“I can give you that. Just get these things off my back.”
“Questions first, I think. You’re planning on murdering what, several thousand people? Why?”
“I told you. Dollars and cents.”
“There has to be more to it than that.”
“For the people who are paying, maybe. But not for me.”
“Who is paying you?”
“That’s a stupid question. You know it doesn’t work that way. Someone wants a job done. They hire me to do it. Anonymously, through two or three blinds. Afterward, you see their face on TV or the Internet or wherever, claiming responsibility. Sick and cowardly of them, maybe, but it pays the bills.”
“OK. Why are they doing it? Did they tell you that much?”
“Yeah, funnily enough. I made it clear I have no moral scruples whatsoever. That’s why people hire me. But these guys still wanted me to think they were righteous.”
“How, if you weren’t in contact?”
“They sent me a load of crap through some intermediaries. And they have vision, I grant them that. The New York guys, in ’01—they demolished the Twin Towers. So now, there’s nothing left to see. These guys, though, they want this building left intact. What did they call it? A fourteen-hundred-foot-high coffin. A lasting monument to the immorality of Western culture, standing empty and unusable. Something like that. whatever.”
“How would the building be unusable? Spektra gas isn’t radioactive. It doesn’t seep into the fabric of the place. There shouldn’t be any long-term effects.”
“That’s true. But it’s not the point. You’re being too literal. These guys are more like poets. They’re thinking about how the whole deal will go down. Starting with every single person in the place being dead. And everyone in the country knowing about it. Hell, they won’t even need the TV cameras. People will be tweeting about it while it’s still happening. They’ll be posting videos of their co-workers twitching and dying. I guarantee it.”
I didn’t reply. I was too busy thinking about how much I hate Twitter.
“Then the emergency crews will come,” he said. “At first they’ll stand off, not knowing what to do. Then they’ll suit up and charge in. And die, ’cause regular respirators are no good against Spektra. So there’ll be delays, waiting for the military. More delays, waiting for body bags, ’cause there won’t be enough. So when the bodies do finally come out, they’ll be starting to rot and decompose. Are you getting the picture?”
I didn’t answer.
“So you see what I mean?” he said. “These guys are like the artists of international terrorism. And after the scene they create, do you think anyone will ever want to work in the building again? Would you?”
I bit my tongue.
“So the building won’t be used,” he said. “And it’ll cost too much to pull it down. So there you go. It’ll be like a statue. A sculpture. Call it what you like.”
“And you have no problem with that?” I said.
“No. None. It’s what I do for a living.”
I stood and looked at him.
“Can you move these metal bars now, please?” he said.
“No,” I said. “When’s all this supposed to happen?”
“Soon, I guess. There’s no fixed time or date. Or if there is, they haven’t told me. I’m supposed to let them know when everything’s ready. Then they’ll give me the signal.”
“When will it be ready?”
“Later tonight.”
“The empty valve, downstairs? You need another canister?”
“Right.”
“Where are you getting it from?”
“It’s being brought right here, to me.”
“Room service?”
“My supplier.”
“McIntyre?”
“Right. Normally I meet him somewhere neutral. But tonight, we traded favors. Doorstep delivery, for garbage disposal.”
“Garbage, meaning me?”
“Right. Normally he’d take care of you himself, but he’s had a couple of bumps and bruises lately. He didn’t want to do it, in the circumstances. And I’m beginning to see why.”
“What time is he coming?”
“I’ll let him know when you’re out of the way. Then we’ll fix a time.”
“How do you contact him?”
“I use this amazing new device called the phone.”
“You have his number?”
“Of course.”
“OK. Good. Go ahead and call him now. Tell him to be here at eight o’clock.”
“You’ll have to get these things off me. I can’t reach my phone.”
“I’ll take care of you after you make the call. You reach the phone, or you stay where you are. Your choice.”
The guy made a play of straining to get his hand into his pocket, but thirty seconds later he’d produced the phone.
“Wait,” I said. “Call up his number. Let me see it.”
He prodded a couple of buttons, then passed me the handset. The phone book entry was under McIntyre, and the number matched the one that had sent me the texts just over twenty-four hours ago.
“OK,” I said. “That’s fine. Make the call. Only tell him nine o’clock, instead.”
The guy did as I told him. He only needed six words. The call took less than ten seconds. A relieved smile spread across his face when he hung up the phone. And faded again when he saw the gun that was now in my hand.
“Remind me of something,” I said. “Your advice, earlier. Did you tell me to say good morning? Or good night?”
“Good night,” he said.
“And remember how I told you I was going to do that? Well, I always keep my word. I’m going to say it to you, first, since it was your idea. And then to your friends, downstairs. I wouldn’t want them to miss out.”
TWENTY-TWO
There’s one word in navy intelligence that no one likes to speak out loud. Traitor.
No one makes jokes on the subject. No one gossips about it. And on the rare occasion that one is unmasked, no one talks about it. The only exception that I ever encountered was a guy in Bermuda. His nerves were still a little shot because he’d just exposed someone he’d worked with for twenty-two years. I hadn’t been in the service for twenty-two weeks at that point, so the whole affair made a big impression on me. I sat in a bar on the south side of the island and listened intently as he talked me through what had happened. How he’d first been alerted to his friend’s guilt. How he’d double-and triple-checked to make sure there was no mistake. How he’d considered handing the case off to internal security. And how he’d finally hunted the guy down and shot him in the head, leaving his guns in their holsters as an enduring badge of shame.
I could see a pair of plump tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, so I asked him if he regretted what he’d done.
“Absolutely not,” he said, without even pausing to blink. “Because this is what you have to understand. A traitor doesn’t just betray himself. Or his friends. His family. His country. His queen. He betrays the whole service as well. That means you and me and everyone we’re sworn to fight for. So, no. I have no remorse about shooting him. None at all.”
I thought he’d finished, but after a long swig of beer he turned back to me and rounded things o?.
“Actually, there is one thing I regret,” he said. “Killing him once just isn’t enough. If I was God for a day, I’d make it so that traitors can die twice. Then I could blow his worthless brains out all over again.”
The night-duty receptionist was at the desk when I reached the fourteenth floor of the Wrigley Building, just after seven thirty. She glanced up at me when I came out of the elevator and then gestured vaguely toward the doors that concealed the sni?er machines. I was glad to be able to pick for myself. I wanted the same one that I’d used when I first came to the consulate, four days ago. I always like that kind of symmetry at the start and end of a job. The sense of balance continued when I reached Fothergill’s o?ce. He was standing at the same window. And he was wearing the same blue pin-striped suit. There were only two things that were different from the original picture. He had a large pilot’s-style briefcase on the floor at his feet. And he was surprised to see me.