The sound of the shot was uncomfortably loud in such a small, enclosed space. I normally use a silencer for close-range indoor work, but needs must. Rosser and Breuer flinched. Varley flopped down to his left. And Patrick was knocked backward, off his feet. He landed awkwardly, half on his side, with his right arm trapped underneath him. Blood was draining steadily from the hole in the center of his chest. It was seeping out faster than the carpet could absorb it. I had to be careful not to step in it as I moved in closer. Then I lowered the. 45 I’d inherited from Lesley’s guy and put two more rounds in Patrick’s head.
They probably weren’t necessary, but it pays to be thorough.
SEVENTEEN
MEETINGS. A PRACTICAL ALTERNATIVE TO WORK.
I’ve seen that slogan in offices from Mumbai to Montreal and Moscow to Melbourne. It’s a simple observation. And it’s absolutely true. People all over the world build whole careers out of sitting around, talking, secretly looking for ways to steal credit or avoid blame.
And of course, the worst offenders are always the bosses…
Rosser, Varley, and Breuer had set themselves up in the boardroom, leaving me on the twenty-third floor with only Weston for company. They were busy raking over the fallout from the Patrick incident. Searching for connections. Assessing the consequences. Reviewing their procedures. Debating corrective actions. It must have been a complex operation because they’d had to summon more guys from their main New York office to lend a hand. Then they’d spread the net to include the NYPD. Even Tanya Wilson had been dragged in. That meant London would be involved. It would be after lunch in the U.K., but that wouldn’t be a problem. The desk jockeys would still be all fired up, eagerly chipping in over the spider phone and adding their slice of nonsense for the bureaucratic parasites to feast on.
I have to admit, I was starting to get annoyed. The bureau guys were obsessing over pointless details. Their desperation to nail down Lesley’s exact role in their railroad case was paralyzing them. They wanted everything neatly defined, but whatever part she played it made no difference that I could see. Lesley needed to be taken off the street. She was a murderer, a kidnapper, a sadist, and a thief-minimum. They should snatch her now, and worry about which pigeonhole to file her in later. Maybe that would leave me with some explaining to do-about Cyril being the actual trigger man or the apparent deal I’d made to execute Varley-but I wasn’t worried. None of that would stick. Varley was alive and it didn’t matter who’d killed Raab, as long as it wasn’t me. The point was, we needed to act. Speed was essential. Rosser should have already scrambled a fast-response team and sent it to secure Lesley’s place before she got word from her sources and vanished. Instead, he was upstairs with his buddies, playing chairman of the board, and every second they wasted tipped the scales a little further in Lesley’s favor.
“How long do these talking-shops normally last?” I said to Weston, and pointed to the ceiling.
“No idea,” he said, turning back to his computer. “People don’t normally bring in suspects who try and execute our senior staff.”
“Really? That’s a shame. Keeps them on their toes.”
“Don’t joke about it. Staging a mock execution-that was sick.”
“There was nothing mock about it. Believe me.”
“Then why do it that way? Varley could have been killed.”
“No great loss, from what I’ve seen of him.”
“You should be locked up. You’re an attention-grabbing maniac.”
“Attention-grabbing? Hardly. The NYPD wouldn’t listen to me, remember. Nor would you. Nor would your bosses. You all had your chance. So stop complaining about how I put right what you failed to fix.”
“Look, finding the guy was good work. I’ll give you that. But why not call it in and let us grab him up? Or just hand him to the local PD?”
“ ’Cause he’d have denied it, Einstein. And I was working alone. I don’t have crime labs and technicians backing me up. I needed your bosses to hear the confession.”
“You had his gun.”
“Yeah. Circumstantial evidence. That’s always good. Till he goes with the ‘holding it for a friend’ defense.”
“Got an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Arrogant asshole.”
“There’s a difference between being arrogant, and being right. You should think about that.”
“Or what? Going to break my jaw, as well?”
“That’s a tempting offer. I always enjoy a bit of jaw-breaking. But ultimately, what’s the point? It’s not your mouth I’m listening to.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, if anyone’s talking out of his ass, it’s you. We’ve got one agent in hospital ’cause of you. Another nearly killed this morning. And now…”
“Weston, you want to rant?” I said, getting up from Lavine’s chair. “Go ahead. But do it on your own. I’ve got a call to make.”
I could still see Weston’s mouth moving, but at least with the door shut the glass booth insulated me from the sound of his whining voice. The three chairs were still inside, so I chose the one I’d used yesterday and sat down to dial the number for the hotel switchboard. A receptionist answered on the third ring. She didn’t give her name, but it sounded like the woman who’d checked us in last night. Maxine. She must have been on a late-early. A bit like me.
“Julianne Morgan’s room, please,” I said.
“One moment,” Maxine said. “Connecting you now.”
The phone rang again for another twenty seconds, then Julianne answered. She sounded sleepy.
“Hello?” she said.
“Julianne, it’s David.”
“David? What time is it? Is it lunchtime?”
“No, not yet. But about that. I’m not going to make it, I’m afraid.”
“You’re not? Why? Is everything all right? Are you in trouble?”
“Everything’s fine. No trouble at all.”
“Then why can’t you make it?”
“Something came up, and now the FBI wants my help with it.”
“The FBI? Why? What went wrong?”
“Nothing went wrong. At least, not for me. Can’t say the same for the bad guys, though. That’s why I’m calling. I want you to get out of the hotel, right away.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t do what the bad guys wanted this morning. I went a different way. Completely stitched them up.”
“You did? Fantastic. David, good for you.”
“Point is, they’re going to hear about it. Soon.”
“So they hear. So what?”
“So they’ll be seriously pissed off. Pissed off enough to maybe send someone after you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Lots of reasons. In case you were in on it. To get back at me, through you. ’Cause you’re a journalist. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is, you’re not safe where you are.”
“Oh. Well, have I got time for a shower before I make my escape?”
I caught sight of a figure approaching from the far end of the room. It was Tanya Wilson.
“Better not,” I said. “Safer just to leave. Have you got a place to go?”
Tanya motioned through the glass that she wanted to talk to me, smiled, then went over to chat with Weston.
“Yeah,” Julianne said. “I live in the Village. It’s walkable.”
“Better head for home, then,” I said. “Sorry again about lunch.”
I saw Weston give Tanya the cold shoulder. She stood and scowled at him for a moment, and then walked over to the side wall and started looking at the train maps.
“Don’t worry about it,” Julianne said. “But I tell you what-if we can’t do lunch, what about dinner?”
“Can’t,” I said, watching Tanya. “I’ve got plans for tonight.”
“Already? You move fast. Who is she? An FBI agent?”
“Who said anything about a ‘she’?”
“Come on. You can’t fool me.”
“It’s just a work thing. Something I promised to do a while ago.”
“Oh, yeah? Just business?”
“Absolutely.”
Tanya’s body suddenly tensed as she studied the railway diagrams and I saw her head tilt slightly to the left, as if something critical had caught her attention.