Andrew Grant - Even

“So where should we call from?” Tanya said. “How do we make him answer?”

“We can’t,” Weston said. “Forget the phone.”

“We don’t call him,” I said. “We text him. From Tanya’s cell phone. Then he gets the message without having to answer.”

“My cell?” Tanya said. “Why? What do we say?”

“We tell him the truth,” I said. “He’s friends with your brother. You heard he’s in trouble. You want to help.”

“The truth,” Weston said. “That’ll work.”

Tanya sent the message. A minute passed. Two minutes. There was no response. Weston and Lavine exchanged glances. Tanya gazed at the floor.

“We should get started on the warrant,” Weston said.

“You’re right,” Lavine said, getting to his feet. “Sorry, guys. Worth a try. Come on, Kyle.”

Tanya stayed in the booth, with me.

“What now?” she said.

“We try again,” I said. “Put yourself in Mansell’s shoes. What’s he thinking? When he sees the message, what’s he afraid of?”

“A trap. The Tungsten guy, trying to finish what he started on the railways.”

“Could be. Or?”

“A crooked fed. Because he’s going to think his meeting with Raab was betrayed. He’s got no way of knowing about the wires being crossed with Lesley’s guy.”

“Right. So this time put in some details that only you would know, because of your brother. And tell him the thing with Raab wasn’t what it seemed. That there’s no problem between him and the bureau.”

Tanya poked awkwardly at the tiny keys until she was happy with the message.

“Sent,” she said. “I hate texting. I hope he answers this time.”

We waited five minutes. There was no reply.

“What now?” Tanya said.

“Try again,” I said. “Tell him you work at the consulate, and you can get him out of the country in one piece if he needs you to.”

“Done,” she said after a moment, dropping the phone on the chair Weston had been using. “I don’t know why teenagers like this so much.”

Thirty seconds later there was a sound like a cartoon arrow hitting a target.

“It’s him,” Tanya said, snatching the phone back up. “Look.” this is james. do need help

“OK,” I said. “Go ahead. Reply.”

" WHERE R U, SHE SENT. NYC. IN DANGER AM ALSO IN NYC. GO TO NEAREST POLICE STATION. WILL MEET U THERE NO POLICE OK. COME TO CONSULATE. 845 3 RD AVE. ROUND CORNER FROM GRAND CENTRAL. ASK 4 ME NO2 DANGEROUS

“Not exactly bending over backward, is he?” she said.

“Frightened people need to feel some control,” I said. “Give him the choice. Ask him where he’d feel safe.”

" WHERE THEN? CAN’T HELP IF CAN’T MEET, SHE SENT. BULLDOG PUB. W4 – TH ST. KNOW IT? I’LL FIND IT. WHEN? TONIGHT? OK. TIME? 21:00 OK. C U LATER. SIT AT BAR. I’LL FIND U. COME ALONE OK. WILL BE ALONE.

“Excellent,” I said. “He’s on the hook. We just need to reel him in. Then we can take some time for ourselves.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Tanya said. “Plenty can still go wrong.”

“I didn’t know you were such a ‘glass half empty’ person.”

“I’m not. I’m more of a ‘what glass are you talking about?’ person. As in, down to earth. You’re already dreaming about tomorrow. I’m still wondering whether to tell Tweedledum and Tweedledee about tonight.”

“Do you want to tell them?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you know what Mansell looks like?”

“Yes. Lucinda pulled his record. He looks a bit like you, actually.”

“Could we borrow Lucinda for the evening? Get her to sit with me while I keep an eye on you?”

“Mansell said come alone. He seemed clear on that.”

“You will be alone. I’ll be with Lucinda. Couples are less conspicuous. And if you tell the feds they’ll bring dozens of guys. Probably helicopters and everything.”

“Seems a bit OTT just to meet a friend of my brother’s.”

“Shocking waste of tax dollars.”

“And it would be nice to see their faces in the morning, when we bring Mansell in all safe and sound.”

“Especially if he dishes the dirt on that hospital first…”

When I began my training, there was one exercise that nobody was looking forward to. Withstanding interrogation. There were too many rumors about exactly how realistic the experience was going to be. But when the course schedule was finally handed out I could see no mention of it. I remember sitting with the paper in my hand, studying each of the titles, wondering where in the jargon it was hidden. And obviously no one was stupid enough to ask.

The exercise after the fake fridge company was also based in the field. Each of us was dropped in a different town in Devon and given four hours to get hold of the full names, addresses, passport numbers, and bank account details from a pair of civilians. It didn’t matter who they were, as long as the information was genuine. It sounded pretty straightforward. We all set off happy, confident of another tick in the box. Plus an afternoon in a nice seaside pub if we worked fast enough.

Ten minutes after jumping down from the bus we’d all been snatched back off the street. We were each thrown in the back of a van. Sacking was tied roughly over our heads and we were driven to an abandoned abattoir. What happened next wasn’t nice. But it did teach us two things. How to keep our mouths shut, at least for a while. And that circumstances are rarely as they first may seem.

I never forgot the first part.

I should have paid more attention to the second.

The consulate Jaguar had dropped Lucinda and me outside the Broadway branch of Rhythm amp; Booze at dead-on 7:30 P.M. We mingled with the little group of early-evening drinkers that was gathering outside until the car was well out of sight. Then we made our way toward the rendezvous point, circling the area and looking for anyone who could be watching the place from a vehicle, a building, or on foot. Lucinda thought I was paranoid, the length of time we took, but I made her stick with it. She wasn’t the one who’d be facing Lavine the next morning.

The Bulldog itself turned out to be a typical theme pub-a square, characterless multipurpose unit clumsily dressed up to look like something it wasn’t. There were fake Yorkshire flagstones on the floor, a rectangular mahogany and brass bar tacked on to the back wall, a pool table and one-armed bandits to the left, and four dingy booths in a row on the right. We checked that no one was lurking there or in the restrooms, and by 8:00 P.M. were settled on hard wooden chairs at the side of the drafty doorway. I had a bottle of Newcastle Brown on the round table in front of us. Lucinda had a gin and tonic.

Twenty-three people entered the pub over the next hour. Seventeen were men. Nine were on their own. Five were in the right age range. And none of them looked anything like the photo of Mansell that Lucinda had brought in her purse.

Tanya arrived at a minute to nine. She stood on her own near the door for a few moments, gazing around the room as if she were taken by the oversized photos of wartime London that were plastered all over the walls. Then she stepped up to the bar, took the middle one of the three remaining stools, and ordered a drink.

“Looks different, doesn’t she?” Lucinda said.

“A little, maybe,” I said.

The truth was she looked very different. It wasn’t just the jeans and casual blouse, or the way she’d left her hair untied. It was her whole manner. She seemed tense and twitchy, like someone on speed. That wasn’t like her at all. It brought home to me how much the need to exorcise the ghosts of Morocco must be eating away at her. I just hoped Mansell would show his face. And if he did, that her spikiness wouldn’t scare him away again.