don’t know if it’ll be possible. I could be on a plane back home, tomorrow.”

“What if you’re not? What if you’re here longer?”

“OK, tell you what. If I’m here another night, I’ll call you.”

“Great. Only trouble is, I lost my cell. Those guys took it when they threw me in their trunk. Why not give me your number. I’ll call tomorrow, after lunch, and see if you’re still around.”

I took a moment to think about her idea. I didn’t own a personal cell phone, and there’s no way I’d give my work number to a casual acquaintance. But the phone Lesley had given me was unofficial. It was untraceable, and in a few hours it would be landfill. Letting her try it tomorrow wouldn’t hurt. And it was a good way to shut her up now.