Andrew Grant - Even

I went across to the window and watched the city drift by for a couple of minutes. Looking down through the glass made the streets seem remote, like a museum exhibit. Which reminded me of something. I turned and headed for the door. Tanya came with me. She stayed close all the way down in the elevator and through the garage, but she didn’t open her mouth until we’d climbed the ramp and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“What next?” she said.

“Don’t know,” I said. “Should we walk? Or take a cab?”

“To the clinic?”

“No. To the Museum of Modern Art.”

“Why there?”

“I heard they’ve got a helicopter in one of the displays.”

“What do you want with a helicopter?”

“Nothing. But in an art gallery? It sounds interesting. And we’ve got to do something till five o’clock.”

“We’re not going to the clinic?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no point. The only reason would be to find out what’s happening and work out if it’s a problem. But we know what’s going on already. We’re in a different phase now. It’s time to pass the baton.”

“Not good enough, David. We need to at least go and look.”

“No. Why?”

“They’ll be getting ready to run. If we lose them now, we’ll never find Mansell.”

“No. It’s more likely we’d just spook them.”

“We don’t have to go in. We could just drive by. Find something to convince Varley.”

“No. We’re not going anywhere near that place. Neither of us. Have you got that?”

Tanya didn’t reply.

“Is that clear?” I said. “The risk is not justified.”

“Risk?” she said. “Listen to you. Since when have you worried about risk? When we went to Tungsten’s place? Rooted round their office? Stole their mail?”

“That wasn’t a risk. That was a tactic.”

“When you made me meet Hamad, then? Got into a knife fight with him? Or when you went to see Taylor and his thugs? No. But now Varley wants to take the reins and you think there’s a chance to sneak back home…”

“Tanya, your judgment’s impaired. Your head’s still stuck in Morocco. The answer is no. We stay away from the clinic.”

“This has nothing to do with Morocco.”

“Your obsession with finding James Mansell, then.”

“It’s not an obsession… David, wait. See those two men? They’re the ones who were watching me this morning.”

“Which ones?”

“Black car, four bays down on my right. Reading newspapers.”

I saw it. A black Cadillac Deville with no license plate at the front.

“Sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“OK. Let’s see if they’re happy with just watching. This is what I want you to do. Lean over and kiss me on the cheek. Softly, like we’re friends saying good-bye. Then I’ll head into the garage. You take a couple of steps-no more than two-and take out your phone. But don’t hold it to your ear. Keep it low, like you’re texting. Ready?”

“I guess…”

Nothing happened for twenty seconds after I moved out of sight. Then a car door slammed. I heard an engine start. A man came into view, walking fast. He was a fraction over six feet tall, slim, in his early twenties with short dark hair, black leather bomber jacket, and mid-blue jeans. He was heading for Tanya. He sneaked right up behind her, hesitated for a moment, then grabbed her. He locked his arms around her waist. She started to struggle. The Cadillac appeared. It pulled in next to them, snaking across to our side of the street. Its trunk lid was already swinging open. The guy on the sidewalk started to wrestle Tanya toward it, lifting her half off her feet.

The driver rolled down his window and gestured impatiently. He looked jumpy and inexperienced. I didn’t want him escaping while I was still disentangling Tanya so I stepped up to the car and punched him hard, just to the side of his ear. He went over sideways, sprawling across the front seats and revealing a small black Colt. 38 that had been wedged under his left thigh. I paused to check he wasn’t moving. Then I heard a voice behind me.

“Hold it.” A man’s voice. He sounded nervous. “Don’t turn around.”

I turned around. The other guy had moved back, out of reach, almost pressing into the little booth at the top of the ramp. He still had one arm around Tanya’s waist. A black. 38 was grasped in his free hand. Another Colt. It matched the driver’s. Only this one was pressed against Tanya’s right temple.

“On the ground,” he said. “Or she’s dead meat.”

I reached down behind me, through the car window, using my body to hide the movement. My hand found the waistband of the driver’s jeans. I traced my way down his leg until my fingers brushed against metal. I felt for the textured surface of the handgrip, took hold, and smoothly withdrew my arm. The safety was on the top left of the frame, at the rear. I held my hand out so the guy could watch me flick it down. Then I pointed the gun straight at his face.

“This is what’s going to happen,” I said. “I’m going to shoot you in the mouth. Twice. The first round will sever your spinal cord, just where it joins your brain. That way, no nerve signals can reach your trigger finger. The second is just for insurance. Then I’m getting lunch.”

“I don’t think so,” the guy said. “I’m going to blow her brains out.”

“What do you fancy, Tanya?” I said. “I feel like a big sandwich. Pastrami and Swiss, maybe. I had a great one the other day. Are there any good delis around here?”

“It won’t work, the mouth thing,” the guy said. “Shoot me, and she dies.”

“Shut up,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but I do this for living. And in three seconds’ time, you’re going to lose the back of your skull. Unless you put your gun down. One…”

The guy didn’t move.

“Two…”

His hand started to shake.

“Normally I don’t bother with three,” I said. “I just pull the trigger on two. But I’ve got a feeling about you. I don’t think you came to kill anyone. So put the gun down. There’s still time to straighten this out.”

He didn’t react for fully five seconds. Tanya closed her eyes. She didn’t breathe. Then the guy started to sag. He lowered his right hand. The gun slipped from his grip. It hit his foot and clattered six inches across the sidewalk. He dropped down onto his knees. For a moment I thought he was trying to retrieve his weapon, but he’d just lost his balance. He fell forward again, landing on all fours. And then he puked. Three long gut-wrenching torrents, flooding the ground in front of him and spattering up his sleeves.

Tanya turned to me, holding her hands out like a shield against the stinking puddle. She looked half shocked, half disgusted. Finally she opened her mouth, but before she could speak her phone began to ring.

“It’s Lavine,” she said, holding the handset away from her mouth. “He’s got a lead on Mansell. The NYPD have picked him up. Or someone that might be him. They want us to go and see. They’re still bogged down prepping for the clinics.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Maybe this has a happy ending, after all. But tell him to send someone to sit on these guys till we get back.”

“David, let’s not waste time. You’re not going to make a big deal out of this, are you? I mean, no harm’s been done. They’re only kids. Couldn’t we just let it slide? Or leave it to the police?”

“Why? Do you recognize them?”

“No.”

“Have you had a row with anyone lately? Someone in your building?”

“No. I only moved in a couple of days ago.”

“At the consulate?”

“Of course not.”

“What about work? Anything that could come back and haunt you?”