The sense of liberation was terrifying.
Pope glanced across at her, caught her eye. He nodded, and in that nod she saw an understanding she’d never known anybody to manage to convey in words.
We’re the same.
They’d each lost their fathers, and in each case there’d been complexities in the relationship that hadn’t been resolved. The difference was that Pope wouldn’t get a second chance with his father. Nina would with hers, in a twisted way. And Pope was offering her that chance.
The flood of feeling — unidentifiable, intense — threatened to choke her.
‘Where are we going?’ she said.
‘New York City.’
Twenty-Seven
Sussex County, New Jersey
Monday 20 May, 11.45 pm
‘It gets us so far, but no more,’ said Purkiss.
The four of them were alone in the diner. Berg had called the owner from the back room and said that they might be there a while, that he should go home and come back in the morning. For all his surly demeanour he looked surprisingly cheerful.
‘Uncle Sam’s dime,’ he said, and left.
Kendrick was cooking something behind the counter, the sizzling from the hotplate almost difficult to hear over. Berg and Nakamura lounged in their chairs, the laptop open but in sleep mode on the table. Purkiss paced.
He often found recapitulation useful as it produced multiple slightly different drafts of a story, one or more of which might yield new insights. So he began again.
‘Pope’s father is under cover in the US, investigating something to do with interrogation techniques, around the same time a group within the CIA is conducting unauthorised trials of an interrogation-related drug in collaboration with Holtzmann Solar. The possibilities are: Pope senior infiltrated the cell within the CIA, or Holtzmann Solar itself.’
‘Or,’ said Nakamura, ‘he set things up so he was one of the trial subjects.’
‘Good point,’ said Purkiss. ‘We’ve no way of knowing at the moment which it was. My man in London is trying to get some more details about Pope senior’s last mission, but he’s probably not going to find out much more. Next, Pope’s body is fished out of the Caribbean in the wake of the hurricane.’
Berg had looked up both Hurricane Mitch and the reports of the plane wreck. The FBI files had a record of it: the remains of a Cessna piston-engined light aircraft had been found by the Guatemalan coastguard during the cleaning-up operations following the hurricane. Three bodies had been recovered: two suspected Honduran and one British national. The British man had been positively identified by SIS as Geoffrey Pope, a supposed former employee, though a file note mentioned that it was likely he was still in their pay at the time of his death. Purkiss recognised the tactic. When an agent was found dead, it was routine for the Service to deny that he was still active.
‘We know Pope junior was given a few effects that were found with his father’s body, but there’s no record of his reaction to the death, or of any attempts on his part to look into the circumstances. Darius was only seventeen years old at the time, of course, and still at school. More than fourteen years pass, and Darius gets through university and joins the Service. Has a solid, unflashy career.’
‘Biding his time, maybe,’ said Berg.
‘Quite possibly. Then, one day, starts hunting down and killing CIA operatives, three so far, all of whom Crosby implicated in the Holtzmann Solar drug trials.’
He took a moment to channel his thoughts. ‘Two possibilities. Either he’s mopping up on someone’s behalf, eliminating all traces of the trials including those who took part in the affair. In which case, at whose instigation? Was his father crooked, helping to conduct the trials, and did he somehow issue instructions to Darius to continue his work after his death and clean up afterwards? Or is somebody else pulling Pope’s strings now? The same person who sent these rogue CIA men after me and to kill Crosby?
‘The other possibility is that Pope senior was genuinely investigating the Caliban operation and managed to get word to his son about what was going on. Darius is now avenging his father, or at least vindicating him, by conducting reprisals against the people involved.’
Berg rocked forward off the back legs of her chair and stood up, stretching in frustration. ‘Either way, Purkiss, like you say this all takes us only so far. We don’t know where Pope is, who his next target is, or even if there’s going to be a next target.’
‘No.’ But there was something they were missing, something that held a clue. Purkiss was sure of it.
*
Kendrick came over carrying two trays laden with plates. An enormous dish held eggs, bacon, sausages and four steaks, almost afloat in a swamp of grease.
‘What the hell’s this?’ said Nakamura.
‘Soldier’s food.’ Kendrick began tucking in. ‘Help yourselves.’
‘Heart attack city.’
Kendrick said, his mouth fulclass="underline" ‘I thought you Yanks were supposed to be always stuffing your faces.’
‘You’re a forces guy?’ Nakamura said.
‘Yeah. Second Parachute Division. Two Para.’
Nakamura bobbed his eyebrows. ‘Yeah, those guys were all right. Where’d you serve?’
‘Iraq, autumn 2003 to 2006. Basra mainly.’
‘No kidding. I was with the First Marine Division. March ’03.’
Kendrick put down his fork. ‘You were there at the beginning? Part of the invasion force?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Jesus.’ Kendrick’s eyes were alight. He shifted his chair closer.
Standing near Purkiss, Berg said: ‘Boys and their games.’
Purkiss watched a group of late-night revellers career close to the wide front window of the diner and peer in before reeling away.
He said, ‘Hurricane Mitch. When exactly did it strike?’
‘It hit hard from October twenty-ninth till November third.’ She’d memorised the data from her search earlier.
‘Pope senior was found dead in the aftermath. Crosby said Caliban was terminated at the end of 1998, before Thanksgiving. Is that what ended the trials? The hurricane? Did it do some damage to the infrastructure of the project?’
She watched his face, thinking about it. Then shrugged. ‘Long shot, Purkiss.’
‘If I’m right, there’s a link to Central America. Somehow.’
‘Like I say, a long shot. The hurricane wrecked several countries. Honduras got the worst of it, but Guatemala and Nicaragua were also hit. Even Florida, though it had reduced to a tropical storm by then.’
‘Holtzmann Solar don’t have facilities in the region? A laboratory, a factory?’
‘No. But it doesn’t mean anything. Illegal activity like this, Nazi-style drug experiments… they’d be conducting it far away from the public eye.’
A phone rang, a thin warbling that startled them. Purkiss felt the sound coming from his pocket and fished the tiny clam-shaped device out. No caller ID.
He’d taken it off the body of one of the men who’d attacked them at Crosby’s cabin, the man who’d crawled up to the wall and almost shot Kendrick. Purkiss thought the man looked like the leader of the group.
He opened the phone. ‘Yeah.’ He could manage a flat, Mid-Western accent.
‘McCammon? It’s Druze.’ A man’s voice, low and rasping. ‘Where’re you?’
Purkiss switched to speakerphone. Kendrick and Nakamura got up and came over.
‘Crosby’s place, mopping up. It’s done,’ said Purkiss.
Silence for a beat. Purkiss wondered if he’d blown it. He said, ‘What’s up?’
‘Harlan and King with you?’
‘No.’
‘They left here a couple hours ago. Supposed to call in by now. I tried calling them. No answer on either of their cells.’
‘Where were they heading?’
‘The girl took a Greyhound to Washington. They were following.’
‘Problems your end?’ It was a broad enough question that Purkiss hoped it wouldn’t arouse suspicion.