“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.”
THREE
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.