He sensed movement, something low to the ground and in shadow, over beside one of the other cars. He turned his headlights on and picked out a thin, hungry-looking fox. A fox scavenging on the top floor of a multistory parking garage. What was wrong with the fields? Had things got so bad for the foxes that they were moving into high-rises? Well, Reeve could talk: he was hiding in a garage. Hiding because he was being hunted. Right now, he was being hunted by the bad guys; but all too soon the good guys-the so-called forces of law and order-would be hunting him, too. He turned off the headlights and got out of the car to exercise. Sit-ups and push-ups, plus some calisthenics. Then he looked in his traveling bag. He didn’t have much left in the way of clean clothes. At the first service station on the route he had scrubbed away the blood. There were dried stains on his sweater, but his white shirt was still clean. He was wearing it now. He’d tried cleaning his shoes, not very successfully. They looked like he’d been playing football in them.
In his bag he found Lucky 13. The dagger was a problem. He knew he couldn’t hope to get it past airport security. It would have to stay here. But it was a murder weapon; he didn’t want it found. He walked with the dagger over to the elevator, and pressed the button for it to ascend. Then he wiped the dagger with his handkerchief, rubbing off fingerprints, and held it with the handkerchief. When the elevator arrived, he leaned in, pressed the button for the floor below, and stepped out again as the doors were closing. He slipped the blade of the dagger into the gap between the doors and, as soon as the elevator started to descend, used the blade to prize open the doors a couple of inches. Then he simply pushed the hilt and handle through the gap and let the dagger fall onto the roof of the elevator, where it could lie until maintenance found it-always supposing these elevators had any maintenance.
It was still early, so he sat in the car for a while. Then he got out and went over to the far wall, and leaned out so he could see the terminal building. There were two terminals, separated by a monorail, but this was the one he wanted, and he could walk to it. There were bright lights inside, and movement, taxis pulling up-the start of another day. He hadn’t heard any flights leave in the past half hour, excepting a few light aircraft. But they would start leaving soon. During the night some larger planes had landed. At that hour, they had to be package operators or cargo.
Reeve made a final check on the contents of his bag, finding nothing immediately incriminating or suspicious. So he walked through the cool morning air towards the terminal building. He was starving, so he bought coffee and a sandwich first thing. He slung the bag over his shoulder so he could eat and drink as he walked. He walked among businessmen, all looking bleary-eyed and regretful, like they’d spent the previous night being unfaithful. He’d bet none of them had spent a night like his, but at least he was blending in better than expected. Just another disheveled traveler up too early.
He felt a little more confident as he walked to the desk to buy a ticket. He just hoped they’d have a ticket to spare. They did, but the saleswoman warned him he’d have to pay full business rate.
“That’s fine,” he said, sliding over his credit card. He was running up a huge bill on the card, but what did that matter when he might not be around come time to pay? Intimations of mortality bred a certain recklessness. Better financial recklessness than any other kind. He waited while the deal was done, looking for recognition in the woman’s eyes as she took details of his name from his passport. But there was no recognition; the police weren’t on to him yet. She handed back the passport and credit card, and then his ticket and boarding pass. Reeve thanked her and turned away.
There was a man watching him.
Or rather, he had been watching him. But now the man was staring at the morning headlines in his paper. Only he didn’t look like he was reading them; Reeve would bet the man couldn’t even read French. He could walk over and reassure himself of that with a couple of questions, but he couldn’t cause a fuss here on the concourse, not when his flight was still some time away. So he walked casually in the direction of the bathrooms.
The bathrooms were up a passageway and around a corner, out of sight of the concourse. They faced each other, the Ladies and the Gents. There was a sign on a trestle outside the Ladies, saying the place was closed for cleaning and could customers please use the other toilets at the far end of the building. Reeve shifted the sign to the Gents and walked in.
He was lucky; there was nobody about. He set to work fast, looking around at the possibilities. Then he went to the sink nearest the door and turned the tap on full, stuffing the plughole with toilet paper. The sink started to fill. On the wall by the door there was an electric hand-dryer. Perfect. On the far wall were some vending machines. Reeve dropped a ten-franc piece into one and pulled the drawer. The small package contained a tiny toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, Bic razor, and comb. He threw the toothpaste and comb aside and got to work, smashing the head of the razor against the sink until he’d snapped off the plastic. He pushed half the blade’s length into the head of the toothbrush until he was sure it was firmly lodged there. Now, holding the toothbrush by its handle, he had a scalpel of sorts.
Water was pouring onto the floor. He wondered how long it would be before his watcher would get suspicious and wonder what the hell was going on. Maybe he’d suspect another door, some sort of exit from the toilets. He would come to look. Reeve just hoped he wouldn’t call in first, letting his boss or bosses know the score. He wanted one-on-one. He sat up on the edge of the sink, right in the corner of the room, and reached over to the hand-dryer. An electric lead curled out from it and disappeared into the wall. Reeve pulled on the end of the cord nearest the dryer, tugging it hard. Eventually it came away, but he kept on pulling. As he’d hoped, there was cable to spare inside the wall cavity. Electricians did that; it made it easier later if the unit had to be moved. He pulled out as much of the cable as he could. Then he waited. Water was still pouring onto the floor. He hoped the bastard would come soon, or maintenance might get nosy, or a businessman’s breakfast coffee might work its way through…
The door opened. A man splashed into the water. It was the watcher. Reeve flicked the live end of the cable into his face, then hauled him into the room. With his hands up to his face, the man slipped on the wet floor and nearly fell. Reeve let the cable drop from his hand to the floor, connecting with the water, making the whole floor live. The man’s face went into a rictus spasm, and he fell to his knees, hands on the floor, which only made things worse. The electricity jerked him for another couple of seconds, until Reeve hauled the cord away and rested it on the sink tops. Then he slid from his perch, crouched in front of the man, and held the blade to his throat.
The man was shaking all over, sparks still flying around inside. Some people got to like it, apparently. Reeve had been trained in interrogation techniques, and one of the instructors had told him that some prisoners got hooked on those jolts so that afterwards they kept plugging themselves into the socket, just for old times’ sake…
“Who are you?” Reeve asked quietly. “Who are you working for?”
“I don’t know anything.”
Reeve nicked the throat, drawing a bead of blood. “Last chance,” he hissed.
The man swallowed. He was big, and had probably been hired for that reason alone. But he was not smart-not really a professional to Reeve’s mind-he’d fallen too easily. Reeve searched his pockets. The man was carrying cash, but nothing else, no papers, no ID, no telephone or radio.
“When’s your RV?” Reeve asked.
“Noon,” the man said.
So he knew what RV meant; a lot of Americans would have taken the letters to mean “recreational vehicle.” So he’d served time in the armed forces.