Die Twice (3 page)

“So what was he planning to do with this stuff?”

“Ha. Here’s where everything went pear-shaped. He told me he was scared of it. He’d found out what it can do. Realized it was too dangerous to put in the hands of random terrorists. So, he wanted some kind of a deal. He wanted me to broker one for him. Because of our history. Said I was the only person he could trust. He thought he could just hand in the gas and squeal on his buyers in return for immunity.”

“And you went along with this? Were you smoking crack, at the time?”

“Look, I liked him. I knew him. I thought I could trust him.”

“But you found out the hard way?”

“I saw through him. Do you know what he was trying to do?”

“Let me guess. Sell the gas. Collect the money. Leave you to take the fall.”

“Right, right, and right. Unfortunately.”

“And?”

“He realized that I was onto him. We both drew down. We both took a round. I got a new rug to hide the bloodstains. He got out of the building and vanished. London tore me a new one for my
troubles. Then sent you, to dig us all out of the mire. Now that you’re the blue-eyed boy again.”

“I doubt that’ll last—but anyway. Where’s the gas now?”

“He told me he’d brought it with him, to Chicago. To sell. We think it’s still in the city somewhere. Only we don’t know where.”

“Excellent. You can’t beat solid intelligence. And the guy? McIntyre?”

“Better news, there. We have a firm lead on him. We know where he went to get patched up.”

“Where?”

“To a cosmetic surgery clinic, of all places.”

“No chance. That’s too obvious. He wouldn’t go anywhere listed in the yellow pages. He’d find some other way. However badly hurt he was.”

“No. The police recovered surgical instruments from the place. The blood matched the samples he left behind on my floor. He was definitely there. And because of the way they organize things for hygiene, we even know which doctor treated him.”

“It’s got to be a setup. It’s got red herring written all over it.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But we didn’t stumble on this clinic by chance. It’s part of a chain. Here and in Europe. Remember McIntyre blamed other people for turning him dirty? Well, one of them runs mercenaries out of Prague. A bloke called Gary Young. He’s ex–Royal Marines, just like McIntyre. We’ve been watching him for years. And he uses these clinics whenever one of his men needs attention, away from the public eye. He may even own a slice of them.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“It flies, David. We’ve checked. It was definitely McIntyre’s blood. And based on what the police recovered from the place, we know he had surgery. That means his wounds were serious. So his
options were limited. He couldn’t wander the city indefinitely, leaking everywhere. He’d have been spotted.”

“OK. Maybe he was there. But how does that help?”

“Our doctors say he’ll need follow-up treatment. He’ll have to come back. Probably tomorrow. Possibly the day after. London want you to be there. To lift him when he appears.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“One, he won’t show. Even if he risked it before, no way will he go to the same place twice. And two, even if he does appear, you don’t need me to nick him. The local plod’s already on board. They can pick him up.”

“We can’t let the police any further into this, David. We have to close it down in-house.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, there’s the gas. The bottom line is, it has to be recovered.”

“I’m sure it does. But not by me. This has nothing to do with embassy or consulate security.”

“McIntyre tried to kill me, remember.”

“That’s a shame. And it’s something for Internal Security to sort out. Not me.”

“These are London’s orders, David. I’m not calling the shots, here.”

“Then you should have challenged them. Because whether it’s me you’re talking about or someone else, giving it to an individual is crazy. They should put a team on a job like this.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree. I asked for a team, in fact. But London said no. They’re adamant. They want things taken care of discreetly. Too many cooks can cause a scene, and no civilians can hear anything about this. And no one from the U.S. authorities, either. One of our people has left lethal chemical agents lying around
in our major ally’s second city, for goodness sake. And the prospective buyers may be here, too. Think of the consequences.”

“Think of the consequences if the job goes wrong, because we’re shorthanded. This better not be a budget thing.”

“I understand your concern, David. But you’re looking at things from the wrong angle. After New York, it’s fair to say you’re not flavor of the month, back home. Yes? So this is your chance to put that right. Get your career back on track. The situation’s serious. It’s on the verge of humiliating several senior people. Taking care of it will buy you a lot of forgiveness. Moaning about resources? That’ll do the opposite.”

I didn’t respond.

“Something else to think about,” he said. “I’m still pretty well plugged in. Make this go away with the minimum of fuss, and I can put in a good word for you. Directly into some very influential ears.”

“That’s an interesting angle,” I said, sensing the inevitable. “Suppose I give it a shot. Is there anyone in-house who could help? Specialists, to handle the chemicals, at least?”

“Don’t worry about the gas. It’s completely safe. As long as it stays in its container.”

“Sounds like a big if to me. And the second thing?”

“London want a hard arrest. And you know those are always carried out solo.”

A hard arrest. The kind that involves body bags rather than handcuffs. They’re usually reserved for known terrorists and hostage takers who somehow slip every other kind of net. But they’re also applied to our own people, gone bad. Cases like that were rare. Which was lucky, because carrying them out was never straightforward. They put you up against a highly motivated individual with the same background and training as yourself, but generally with an added dose of craziness. They’re not easy. And they’re not fun.

“Hard?” I said. “Is that definite?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry. I triple-checked. But it shouldn’t be a problem for a guy like you, surely?”

“I’ll need secondary confirmation, before I even consider it. I need to hear the words.”

“Understood. I thought you’d say that. I’ve got a call already set up, with my control.”

“And McIntyre’s mug shot. The most up-to-date we’ve got.”

“Already prepared.”

“Details of this gas. And whatever kind of container it’s kept in.”

“I’ve got pictures of the canister. It’s fairly standard, apparently. But information on the gas itself is a bit thin on the ground. That might take a little longer.”

“What about the doctor? Do we know his name? What he looks like?”

“We do. He’s called Alvin Rollins. His picture’s all over the clinic’s Web site. I’ve printed you a copy. Anything else?”

“A cell phone.”

“You don’t have one?”

“No.”

“Well, we’ll have to put that right. I’m going to need regular updates from you, David, whenever you’re outside this building. I can’t help you if I don’t know where you are. Luckily I have a couple of spare handsets right here. Personally, I think staying close and tight is key. You can’t overestimate the importance of communication on an operation like this.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted. But on top of the phone, I’ll need a weapon. Something clean. The old one accidentally fell into the East River.”

“We’ve got the usual to pick from, downstairs.”

“I’m fine with a Beretta.”

“That’s easy, then. I’ll get them sent up. Anything else? Or does that wrap things up?”

“One other thing. Transport. I’ll need a car.”

“I’ll call the motor pool. It’s over near O’Hare. They should have something available.”

“Thanks. But I don’t think that’s going to work. I’ve got something fairly specific in mind. And I doubt it’s in our usual stable.”

Ten years is a key milestone in Royal Navy Intelligence. Reach it, and you get an extra week’s annual leave. Enhanced death in service benefits. And you find that all kinds of alternative career paths can start to open up. If you last that long. And you want them to.

One of the most popular options is to become an IOR, or instructor on rotation. The accreditation process isn’t all that arduous, and once you’re certified, you keep one foot in the field and one in the classroom. It averages out to around an eighty/twenty split in terms of time throughout a whole year, and there are many advantages to this way of working. It adds some variety to your everyday life. Takes you away from the sharp end for a few weeks at a time, like another kind of paid vacation. And ensures that the new recruits are taught by people with up-to-date, real-world skills.

For all the advantages, though, it’s not an idea that’s ever appealed to me. I like life at the sharp end. And I think I’d have trouble cooperating with the course assessors. Because in my experience,
they’re not always looking for what’s important after you’ve left the classroom behind.

In training, what they look for is the ability to follow your brief.

In the field, the only thing that matters is getting the job done.

I didn’t care what Fothergill said. He’d been out of the field for far too long. He wasn’t anticipating how McIntyre would think. If the guy could make his way from Afghanistan to the United States with a canister of illegal military gas under his coat and not get caught, he must be halfway competent. There was no chance he’d be stupid enough to set foot anywhere near the clinic a second time. The best we could hope for was that he’d rely on the same doctor. So I changed London’s plan a little. I didn’t go inside and find a pretext to hang around there for hours, the next day, as they suggested. I only stayed long enough to verify that Rollins—the surgeon identified by the Chicago police—had showed up for work. I located his silver BMW in the basement garage. Made sure I had sight of where both fire exits emerged onto the street, as well as the main entrance. Then I dropped back out of sight. And waited.

The officer who’d delivered the Police Interceptor to my hotel that morning was refreshingly enthusiastic about his work. He briefed me at length about the vehicle’s V8 engine. Its heavy-duty transmission and brakes. Up-rated springs and shock absorbers. Special shielding around the fuel tank. Kevlar linings in the front doors. Stab plates in the front seats. But strangely, he didn’t mention the one feature I actually cared about. The exterior appearance. The car had been done up to look exactly like a taxi. And since ninety percent of the city’s cabs are also Crown Victorias, that gave it a critical advantage. Tucked into the mouth of an alley between the buildings opposite the clinic, it was effectively invisible.

I’d been dubious about whether McIntyre would risk using any
kind of mainstream medical facility after his confrontation with Fothergill, but when I found the building I saw it did have a couple of points in its favor. For a start, its location. It was on the corner of Illinois and State. Less than four blocks from the consulate. Not too far for him to go, even carrying an injury. Then there was its clientele. A constant stream of people entering and leaving, offering him plenty of cover. Many of them were also covered in bandages, so he wouldn’t stand out. Add to that its layout, and I was prepared to change my mind. It had multiple exit points, to lessen the chances of being cornered. And if he could acquire a vehicle, there was easy access to escape routes north, south, east, or west.

I knew there was a chance that McIntyre would break the chain at that point. Skip the follow-up altogether, or find another medic to carry it out. And if he did summon Dr. Rollins, he could send a cab to fetch him. Or a car, with a professional driver. Neither of which would be the end of the world. They would just make it harder for me to follow without being spotted. But in the end, after two and a half hours—just before eleven o’clock—I saw the nose of the silver BMW edging out of the clinic’s garage. The doctor was at the wheel. Alone. He turned left, heading east, toward the lake. I let two other cars move between us, then eased out into the traffic behind him.

Rollins drove smoothly, making no late turns or unexpected maneuvers. He was making no attempt to disguise where he was heading, which made me think he didn’t know where his final destination would be. He was probably going to collect instructions from McIntyre along the way. Most likely several times. That’s the way I’d have done it in McIntyre’s shoes—injured, gone to ground, with no backup, in a strange city.

We continued down Illinois Street, followed underneath Michigan Avenue, swung right onto Columbus, and eventually merged with Lake Shore Drive. We passed the Field Museum and Soldier
Field on our left. Then through the centre of McCormick Place, pale on the right, dark and mysterious on the left. Rollins cruised sedately in the middle lane. I stayed with him—sometimes two cars behind, sometimes three—until I was sure where he was headed. Midway Airport. Satisfied, I dropped back another six car lengths. Rollins was an amateur. There was nothing to suggest he was even looking for a tail, but it never hurts to be careful.

The main reason for McIntyre to send Rollins to an airport would be to neutralize any aerial surveillance the Chicago police might have put up. Even police helicopters aren’t allowed to operate near major commercial flight paths. But there were two other possibilities. One was to give Rollins a safe place to make his first call for directions. There were plenty of pay phones in the large, public concourses. McIntyre would know he couldn’t risk letting Rollins use a cell phone. Or even to e-mail from a BlackBerry. Anyone doing that is just asking to be tracked. I’d give a pound to a penny that Rollins had been told to leave them locked in his office, in case the temptation proved too much. The other explanation was to give him the chance to change cars. With time to prepare, McIntyre would have left a replacement vehicle, keys hidden nearby, in one of the parking lots. In these circumstances, though, he’d have to rely on a rental car. I knew from the notices I’d seen yesterday when I was passing through that eight rental companies operate from Midway. All have their collection points in the same parking garage. And that was the garage I saw Rollins pull into, twenty-one minutes after leaving the clinic.