‘It was Tanaka,’ Norton said, standing over Ortiz. ‘Only Tanaka.’
Carl nodded. ‘You could have stopped this thing as soon as it started. But what Tanaka and Jeff Norton could do, so could someone else sooner or later. So could any of the ones who knew about Wyoming, any of the ones who were left, and it could happen at any time. No matter what position you achieved, Scorpion Response was going to hang over you to the grave. You’d never be safe. So you saw a chance to clean house, and you took it, at whatever cost.’
And now Carl found a small truth seeping up inside him, an understanding.
‘You know, Ortiz, you would have made a pretty good thirteen. All you ever lacked was the strength, the power, and that, well, I guess you can always find a mob of cudlips to supply that for you.’
‘All right.’ Ortiz stopped struggling. The force came back into his voice. He spoke clearly and urgently. ‘Listen to me, please. If you kill me now, I have alarm systems attached to my body. They’re under the skin, inside me, you’ll never find them. There’ll be a crash team here in minutes.’
‘I won’t need that long,’ Carl told him.
Ortiz broke. His face seemed to crumple, his eyes closed, blinked open moist with tears.
‘But I want to live,’ he whispered. ‘I want to go on, I have work to do.’
Cold, cold pulse of rage. He felt his face move with it. ‘So did Sevgi Ertekin.’
‘Please believe me, Mr Marsalis, I truly do regret—’
Carl leaned closer. ‘I don’t want your regret.’
Ortiz swallowed, mustered control from somewhere.
‘Then, I have a request,’ he husked. ‘Please, at least may I phone and speak to my family first. To say goodbye.’
‘No.’ Carl hauled the COLIN director up onto his lap, locked an arm around the man’s neck, positioned his free hand against the skull. ‘I’m not here to ease your passing, Ortiz. I’m here to take what you owe.’
‘Please…’
Carl jerked and twisted. Ortiz’s neck snapped like rotten wood.
Soft, chiming sirens went off everywhere in the suite, the wail of distressed cudlip society. Man of substance down. Rally, gather, form a mob.
The beast is out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The crash team were fast – less than two full minutes from when the microdocs tripped under Ortiz’s skin and the sirens went off. But well before that, the COLIN security detachment had heard the alarms and come through the door on general principles. They found Ortiz in his wheelchair, slumped over to one side, Norton and Marsalis standing staring at him.
‘Sir?’ the squad leader looked at Norton.
‘Lock this whole floor down,’ Norton told her absently. ‘Call in some more support to do it. I don’t want anyone, not even NYPD, getting up here without my say-so.’
‘But, but—’
‘Just do it.’ He turned to Carl. ‘You’d better get moving.’
Carl nodded, looked once more at Ortiz and then stepped outside the unconsciously tightening ring the security detachment had formed around the body. He headed out of the room without looking back, out of the suite and into the corridor where he met the crash team head on, all life-saving speed and resuscitation gear, trolley and white coats, dedicated emergency room doctor and all.
He stood aside to let them pass.
Outside the hospital, he walked rapidly away, two blocks west and four south, lost himself in the sun-glinting brawl and bustle of the city. He peeled off his S(t)igma jacket, pulled his pack of phones from it, then balled it up inside out and dropped it into the first recycling bin he saw. The cold bit through his shirt, but he had COLIN-APPROVED credit in his pockets, and he had time.
He stopped on a street corner, checked his watch and calculated travelling time to the JFK suborb terminal. Hoped Norton could hold up his end.
Then he pulled a new phone loose from the pack, clicked it on and waited for Union cover to catch up with it. With his other hand, he dug in his trouser pocket and tugged out the photo and list of scribbled numbers Matthew had hooked for him the night before.
‘Okay, Sev,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Let’s do this.’
She stepped into the gloom of the bar uncertainly, but with a certain confidence as well. They were after all on her home ground, Lower Manhattan, only a couple of blocks north of Wall Street and the NYPD dedicated Datacrime HQ. She hadn’t had to come far.
Two short steps in to let the door hinge shut behind her, and she scanned the room. He raised a hand as her gaze passed down the line of booths along the side wall opposite the bar. She didn’t respond to the wave, but she headed over. The single sodden suit, marooned on a stool at the end of the bar with his nth martini and no friends, gave her an unsubtle once-over as she passed him. Carl supposed she was worth the look. Long-limbed and well-shaped under her casual wear, shown off in her stride and the way she held herself. The single old-style bulb lamp in the middle of the ceiling burnished her hair golden as she passed beneath it, briefly lit the cheerleader good looks as well. She hadn’t changed much from the photo.
‘Amy Westhoff?’
He raised himself out of his seat as she reached his booth, offered her his hand. She took it, gave him a searching look.
‘Yeah. Agent… di Palma, is it?’
‘That’s right.’ He flashed his UNGLA ID, carefully held so she’d see the photo but not the name. Feigned a querying frown to distract her as he put the badge away again. ‘But I see you’ve come on your own?’
She made a dismissive gesture as she seated herself on the other side of the table. The lie hurried out. ‘Yeah, well, my partner’s wrapped up with uh, some other stuff right now. He couldn’t make it. Now, you said this is about the bust on Ethan Conrad four years back. I don’t really see how that can have anything to do with me, or with datacrime. ’
‘Well, it is only a stray lead. But then… can I get you a drink, maybe?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve got to go back on duty. Can we make this quick?’
‘Certainly.’ Carl sipped at the Red Stripe in front of him. ‘In fact, my own jurisdiction in this matter is, should I say, rather loose. Obviously we’re not on UN territory here.’
‘Not far from it, though.’
‘No, true enough.’ Carl put his drink down, let his hands drop into his lap. ‘Well then, I guess you’re familiar with the case. I understand you had some kind of relationship with Ethan Conrad, back before it was known what he was.’
Tautly. ‘That’s right, I did. Well before anybody knew what he was.’
‘Ah, yes, quite. Well, it’s just that I’ve received information from an NYPD officer, an ex-officer in fact, Sevgi Ertekin. Would you have heard of her?’
The waitress sauntered over, eyebrows raised, notepad not yet out of her apron pocket. It was early yet. Aside from the lonely broker, they had the place to themselves.
‘Get you guys any—’
‘We’re fine,’ said Amy Westhoff curtly.
The waitress shrugged and backed off. Carl gave an apologetic look. Westhoff waited until she’d gone back to the bar, before she spoke again.
‘I knew Ertekin, vaguely, yeah. So what’s she been saying?’