Andrew Grant - Even

“No. Nothing. I haven’t been here long enough. I’ve had no problems at all. Until you turned up.”

“Then, no. We can’t let it slide. They were stalking you. They tried to snatch you off the street. And they know where you live. Where you work. That’s not something you turn a blind eye to. Ever.”

“OK. I guess you’re right. I’ll tell Lavine to send some people.”

“Good. And Tanya-tell him they’ll need a sponge. I’m not spending time with this guy till he’s been cleaned.”

I don’t remember a great deal about my grandfather.

He died when I was too young. I’ve seen photos of him, and heard stories from relatives. But I never got a sense of what he was really like until a couple of years ago when his few remaining possessions found their way through to me, sealed up for years in his old army trunk.

It turned out the old man had been fascinated by the Titanic. He’d built up a whole hoard of books and articles and clippings about it. Accounts of how it was built, in Belfast, near where he was born. The night it sank. The conspiracy theories. The expeditions to find the wreck. Biographies of the survivors. Histories of its sister ships. I read every word. But it wasn’t the technical details that struck a chord with me. It was how that final night must have felt for the passengers. One minute, their ship was indestructible. An unsinkable engineering marvel. The next it was a metal coffin on the way to the ocean floor. Their world was turned on its head. In an instant. With no warning.

I’ve had that feeling, myself. On more than one occasion.

And, as with icebergs, you never know when it’s going to strike.

The trip to pick up James Mansell was a complete waste of time. The NYPD’s “ninety percent match” turned out to be a sad, confused drunk with an English accent. He’d been spotted dancing naked in the turtle pond in Central Park. The police had fished him out, dried him off, covered him up, and taken him to their station house. That part was easy enough. Getting an ID was another story. They were going nowhere until Lavine’s bulletin came through. Then they saw the chance to palm him off on the bureau. Which seemed like a good idea, until we got there. When Tanya realized what they were trying to pull I was lucky to get her out without any blood being spilled.

The dead end at the police station set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. Tanya was too disappointed to speak much on the way back to the FBI building. She preferred to sit and stare silently at the traffic. Every street we tried was completely choked with it. There was no obvious reason why. There was no construction work. No accidents. It was as though the other vehicles had come out specifically to get in our way. There were so many we only just made it back by five o’clock. And just as we were jumping out of the car, Lavine phoned. They weren’t ready. Coordinating with the other cities was taking longer than expected. He wanted to postpone the meeting till 8:00 A.M. tomorrow. Which I didn’t mind, in itself. It would give us a chance to interrogate Tanya’s stalkers. Only Tanya chose that moment to remember some critical task she had to complete at the consulate. Something so important there was no way she could leave it till the morning. The only upside was a clear shot at dinner. A good chance to cheer us both up.

Tanya had suggested Fong’s. She was probably thinking we could pick up where we’d left things on Tuesday, but I wasn’t so sure. The same restaurant three times in five nights would be a stretch, even if the previous visits had ended happily. So instead we settled on a French place I know not far from Union Square. The food’s good, the service is discreet, the tables are large and well spread out, and the lights are always turned down low.

Ideal if you have to wait a while, for any reason.

We’d agreed on eight o’clock. I arrived on time. Tanya didn’t, but I wasn’t worried. I figured that after her previous no-show she wouldn’t be more than five minutes late. Ten at the outside. There was plenty to keep me occupied. Thinking about spending time with her again, outside work. The assortment of other diners, subtly shepherded together near the window to make the restaurant look extra popular. The waiters, silently gliding around with their order pads and plates of food. The solitary barman, halfheartedly flicking a bar rag over a stack of wine glasses, and a pair of youths, eyeing the twenty-inch chrome wheels on a BMW coupe parked across the street.

My phone rang at eight fifteen. I went outside to answer. I’d expected Tanya, calling with an apology, but it turned out to be Lavine.

“News,” he said. “The Iraqi doctors from the clinic? We traced them. There were four. But they already left the country. Flew out of Newark on Monday.”

“Only four?” I said. “Are you sure?”

“That’s just New York. It’s the same story in Boston and D.C. Four medics in each place, all flew out three days ago. We’re still checking Chicago and Miami, but I’m assuming we’ll find the same thing.”

“Did anyone come in to replace them?”

“None that we can see, but we did link four other Iraqi nationals to Tungsten. They also bailed out Monday. Via JFK. Probably the ringleaders Taylor talked about. So it doesn’t look like they’re just changing shifts. More like they’re folding their tents altogether.”

“Does Tanya know?”

“I just called her cell. No answer. I’ll try her landline in a minute.”

“Any other agencies involved?”

“No. Not a one. Wasn’t on anyone’s radar.”

“But we didn’t start sniffing till yesterday. So why cut and run on Monday?”

“My guess is they weren’t running. They were leaving because they were ready. Which means we’re looking at a whole new scenario.”

I checked the street. No one was in earshot.

“The organ thing,” I said. “Maybe it’s not just a gold mine.”

“No,” Lavine said. “More like a direct pipeline into five major cities. It gave these guys access to people. Locations. Technology. Expertise. And who knows what else.”

“I’ve seen this before. A team moving in on the back of something else. Time to worry is when the key players pull out.”

“Right. Means whatever they’re planning, it’s about to happen.”

“They just leave the bare bones behind. Expendable nobodies. Drones, to press the button.”

“It’s a standard terrorist MO. They keep the key assets safe. Ready to go again, somewhere else.”

“But if they pulled out on Monday, we’re almost out of time. They won’t wait much longer. Too much risk. Another day, maybe. Two, max.”

“That’s cutting it fine. We don’t even know what their target is.”

“Taylor might. I’ll talk to him again. If he knows, he’ll tell me.”

“He won’t. He’s in the wind. His lawyer got him out. Took two minutes, after the job you did on him.”

“What job? I didn’t touch him.”

“That’s not what he says. But it’s beside the point. He’s gone.”

“Did he get his possessions back?”

“I think so. Why?”

“If he’s got his phone, I could call him. Set something up.”

“I already tried. He didn’t answer.”

“He might do, if he sees my number. Or Mansell’s. I hung on to the SIM after we dumped his calls.”

“Maybe. But listen. Could you hold off on that, at least till tomorrow? When we couldn’t reach Taylor, I spoke to Varley. He’s trying to bring the schedule forward on the raids. It could spook them, if Taylor thinks you’re still one step behind.”

“OK. If we move fast on the raids. Because this is going to be huge.”

“We don’t know that. There’s no need to scaremonger.”