The Carbon Trail (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Scrabo Tower. Saturday. 9.30 a.m.

Tom Evans sipped his breakfast coffee and smiled reassuringly at his boss. “There’s nothing to worry about. Mitchell’s just taken a day off. His kid was in the hospital so he’s bringing her home.”

Neil Scrabo sprang to his feet and started pacing. It was an annoying habit and Evans had to bite his tongue to stop himself yelling “Sit down.” It would make Scrabo sit down for sure, his bass voice had a commanding effect, but it wouldn’t score him any brownie points.

Evans smiled again, more tightly this time. “Relax, boss. We’ve plenty of time. Mitchell went to the farm lab again and met the Russian. They’re gearing up to go. All I have to do is get hold of the stuff before they skip the country.”

Scrabo swung around to face him. His normally well-groomed feathers looked ruffled today, like a hawk that’d been caught in a storm. Evans stifled a smile and gave Scrabo the attention that he knew he’d expect.

“So that’s all you have to do, is it?”

Scrabo’s sarcasm was palpable and Evans stopped drinking his coffee mid-sip. He was unperturbed, but he knew that to let Scrabo see that would tell him that something was up. Tom placed the cup down, composing his face into a mix of humility and panic. Unafraid but pretending to be was always a good way to go with sociopaths.

“Sorry, boss. I know I probably sound cocky, but that’s because I am. I’ll break into the farm lab tonight and get the files. By tomorrow they’ll be in North Korea’s hands.”

Scrabo glared at him. “And what about their security systems? Guards? File back-ups? We need to have the only copy or the Koreans won’t pay us market price.”

Evans smiled again, more broadly this time. He ignored Scrabo’s raised eyebrow and slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, withdrawing the device that Magee had given him the day before. Scrabo stared curiously at the object.

“What is it?”

Evans turned the small box over then set it down between them.

“A little thing they were working on when I left the agency. An old pal of mine kindly stole it. It’s an Electro-magnetic pulse generator. Creates an E.M.P. big enough to crash every computer within five miles. Once I have the files I’ll set it to destroy Mitchell’s research at the farm lab.”

Evans smiled, admiring the device that he would never detonate, although Scrabo didn’t know that. Neil Scrabo lifted the box and Evans shook his head nervously.

“Be careful with that thing. Unless you want every piece of research in this building to be wiped, along with every download in Manhattan.”

Scrabo smiled maliciously. “We’re near Wall Street. Just imagine. Merchant bankers without their screens.”

They laughed together at the image of Uriah Heepish brokers being forced to write everything by hand. Quills would make the picture perfect. Scrabo set the box back on the table and then took out his phone. Evans feigned disinterest as he made the call, memorising every word.

“Yes... 8 p.m. tomorrow. Everything. Set-up the funds transfer as we agreed.”

Tom Evans watched as his boss strolled to the window, surveying Manhattan as he talked; the King of New York. And somewhere else next week, unless he stopped him.

***

Karen watched as Mitchell lifted Emmie from the car and carried her gently into the house. There’d been moments when she’d been angry with him for risking their lives, but they were over and her anger had been replaced by pity now. The tears in her husband’s eyes said that he knew what he’d done and would spend his last breaths making sure that they were safe. His last breaths. They would be few enough to be counted soon. She shook the thought from her head and turned to see Richie watching her.

Richie glanced away, embarrassed that she’d seen his stare, then he felt Karen’s eyes resting on his face and he turned back to meet her gaze. For a moment they stood, their eyes speaking volumes, then the moment was over and Karen had gone, turning towards the front door and calling her husband’s name. Richie watched her walk away, caring far more than he should.

He hid his feelings behind barked instructions at the agent on-call until he finally climbed into the sedan and drove away, giving Jeff Mitchell one last full day with his family before they played their final game.

***

2 p.m.

Richie stared at his cell-phone as if it was a snake. One that he’d like to kill. Good manners prevented him from cutting the call and respect for Magee kept him listening. Two more good reasons to hate the man at the other end. He swung his legs up on his desk and yawned loudly down the line at Tom Evans, knowing full well that he was being rude.

Richie had no illusions about himself; he was no angel. When character flaws were being handed out he’d been first in a lot of queues. But what he wasn’t, was a traitor; not in any way. Everyone had something in life that they could never get their head around; his was disloyalty in any form. From the school yard ‘best friends’ who suddenly weren’t when someone else had a bigger toy, to infidelity. Right the way through the disloyalty list until you reached the top. Betraying your country.

Richie didn’t fool himself that he and Rosie Pereira hadn’t had an affair when they’d met. They had. A full-on, Kama Sutra fest of sneaked weekends in Cape Cod and snatched moments of groping in the lecture hall. This time round they’d graduated to expensive hotels and the sedan. But they’d sneaked around because of Rosie’s husband, not his wife. He’d never been unfaithful to Dina after his and Pereira’s first kiss. He’d gone straight home after it and packed a bag, ending his marriage to her that very day. He couldn’t have lived with the lies, or the disloyalty. Dina had deserved better.

He’d only half-understood how Rosie had stayed married to Joey while she’d slept with him. He’d closed his mind to it then but he thought about it now and it hurt. It was disloyal for sure, but it paled into nothing compared to what Tom Evans had done. He was a full blown traitor. A sworn agent who’d got disappointed with the President who’d appointed him and had blown the whistle in the press. Evans wasn’t the first; every country had their version. But he wasn’t being asked to work with them.

Richie gripped the phone tighter as the traitor talked, outlining their handover of Jeff Mitchell’s dummy file. He already knew the day and time that the North Koreans were collecting it from Scrabo Tower; the same time that Mitchell would put it into Ilya Tabakov’s grubby hands. As Evans talked Richie only half-listened, gleaning the important parts. Times, places, agreed course of action if the meets went bad. He’d hear it again from Magee and he would listen properly then. Not to this man.

Suddenly Richie realised that Tom Evans had stopped talking, the silence alerting him that he had a part to play. He stumbled in with a few vague words as if he’d been paying attention all along.

“Sure. That all sounds fine.”

The vacuum that greeted Richie’s words said that he’d got it wrong. When Tom Evans spoke again his deep voice held an amused tone.

“So, it’s OK if I steal your car then?”

“What?”

“That’s what I’ve been outlining for the past three minutes and you’ve just said that it’s fine.”

Richie flushed with embarrassment and covered it with anger.

“Funny man. Lots of time to waste, have you? Well I haven’t!”

Evans’ voice cooled ten degrees as its volume ratcheted up.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, Cartagena? Do you think I’ve nothing better to do than be judged by a shithead like you? I’m putting my life on the line here, so get it together or the deal’s off. And you can do the explaining to Magee!”

Richie thudded his legs off the desk and pulled himself up straight.

“Fuck you, Evans! I wouldn’t even be talking to you if it wasn’t an order. You make me want to heave, you yellow bastard. You didn’t even stick around to see the shit-storm you created in 2005. First sign of trouble and you ran off to Ecuador!”

Evans’ voice cooled further and sarcasm got added to the mix.

“Cuba actually, and I didn’t run, I flew. Not that it’s any of your business, but they wouldn’t have listened to anything I’d said until all the facts on Iraq came out, and I didn’t fancy sitting in jail until they did. Maybe you don’t read the grown-up papers, but a lot of people agree with my view now. The man was a shit-head who caused an unnecessary war that we’re still losing soldiers in.”

“You’re still a traitor.”

“Only because those pompous pricks in Washington couldn’t admit that they’d elected the wrong man. It was easier to blame me.” Evans paused and they both drew breath, feeling better for the exchange. When Tom Evans spoke again it was quietly.

“Magee is getting me my pardon and if he wants to judge me then he can. He’s earned the right. You haven’t, buddy. Not by a long way.”

Richie stared at the receiver and thought for a moment, then without apology or comment he said the six words that hinted he might someday concede that he’d been wrong.

“Tell me again. When and where?”

***

The farmhouse. Saturday. 7 p.m.

Mitchell switched on the computer and scanned the laboratory as it booted up. His gaze fell on the steel cages. He’d been surprised when he’d entered the lab five minutes earlier to find them half full. Unfortunate mammals of different sizes paced inside their small, meshed rooms, completely unaware of the fate awaiting them. With any luck, once he handed the dummy research over to Ilya they would be freed, although his knowledge of the Alliance’s callousness led him to believe otherwise.

Mitchell looked at a small white rabbit. It gazed back at him with wide awake eyes, its pink nose twitching. He walked over to the cage and stroked its fur. A red tag around its neck bore a number and Mitchell punched it into the small pad beside the cage, pulling its history onto the screen. Three month’s old, bred in captivity, fully vaccinated, no experimentation yet. It was clean. He made his mind up to take the rabbit home for Emmie; it wouldn’t replace Buster but it might make her smile.

Turning back to the computer Mitchell pulled up the contents of the flash-drive. His carbon research was all there, except for the PDF that he’d hidden at home. Mitchell scanned for the pages that he’d earmarked and quickly got to work creating the fake research. After an hour of changing a variable here and there he went back to the start and re-read the file with a scientist’s eye.

The changes were subtle. So subtle that the Alliance and North Korean scientists would believe it was plausible research, until they trialled it and found out that it wouldn’t work. By then it would be too late; he’d be dead and his family would be safe. Javadi and Ilya could conduct as many experiments with this research as they liked, none of them would provide the key to changing carbon’s form in living things.

Mitchell printed-off two copies then saved the fake file to a separate USB. He listened to ensure that he didn’t have company then unplugged the computer and walked it back and forth through the door’s degaussing loop, before plugging it back in. As the PC restarted Mitchell lifted the rabbit and ruffled its fur gently. Its clinging affection was the perfect antidote to the tension tightening his every sinew.

He watched as the PC’s operating system flicked on and a new screen appeared; black and white and basic, with its decoders completely wiped. Mitchell clicked repeatedly on the keyboard, searching for some sign of the files that had been there ten minutes before, but there was nothing. Every file fragment and programme had been erased by the degaussing loop. Ilya’s high security had destroyed the very thing it had been designed to save.

Mitchell lifted the false papers and drove his small companion home. His first task there was to send the most important e-mail of his life. As it showed-up ‘delivered’ more than two hundred times Jeff Mitchell allowed himself a satisfied smile.

***

Worth Street.10 p.m.

Richie swiped Mitchell through the agency’s corridors and three floors up to see Magee. Tom Evans was already there when they arrived. Magee watched as Richie gave Evans a grudging nod and Jeff Mitchell extended his hand politely to shake. The spy who’d caused all the problems had better manners than his top man.

Magee nodded them to sit, then he poured the coffee and coughed to quieten the room.

“Dr Mitchell, this is Tom Evans. He works for Neil Scrabo but he’s on our side. I’m Supervisory Agent Joseph Magee and Richie you already know.”

Joseph, Joe. So that was Magee’s first name. Richie was surprised; he hadn’t imagined Magee with a first name, especially not such a friendly one. Without further preamble Magee waved Jeff Mitchell on. Mitchell removed the fake research print-outs from his briefcase and set the USB on Magee’s desk before he spoke.

“I altered the research sufficiently to make it redundant and saved the false version onto the USB.” He held out the papers. “These are hard copies of what’s on the stick.”

Mitchell paused for a moment, wondering how to explain things simply to three non-scientists. He gave up, deciding that they were intelligent enough to ask about anything they didn’t understand.

“The changes I’ve made to the research are subtle. So subtle that it will take their scientists months to figure out why no amount of trials will make it work.”

Evans leaned forward urgently. “Will they notice anything when they open the fake file?”

Mitchell shook his head. “No. No-one else in the world is doing this level of research, so they’re working completely blind. Your men will be perfectly safe at the handover.”

“And your real research?”

Mitchell turned slowly towards the question’s source. Richie was staring at him coolly. He’d seen first-hand the change in Mitchell over recent weeks. The man in front of him wasn’t the bastard that he’d started tailing nine months before; Mitchell had developed a conscience. For what reason Richie didn’t know, but he had, and he knew men well enough to know that a change of heart could make them unpredictable. Jeff Mitchell’s gaze said that Richie was right. His eyes held a struggle, but it wasn’t the one that Richie thought.