The Carbon Trail (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

11 a.m.

Richie followed the Lexus as it left the kindergarten, after safely depositing Emmie for the day. It meandered slowly through Long Island’s suburbs, stopping at the Commack Wal-Mart and then at a delicatessen. Karen Mitchell placed her purchases in the trunk with a look that said she was just going through the motions of life. Richie wondered what she was thinking, already knowing what some of it was. How did you deal with the knowledge that someone you loved was dying? Richie allowed himself a moment’s bitterness; could it hurt any more than knowing that they’d left you from choice? He felt instantly guilty. He wouldn’t wish Karen Mitchell’s sadness on anyone and he wouldn’t wish Rosie Pereira dead even if he could.

The Lexus drove on for twenty minutes, meandering randomly through the suburban streets until it finally stopped outside a small row of shops five miles from the Mitchell’s home. Richie parked three cars behind and watched as Karen Mitchell walked across the paved forecourt. On the spur of the moment he un-clamped his seatbelt and followed. It wasn’t in his orders but he reckoned he could hedge it as ‘using his initiative’. Richie didn’t like letting Karen Mitchell out of his sight while her husband was away. He had a strange feeling that Mitchell would want him to protect her.

Richie spotted Karen’s blue cardigan about ten feet ahead and kept his distance, leaning in doorways and perusing books, while she entered each small boutique in turn and gazed sadly at their wares. He knew that she wasn’t seeing any of them. She was just using the time to think with other people around. It was less lonely somehow than thinking alone at home.

After twenty minutes browsing Karen stopped at a small café with its tables set outside to catch the morning sun. She sat down and ordered a coffee then lifted a journal to read. Richie watched from a doorway for a moment then broke with protocol completely and sat silently at the next free table until a waiter arrived.

“Espresso please.”

Karen turned slightly towards Richie’s warm voice then she turned away again, deep in her own thoughts. It was the closest Richie had ever been to her and he could see every angle of her face. He caught his breath, she was even prettier close-up. Her features were fine and delicately arranged, like a doll’s. Her skin tanned the colour of honey and randomly sprinkled with fine freckles.

A moment later the waiter re-appeared. He placed Karen’s cappuccino on the table and waited for her to pay. As she turned Richie saw her eyes. They were beautiful. Large pools of navy, fringed by long dark lashes that stroked her cheeks. He saw tears in them ready to fall and his heart broke again. Karen turned back towards her coffee then halted, gazing at Richie for a moment as if she really saw him. Then the moment was gone and they were just two strangers sharing a space for ten minutes, before they returned to their days. Ten minutes that would change both their lives.

***

Florida. 1 p.m.

Mitchell parked the car and removed his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder in a way he hoped was less intimidating than his suit and badge would suggest. The sun was perched directly overhead, casting a bright glow over some schoolchildren filtering back from lunch. They filed haphazardly into a small concrete building straight ahead, fronted by a plaque that said. ‘Field High School. Founded in 1923.’

The name conjured images of lockers and desks arranged in rows, sports halls and music rooms. Filled with hundreds of bored teens; anxious about their grades and spots and lack of popularity. Mitchell watched as they wandered by in their cliques. The nerds and the cool kids, the jocks and the ones that no-one could place, walking by themselves from choice or cruelty. He shook his head and thanked God for being grown up. Adolescence definitely wasn’t for wimps.

After a minute Mitchell noticed what looked like the admin block, its flip charts and office desks saying that no child should dare venture there. He crossed the yard, half-blind to the flirtatious stares of the older teen girls. Jailbait, even if he had been interested. Maybe twenty-five years ago.

Mitchell pushed at the block’s heavy glass doors and wandered up three flights of stairs, following the signs to the principal’s suite. The signs stopped outside a door with ‘Principal’ painted on the glass. Mitchell knocked and waited, watching as a plump woman wearing a suspicious look opened the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

She scanned him quickly. Mitchell wondered if she did it to everyone, or if his dark suit in the sunshine state made him seem extra strange.

“I’d like to see the Principal, please.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his badge, flashing it quickly in her face. “My Name is Agent Mitchell.”

The woman was so startled that she stumbled back. Mitchell caught her quickly, surprised again by his reflexes. He shouldn’t be; they’d been fast for as long as he could remember, although that wasn’t saying much. He’d expected the tumour to slow him down but it hadn’t yet. He was grateful for that at least.

The woman steadied herself and retreated into a corner office. After a murmured conversation the office door burst open and a man as tall as Mitchell strode out, extending his hand.

“Welcome, Agent Mitchell.”

The Principal’s words covered his anxiety well, but it was obvious from the shaking in his hand. Mitchell grasped it warmly to allay any fears that his title was causing and the teacher spoke again, with a tremor in his voice.

“Can I help you? Is there some trouble?

Mitchell shook his head and smiled. “No. No trouble at all, Mr…?”

“I’m sorry, that was remiss of me. Epstein, Todd Epstein. Please come in.”

Epstein waved Mitchell into his office, nodding a coffee order to his P.A. Once they were alone Mitchell started, explaining that they were security checking an agent; Greg Chapman. Purely routine of course but, well, it had to be done every year and for some reason the school had been left out last time. He’d just come from the Chapman’s parents and they’d directed him here. Please feel free to call them and check.

Epstein listened, his posture relaxing by the second. It wasn’t every day that a man with a badge turned up at your door and Mitchell could only imagine what thoughts had run through his mind. When Mitchell had finished the Principal walked to a cabinet and searched through it for a minute, returning with a well-worn file. He flicked it open and sat back.

“What would you like to know?”

Mitchell turned to the list of questions he’d made, covering everything from Chapman’s date of birth to his exam results, sporting achievements and merit badges. As Epstein answered Mitchell glanced around the room, knowing that he’d been there before, but also knowing that to say it would give him away.

“So all in all, Greg was a good student. Before my time of course, but the records are clear.”

Mitchell smiled vaguely at Epstein, noticing for the first time that he was the same age as himself. He couldn’t have taught Greg Chapman; he was too young. Mitchell closed his notebook and smiled again, more broadly this time.

“There’s just one last thing.”

Epstein stared at him curiously, no sign of his earlier nerves. Mitchell could see him as the head teacher now and imagine him being fierce when school life required it.

“Greg’s parents gave me the name of someone who knew him well in the past. Ms Julie Richards. I believe she’s a teacher here now?”

Epstein smiled and Mitchell caught more than admiration for a colleague in his eyes. He glanced at Epstein’s hands; no wedding ring, then back at his face. His expression had softened to an almost loving look. Epstein liked Julie Richards, a lot.

“Julie heads our drama department. Would you like to speak to her?”

“That would be helpful. Just as background.”

Epstein left the room quickly, re-appearing five minutes later. Mitchell stood as he re-entered, with a slim thirty-something blonde. As soon as he saw her Mitchell gasped. He knew Julie Richards. It was more than that; he’d loved her, really loved her. It was impossible and Mitchell knew it but the feeling was very real. He staggered back against his chair and Epstein stared at him, concerned.

“Agent Mitchell, are you OK?”

Mitchell shook his head and looked at Richards again, hoping that his sanity had returned. It hadn’t. He felt overwhelmed with affection for the woman in front of him and memories of the two of them together flooded his brain. Days at the beach and trips to the movies, holding hands and so much more. It had to be the brain tumour taking hold, making him feel things he couldn’t possibly feel.

Mitchell sat down heavily and Julie Richards sat down beside him, watching him anxiously while Epstein fetched some water. Mitchell sipped at it gratefully and smiled at them, quickly covering his lapse.

“I’m sorry. It’s the heat down here. New Yorkers aren’t used to autumns like this.”

Epstein nodded, relieved. “I’m sure wearing a dark suit doesn’t help.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

A minute later they were laughing and chatting and Mitchell felt like he’d known them for years; Julie Richards anyway. It must be because she looked like Karen. Of course, that was it. That was why he’d imagined feelings for her; she looked like the woman he loved. He and Greg Chapman shared their good taste in women. A bell rang in the corridor and Epstein glanced quickly at the clock. He stood up, apologising.

“I’m sorry but I have to teach a class. I’ll leave you in Julie’s capable hands. I know you have questions to ask.”

Then Mitchell was alone with Julie Richards. He looked closely at her again, testing his feelings; they were still the same. She looked like Karen and the tumour was making him transfer his feelings for Karen to her. Mitchell pushed past the feelings and asked the teacher some basic questions then he moved onto how she knew Greg.

“We were students together.” She blushed and looked down. “We…we were dating, even talked about marriage sometimes.” Julie Richards glanced up and Mitchell could see brightness in her eyes and a tear perilously close to the edge. She’d loved Greg Chapman, so what had happened to break them up? She was still talking.

“But then Greg enlisted in the military and I knew it wasn’t the life for me. I wanted to be near my parents and …” She glanced around the room. “I didn’t want to leave St Augustine. Greg was always much braver than me, but I feel safe here.”

She fell silent for a moment and Mitchell had an image of her and Greg Chapman saying goodbye to each other. He could see it clearly. They were sitting on a jetty dangling their feet in the water when Chapman had told her that he was joining-up. Mitchell knew that it had to be his imagination, but he needed to know for sure.

“Ms Richards, this will sound like a strange question, but could you tell me where you were when Greg told you he was joining the military?”

She glanced at him quickly and the tear that had been threatening rolled down her cheek. She said nothing for a moment and then whispered so quietly that Mitchell strained to hear. Her words shocked him to the core.

“Near Frances and Mary Usina Bridge. We’d been swimming and we were sitting on the jetty to cool off.”

Mitchell couldn’t breathe. He wanted to close his ears and un-hear the words, but he couldn’t. He’d seen them on the jetty before she’d said the words. This wasn’t the tumour, this was real. There had to be a logical explanation. He was a scientist, he believed in facts, not bloody telepathy. He could dismiss his affection for Julie Richards as the tumour messing with her resemblance to Karen, but how the hell had he known about the jetty where she and Chapman had said goodbye?

Mitchell stood up abruptly, knocking Greg Chapman’s school file onto the floor. Julie Richards watched, surprised, as he raced from the room before she could say another word. Mitchell sprinted down the stairs and out of the school like something was chasing him, his only thought of getting home.

Tom Evans watched from the shadow of a white cedar as Jeff Mitchell ran into the street. Evans was shocked by the look on his face; Mitchell looked like he’d seen a ghost. Evans jumped into his blue Taurus rental just as Mitchell made a U-turn and accelerated past him down the suburban street. It soon became clear where he was heading; Jacksonville airport. Their Florida vacation was ending early.

Both men missed the van parked across the street, from which Anderson and Lemanski had been filming their every move. The two agents smiled at each other, well satisfied. They’d tailed Jeff Mitchell to the school to watch him and that’s what they’d done, although they hadn’t expected to see him leave it like a bat out of hell. But their surveillance had yielded a bonus; the man following Mitchell was someone the agency had been looking for a long time. Tom Evans was a completely unexpected gift.

Chapter Thirty

LaGuardia Airport, New York. Monday. 6.15 p.m.

Jeff Mitchell’s plane had touched down almost forty minutes earlier and Amelia Howard stared at the arrivals board, willing it to hurry-up and disembark. She couldn’t go home until Mitchell was safely back in Richie’s sights, and she had a dinner to get to and a marriage to try and save. Howard pushed her hair back from her face and straightened her cream jacket, trying to look less like a government agent and more like someone waiting for a friend. Losing the suit had helped. In her floral skirt and t-shirt she could pass for someone’s Mom, even though the fashion combination was making her teeth ache.

The crowd at the arrival gate surged forward, indicating that people were arriving. Howard stood waiting for the tall man she was expecting and a moment later Jeff Mitchell appeared. He looked drawn and pale, not what she’d expected after a day spent in the sun. Mitchell passed by Howard so close that she could almost feel his breath and the look on his face took her aback. He looked haunted, and years older than the man who’d left New York the day before. They all knew that Mitchell was ill, but even an aggressive cancer couldn’t make that difference in a day. Something bad had happened in St Augustine.

Howard followed at a safe distance until Mitchell reached the long rank of cabs then she watched as he stepped into one, hailing the one behind. Cabbies loved playing ‘follow that car’ and the sight of her badge usually made them speed up even more. Her driver was true to form and fifty minutes later they pulled into Mitchell’s road in Lloyd Harbor. Howard saw Richie sitting in the sedan and urged the cab around the corner; walking back to join Richie once she was certain that Mitchell had entered his house for the night.

Richie saw the cab drive past and watched as Jeff Mitchell turned his front door key in the lock, then he cleared the detritus from the passenger seat and waited for Howard to appear. A moment later the car door opened and she slumped in. Richie glanced at her skirt and was just about to make a wise-crack when Howard fixed his eyes with a warning look.

“I want no jokes from you, Cartagena. I was told to look like a tourist.”

Richie couldn’t resist it. “From Boulder?”

Howard laughed despite herself and reported quickly, then she turned to get out of the car. Richie stared at her, surprised.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m off duty. Dane is taking over.”

“Not until midnight he isn’t.” Richie opened the driver’s door and threw the car keys in Howard’s lap.

“You’re my relief until then; Magee’s orders.
Seems I’ve clocked up more hours than I’m allowed to and Human Resources are giving him grief. There are chips in the armrest if you’re hungry. Enjoy.”

A dark car pulled up behind them and Richie climbed in and disappeared quickly down the street, leaving Amelia Howard to explain yet another cancelled dinner party to the husband that she never got to see.

***

Ruth Lemanski knocked once on her boss’ door and waited.

“Come.”

She entered confidently, certain that he would be interested in what she had to say. The man behind the desk didn’t look up, just kept on reading the file in his hand. He waved her to a seat and indicated the coffee percolator.

“Help yourself and get me one. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Lemanski did as she was told and then took her seat again, waiting patiently. It didn’t do to rush Brookman. He was a tricky bastard at the best of times, but interrupting his work was a bridge too far. Brookman set down his file five minutes later and took a long drink of coffee before looking her way. He seemed pleased, as if the file had contained good news. Lemanski hoped that he would view her report in the same light.

“Well?”

Lemanski didn’t take offence at his brusqueness. They were used to it. It was fashionable to say that rudeness masked shyness or a heart of gold, but that wasn’t always true. Leo Brookman was just plain rude. That was OK, she could deal with rude. At least it was honest. It was smarmy bastards that she couldn’t take.

“Jake and I tailed Mitchell.”

She tapped the paper in front of her and Brookman raised an eyebrow.

“And? You didn’t come in to tell me that. You could have filed it on the net.”

Lemanski indicated his computer. Brookman waved her on and she turned the screen around to face her, tapping a few times before turning it back to her boss. The video they’d taken outside the school appeared. Lemanski didn’t need to explain any further.

Brookman leaned forward urgently and watched the film run then he tapped it back to the start and ran it again. There was no mistake.

“Tom Evans! What the hell is he doing here? He must know that he’s a wanted man.”

Lemanski shook her head and then hazarded a guess. “He thinks he’s flameproof? Maybe he’s earning his living tailing Mitchell.”

“And who’s paying the traitorous bastard?”

Lemanski stared at her boss, shocked by his anger. His face was turning purple and his tone said that this was personal. She’s never seen Brookman lose his cool but he was at boiling point now. She knew Tom Evans was on a wanted list, but that was all she knew. Brookman caught her questioning look and started to talk.

“Evans is a liar and a coward. He sold the President down the river in 2005 and the rest of us along with him.”

Brookman thought back to the day that Tom Evans’ leaked report on Iraq had reached the America’s press, slandering the White House and the President’s aides. He’d worked for years to become an aide and Evans’ disclosures had turned him back into a grunt overnight. It had taken him years to get back on his feet. Brookman’s voice grew louder.

“I’ll ask you again, Lemanski. Who is Evans working for?”

Lemanski’s eyes widened and she stammered a reply. “We’re working on that now, sir. Should I share this with Agent Magee in New York?”

Leo Brookman thought for a moment and Lemanski watched as the vein in his forehead pulsed. Brookman wasn’t an ugly man, just a brutal-looking one. His face could have graced Mount Rushmore; all hard angles and determination. His reputation made people fear him, but that wasn’t always a bad thing. Bosses that you loved were great when you wanted a friend, but fear motivated people, and cocky junior agents sometimes needed motivation.

Ruth Lemanski had no idea what Brookman was thinking and if she had done she would have been shocked. He was thinking about a man who hated Tom Evans even more than him; Al Schofield, head of Special Ops in New York. They’d been Washington aides together and both of them had suffered the same fate after Evans’ leak to the press.

Brookman turned to her, twisting his lips like a hungry shark.

“Yes, give it to Magee. But tell him that we’re interested in Evans as well and we need to be kept in the loop.”

As Lemanski turned to leave the room Brookman lifted the phone to New York to give a gift to his old friend Schofield. Revenge; a dish that was best served cold.

***

Ilya paced the room rapidly, struggling to clear his head. Javadi’s words had been unambiguous. If Mitchell’s research wasn’t worth having then they were all dead. He pushed away his doubts. Mitchell was brilliant. If he said that he’d discovered something new then he believed him. Mitchell wouldn’t lie when he knew what was at stake.

Ilya’s doubts returned faster than he expected. Mitchell had been behaving oddly lately; vague, almost disinterested. What if he’d decided not to hand over his work? What if it wasn’t worth having? His mind raced with questions as Ilya searched for a safety net. He kept coming back to one, the very one he knew that he shouldn’t use. Elza. She would make sure that Mitchell delivered, because she’d make him afraid not to, and Ilya knew exactly how she would make him afraid.

An image of Karen and Emmie Mitchell sprang into his mind. He’d met Karen at their wedding and many times since, always in the guise of an uncle. She was a nice girl, a gentle girl, and the malyshka Emmie was an angel. He couldn’t let Elza near them; she would take pleasure in their harm. But… the threat might focus Mitchell’s efforts.

The old man curled his lip in self-disgust, hardly believing what he was considering, but he had to. If Mitchell backed out now then his family would die anyway, all of them would. Far better that the threat should spur him on, and give everyone a chance.

Ilya stood frozen for a moment, as logic fought with love and logic won. Then he slumped heavily behind his desk and made the call that would give Elza Silin the green light to do her worst.

***

Lloyd Harbor. Tuesday 8 a.m.

It had been a silent evening followed by a silent morning and by the time Mitchell was ready for work Karen wanted to hit him, anything to make him talk. He’d returned from his trip taciturn and confused, not even telling her where he’d been or why he’d gone.

Karen had played the good wife game of smiling and kindness, then the other one of food and warmth. She’d moved towards her husband in bed, hoping that the dark would help them connect, but Mitchell had just smiled at her vaguely and stroked her hair gently back from her face. He’d gazed into her eyes as if they held the answer to something, then stared beyond them when he realised that they didn’t. By eight a.m. the next morning Karen was ready to scream and as Mitchell turned to lift his briefcase she finally did.

“For God’s sake, Jeff, will you talk to me? Say something, anything at all, just fucking well speak!”

Jeff Mitchell stared at his wife, shocked, not by her anger but by the language that he never heard her use. Karen was sweet, almost prim in some ways, and the swear word sounded incongruous coming out of her mouth, particularly with Emmie at their feet. Mitchell wasn’t sure how to react, so he did what occurred to him first. He laughed.

Mitchell kept on laughing, uncertain what he was laughing at. The mess that he’d got them into, pursued by terrorists and the government? The fact that he would die soon and he didn’t really care, as long as he solved the puzzle and kept them safe? Or the fact that he’d discovered he was psychic and had loved a woman called Julie Richards who he’d never met before, and remembered a shared history with her that could never have occurred? It was ridiculous! Every inch of him was a scientist steeped in logic, only ever believing in things that he could prove.

As Mitchell gazed down at his beautiful wife, getting more red-faced by the minute, he knew that he only wanted to do one thing, so he did. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and moved swiftly towards her and with one strong movement Mitchell scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs, with Emmie scrambling to keep up. He kicked open the bedroom door like Rhett Butler and dropped Karen gently on the bed then put their daughter safely in her room to play. Undressing his wife gently Jeff Mitchell forgot everything for an hour, as they moved together in a way that said he had loved her forever, no matter what tricks his mind might try to play.

***

Richie watched the driveway’s exit, expecting the Lexus to reverse out long before eight o’clock. When it still hadn’t appeared an hour later he started to worry. Finally, at nine-thirty, the front door opened and Karen Mitchell emerged, looking pink-faced. Her husband followed, carrying Emmie and looking more pleased than anyone had a right to this early in the day. Richie knew immediately why they were late and his feelings surprised him. Normally he’d cheer for the guy and smile at the girl, but instead he felt a sharp pang of anger, and something else that he couldn’t name. Why was he angry? So Jeff Mitchell and his wife had sex, big deal; it came with the ring. What business was it of his? Then Richie recognised the ‘something else’ he felt. He was jealous!

Jealous of what? The Mitchell’s love for each other? Their little family? No. They’d had all of that two days before. So what had changed? Maybe he was bitter from losing Pereira, but Richie didn’t think that was it. Suddenly he knew exactly what it was; it was a teenage-boy jealousy, based on ‘I want and can’t have’.

The realisation hit Richie like a cold shower, taking his breath away. He liked her; Karen Mitchell. More than that, he wanted her. Enough to hate that she was having sex with her soon-to-be-dead husband! It told Richie something that he didn’t know how to handle.

If he hated seeing Karen with her husband, hated thinking of them in bed, then he was too close to the investigation. He needed to take some leave. But if he told Magee how he felt he would take him off the case, end of subject, and then he wouldn’t get to see her at all. Richie knew that there was nothing he could do but keep watching the Mitchells, and start getting hurt.

***

Magee stared at the e-mail in front of him, then lifted the phone and caught Ruth Lemanski at her desk. He started talking without introduction but she recognised his wheeze.

“You’re certain it was Tom Evans?”

Lemanski paused, wondering whether to go for sarcasm or politeness. Cowardice made her opt for the latter.

“Good morning, Agent Magee. I take it you got my e-mail?”

“Of course I got your e-mail. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. We have him on film. I’m sending you through the secure link now.”

Magee said nothing, just refreshed his screen and clicked on the link that she’d sent. The man who appeared in front of him was well known to everyone at the agency. Tom Evans, ex-army Ranger, awarded the Medal of Honour and Bronze Star. One of the best agents that he’d ever trained. He’d lost track of Evans after he’d slipped custody for sedition in 2005. His last sighting had been on a plane heading for Cuba, where extradition to the States wasn’t enforced. Getting someone back up north from there required rendition.

How the hell had Evans got back into the States unseen? And why hadn’t the Miami team picked him up? Magee vocalised his last thought and Lemanski jumped to her own defence.

“We didn’t lift him because he was tailing your man, Mitchell, and we thought it might compromise your operation. Were we wrong?”

“Evans was following Jeff Mitchell? You’re sure?”