The Carbon Trail (8 page)

Bar Seven Five

The elegant bar was nearly full when Pereira entered and she cast a look around, praying that Richie was already there. He was nowhere to be seen and she felt suddenly self-conscious, moving into the shadows to avoid the barman’s eye. His wasn’t the only gaze Pereira needed to escape. A crowd of suits had spotted her, and one, the bravest of the pack, was sent to fetch.

He was almost forty, tall and slim with longish hair and a modern suit that said marketing or the arts. At another time he might have been her choice, but not tonight. The man smiled as he approached, glancing at Pereira’s left hand and seeing that it was bare. He stopped six feet away, far enough away to be no threat but close enough for his intentions to be clear. Leaning forward decisively he closed her off from the rest of the bar, making them a couple for all to see.

Pereira stepped back and looked the man straight in the eye. Her message was unambiguous. ‘I may be here alone but you aren’t my prince’. Her suitor was undeterred. He went to speak just as a deep New York voice cut cleanly through the bar’s perfumed air and Richie stepped forward to kiss Pereira on the cheek.

“Sorry I’m late, honey. The traffic on the FDR was rough.”

Richie stared at the man unflinchingly and for a moment they locked eyes, until Richie’s rival conceded defeat and melted into the crowd to find another prey. Richie gazed down at Pereira and she turned her body towards him, leaning forward for a kiss. It was soft and long and they were completely oblivious to the stares of the other people in the bar.

Pereira’s lips lingered long enough to tell Richie what they both already knew. Two years had been too long; they couldn’t wait a second more. He smiled and beckoned the barman for a bottle and two glasses. Then they walked into the lobby and booked a room where they could finally be alone.

Chapter Fourteen

Tuesday. 11a.m.

Neil Scrabo lifted his whisky glass and walked to the wall of windows that extended his luxurious office across New York. He gazed blindly at the vista, thinking and calculating, as he drank too early in the day. He’d suspected that Jeff Mitchell had been on to something for a while, but Thursday’s admission had been the first time he’d had an inkling of what it was. Now he couldn’t shake it from his mind.

There’d been something strange about Mitchell at the meeting. Distant somehow. As if he was an amused spectator, instead of an employee being held to account. Devon Cantrell had been his usual pathetic self; panicking at the sight of a well-cut shirt and an expensive manicure. Always much happier in his grubby scientist’s world. Still, people like that were useful. They didn’t get above themselves. And they certainly never challenged their betters in the way that he suspected Jeff Mitchell would.

Scrabo gazed up at the new One Trade Centre, or Freedom Tower as it was called in NYC. Admiring its sharp, clean lines, he tutted irritably as a helicopter swooped across his view, loaded with badly dressed tourists gawping at his world. He turned abruptly and pressed the intercom.

“Sylvie, ask Dr Cantrell to come up and see me.”

Scrabo turned back to the window and smiled. If Mitchell had discovered what he thought he had then his world would soon extend much further than New York.

***

Elza sat back from the café’s small table and crossed her long legs, lighting her fifth cigarette of the day. There were no-smoking signs everywhere in New York, but they didn’t apply to her. She threw a benign smile at the old woman opposite and after a few long drags she slowly stubbed out her smoke and stared at her.

“Well?”

Daria Kaverin smiled at the arrogance of youth and thought wistfully of when it had belonged to her. She topped-up her tea from the Samovar then wagged a finger in remonstration.

“You were careless.”

Her voice sounded tired, even to her; broken by the unfamiliarity of English and the wavering timbre of age. She spoke again, this time more firmly.

“I said to watch Mitchell and keep him happy. That was all.”

Elza went to object but a wrinkled hand gripped hers. It squeezed hard until the girl’s green eyes teared-up. There was no mistaking the old woman’s message; do your job. Daria released her grip abruptly and turned back to her tea, staring into its steam as if her rheumy eyes could read the future there. When she spoke again her contempt was almost palpable and the younger woman leaned back to escape its force.

“We knew they were watching him and we had it all under control. Our research facility had already been moved. But you…you had to go and kill one of them outside my café, you stupid bitch!”

Daria’s thin hand shot out again, this time grabbing Elza’s neck. She squeezed so hard that the young woman gasped for breath and her hands flew to her throat, struggling wildly to break the grip. Daria stood abruptly, not loosening her hold, and pushed the girl backwards in her seat.

Her eyes weren’t rheumy now; their brightness held a coldness that Elza had never seen before. A small smile twisted Daria’s thin mouth as the girl’s lips blued from lack of air and she scrambled frantically to escape. Then, just as swiftly as it was formed the grip was loosened, and Daria returned calmly to her seat.

She sipped at her tea and watched, uncaring, as Elza gasped for breath. Both of them knew she would have finished the job if it had been required. After a moment’s pause Daria spoke in a menacing hiss.

“You stupid Shl'uha. Your job was surveillance and sex. To keep Mitchell happy until we were ready to move.” Her voice rose. “But instead you kill a man! And not just any man, but one of
them.
”

“But, he was…”

Daria quietened the girl with a wave of her hand.

“He was what? Following Mitchell? So what? They’ve had him under surveillance for months. But they knew nothing for sure. Now they will try harder. We will have them crawling over us, searching for connections.”

She stopped and shot Elza a venomous look.

“Do you know why you’re still alive?”

Elza’s hand flew to her throat protectively and she shook her head.

“Instead of Mitchell coming here now to work he must be brought to a new research facility. You will bring him there.”

“But he hates me. He told me never to speak to him again.”

Daria raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“When was this?”

Elza smiled slyly, remembering, and Daria wanted to slap her pretty face.

“We had sex in his office and then he got angry with me. Like he’d suddenly developed a conscience about his wife.” She snorted. “That was a first. We’ve been fucking for two years and he’s never even mentioned her, except to say how boring she was. Now he suddenly turns moral!”

“Did he say anything more?”

“Just that when he made a deal he stuck to it. And he didn’t want to see my whoring face again. But…”

“What?”

“I don’t know exactly. There was something in his attitude. Different, somehow. When I mentioned the deal he asked what it was, then tried to cover it up by saying he was testing me.”

Daria’s eyes widened, then she shook her head. Mitchell had been to the café the day before and he’d been fine. She would have spotted anything amiss. She smiled frostily. The girl was imagining things; getting emotionally involved.

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Do you love Mitchell? Do you have visions of him leaving his wife and sailing into the sunset with you?”

Elza flushed and turned away from Daria’s cool gaze, trying to mask her feelings before she answered the question; too loudly.

“NO!”

It was too vehement a protest and Elza knew it. Her mind raced, the thoughts tripping over themselves.
Did
she love Mitchell? She’d been watching him for two years and their longest conversation had been coital. But… Something tugged at her heart and she knew that the old woman was right. She hated Daria for her scrutiny; and for her insight.

Elza turned back to her interrogator. Instead of the slap across the face she expected she was greeted by an amused smile and a look of...what? Understanding? No, definitely not that. Pity, it was pity. Daria felt sorry for her! In that instant Elza saw past Daria Kaverin’s grey hair and dry skin to the beauty she must once have been. A beauty who had known love and lost it. The two women sat in silence for a moment, each locked in their own thoughts, until Daria pulled herself upright and smiled.

“I know now why you killed for Mitchell. Do not worry; we covered it as a mugging. It is good to know you will kill to protect the mission.” Daria’s voice became solemn. “You may soon have to do so again.”

***

Mitchell ended his call to Abassi Idowu and leaned back in his chair, feeling even more confused. The cleaner said he’d found Chapman’s phone on Thursday morning, near the research suite door. But according to the computer no-one but Devon and he had entered the lab since last week. How had Greg Chapman left his phone there? And when? The logical answer was sometime on Wednesday evening. That was when the missed calls had started piling up on Chapman’s phone.

But Chapman couldn’t have been in the lab on Wednesday night or he would have remembered seeing him there. Unless Chapman had been part of the cleaning crew? Except that he wasn’t. They’d had the same staff for two years and none of them was called Greg.

Mitchell sat for a moment, going round in circles and trying to think of other trails to pursue. All of them led back to Jenny in personnel and she’d been too curious the day before on the phone. It would be tempting fate to call her a second time.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. It opened before he had time to say yes. Devon was standing there, his face flushed. Mitchell gazed at him quizzically.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Devon sat down without preamble and started talking at breakneck speed.

“Twentieth floor... The boss… What’ll I do?”

He wasn’t making sense and Mitchell said so, making him start again.

“I’ve had a call from the twentieth floor. Some girl called Sylvie.”

“She’s the P.A. to the Board. You remember? The blonde at the front desk.”

Devon nodded and kept going. “The boss, Neil Scrabo, wants to see me.”

Mitchell leaned forward, more interested now. “What about?”

A look of panic raced across Devon’s face. “How do I know? If it was anything about research he’d have called you.” His panicked look spread. “I’m getting the sack, that’s it. I’m getting the sack! What’ll I tell Amy? We’re still paying off our college loans.”

Mitchell shook his head emphatically. “If you were getting the sack I would know. Hell, they’d expect me to tell you. You’re not getting the sack.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “It must be something to do with the work.”

Then Mitchell had a sudden thought. If the Board had noticed his forgetfulness, maybe they wanted Devon to keep an eye on him. He could do without it, but it wasn’t Devon’s fault. Mitchell looked at the younger man and smiled encouragingly.

“There’s one way to find out. Go and see him. If he asks you about the allotrope or me, say I’m working on it and I’ll report to the Board as soon as I’ve got something for them to hear.”

He smiled again and waved Devon from the room. “Now, go. The sooner you see Scrabo, the sooner we’ll both know why.”

***

Karen wandered around the store with a faint blush on her face. It wasn’t the sort of place she usually shopped, but then she didn’t have a second honeymoon every week. She fingered a black lace camisole and rubbed its soft silk between her fingers, imagining her husband’s strong hands stroking her breasts. A small shiver of pleasure ran down her spine and she giggled, feeling more like a high-school sophomore than a thirty-five-year-old wife.

Her thoughts were broken by the knowing look of the store assistant. Karen dropped the lace and glanced away but the assistant had seen it all before. She stood up from her chair, smiling and wandered over to help her shy customer find the right size.

***

Devon’s summons to the twentieth floor was interesting. Mitchell had no doubt that he’d leave with Neil Scrabo’s instructions to keep an eye on him ringing in his ear. It didn’t bother him unduly, he could handle Devon. It might even throw some light on things. All he had so far was scientific knowledge that he couldn’t remember acquiring, an urge to drink Russian tea that kept taking him to a café where he had obscure conversations with an old woman, and a beautiful girl who knew him a lot better than he recalled.

Elza was already watching him; Devon would only be more of the same. There could only be for one reason for all the scrutiny; he had something that other people wanted. Mitchell thought of the door in the café and the file on his computer that he didn’t understand. Yes. He had something that was worth a lot of money to someone.

He wandered into the bathroom beside his office and washed his face, staring at himself in the mirror. The face that gazed back felt less familiar by the day, instead of more. Reading between the lines at home, he was different with Karen too. Nicer somehow. She seemed happy about it. Elza had seen the difference as well, but she’d been less impressed.

Drying his face, Mitchell leaned back against the sink, thinking. Elza was the key. If she was watching him it was for a reason. Someone was telling her to do it and they were the people with the answers. Perhaps he’d been hasty kicking her out, she could be useful. He made a mental note to find her later then returned to his office and the search for Greg Chapman.

Chapter Fifteen

Pereira gazed at herself in the wing mirror and blushed, half-embarrassed by the memory of the night before. She stared hard for some sign of guilt, but all that stared back at her was pleasure. She tutted angrily at herself. She’d been unfaithful to her husband; at least she should have the good grace to look ashamed. The way she’d been raised a lightning bolt should be striking her dead by now!

A vision of Richie stretched across the hotel bed flashed into her mind and she felt the warmth of arousal spread between her thighs. She was about to chastise herself again when static from the dashboard told her to expect a call. Two seconds later her daydream was shattered by the sound of Magee gasping angrily down the line.

“Two agents dead. Two of my most reliable men!”

The night before’s pleasure made Pereira bold and she answered her boss back too quickly with anger in her voice.

“We don’t know that Chapman is dead yet, but we should pick up Mitchell and sweat it out of him.”

It was a mistake. Disagreeing with Magee was never a good idea, but disagreeing and having ideas of your own was grounds for being sacked.

“Don’t argue with me, Pereira, and leave Mitchell alone. It was incompetent surveillance that led to all of this.”

She opened her mouth to object but her words never reached the air.

“I want this operation rolled up as soon as possible. I’m sending two more agents to back you up. You’ll work with them to find out what Mitchell’s up to; and quickly or heads will roll. Do you understand me?”

The only answer Magee wanted was yes, so Pereira obliged.

“Where’s Mitchell now?”

“Still in the building, sir.”

“No more trips to the café?”

“No.” She hesitated for a moment then decided to push her luck.

“If Mitchell knows about Brunet’s death, won’t the café be off limits now?”

Her question was greeted by a wheeze then a long silence. Finally Magee spoke.

“Much as it grieves me to say it, you’re right, Agent Pereira. They won’t risk using the café again. That means they’ll have to contact Mitchell in some other way.”

He thought for a moment then spoke decisively.

“Mitchell should be home for the night by seven. I’m calling you all in for a meeting at nine o’clock.”

The line went dead and Pereira made a face at the receiver. Few of them had ever met Magee, and she wasn’t eager for the introduction. Then she smiled. A meeting meant she’d get to see Richie again, even sooner than they’d planned.

***

Devon coughed nervously and stared at Neil Scrabo’s back as he stood by the window, perusing the city. A phrase popped into Devon’s mind. ‘Master of all he surveys.’ He searched his memory for its origins but his reverie was broken by Scrabo turning to face him. Devon dropped his eyes to avoid Scrabo’s gaze; he remembered it from Thursday’s meeting and it wasn’t a kind one.

Neil Scrabo scanned the man in front of him, placing him firmly in a box marked ‘followers’. In his experience men fell into one of two groups. Leaders and followers. He preferred the second. Followers were easy and largely predictable. With the right motivation they did whatever they were told, and he had a bank account full of motivation.

He walked towards Devon with one hand extended and a whisky in the other. Devon was taken aback by Scrabo’s bonhomie and stared at his hand like it was a snake. He grasped it awkwardly at the last moment then sat hastily in the indicated chair.

“Tea or coffee, Dr Cantrell?” Scrabo’s mellifluous voice became almost confiding and he indicated his glass. “Something stronger perhaps? Feel free.”

Devon shook his head nervously, certain that it was some kind of sobriety test, and instead croaked “Coffee, white please.” He took the proffered cup with a shaky hand, his mind racing through the reasons that he might have been summoned. Scrabo took his seat at the head of the table and sipped his drink, then he asked the question that Devon had been dreading.

“Do you know why you’re here, Dr Cantrell?”

Devon shook his head once and then realised that he should speak.

“No, sir.”

The words squeaked out obsequiously and Devon could have kicked himself. They’d sounded much more assertive in his head.

“I’ll tell you then. It’s about Dr Mitchell.”

It was what Jeff had thought. Devon’s sense of loyalty was offended, just as his heart sank.

“Dr Mitchell is…”

A raised hand halted him and Devon fell silent, inwardly annoyed at being dismissed. Scrabo’s next words mollified him slightly.

“I have the greatest respect for Dr Mitchell, and his work. As I have for yours.”

Devon eyed his boss with suspicion but it waned slightly at the sincerity in Scrabo’s eyes. Scrabo continued.

“But I’m worried that we’re stressing him too much. Dr Mitchell is doing ground-breaking work and I want to make sure that we don’t push him too hard. Do you understand?”

Devon searched the older man’s face for signs of deceit but found none. He nodded, relieved. He’d had his own worries about Jeff recently and it would be good to confide in someone. So why did it feel like snitching? Scrabo saw his hesitation and jumped in.

“I can see that you’re concerned about being disloyal.” Devon nodded. “That’s commendable, but please don’t be. Our concern for Dr Mitchell’s health is genuine. He has a brilliant mind and sometimes brilliant people drive themselves too hard.”

Scrabo reached over to a small laptop, pulling up the screen with a tap.

“I know that you and your wife both have college loans. The repayments can’t leave much spare cash from your salaries each month?”

Devon froze, guessing what Scrabo’s next words would be, and just how tempted he would be by them.

“In anticipation and gratitude for you taking care of Dr Mitchell, one of our most valuable assets, the company repaid your loans this morning with no obligation. If you feel that you can’t do what I request, I’ll totally understand. Your loans will still be repaid, with no hard feelings.”

Devon’s mouth fell open in astonishment at Scrabo’s generosity. He was genuinely concerned about Jeff’s health! Scrabo watched in amusement as Devon’s naiveté made him take the bait. Devon started to talk. Over the next five minutes he outlined his concerns about Jeff Mitchell’s forgetfulness, the late night lapse in the laboratory and his unexplained absences from the office.

“Jeff thinks that I don’t notice he’s gone, but …”

Scrabo listened attentively with a paternal look on his face. He poured more coffee and asked the young man to keep a close eye on his Director, promising his continuing support and reward.

***

The chat with the cleaning firm had only told Mitchell what he already knew and the database searches had yielded nothing. He’d tried everything from the Yellow Book to 192, all without finding a Greg Chapman in New York. No-one could just disappear, not unless the government didn’t want them found; very possible in Chapman’s case. Mitchell took a swig of cold coffee and made a face; time for a trip to the canteen. He was halfway there when inspiration struck. Real Estate records. Everyone would cover their tracks in the obvious ways but maybe house purchases had slipped through the net.

Mitchell headed back to his office and started the search. An hour later he smiled in satisfaction. There he was; Greg Rudy Chapman, Washington Avenue, Prospect Heights. They’d even thrown in his date of birth. Chapman was forty-two, a year older than him. It opened the door to more searches and half-an-hour later Mitchell had Chapman’s college and Marine records, even his parents’ middle names. He was an only child with a good degree and ten years’ service in the military under his belt. The last two spent in Delta Force.

It was when Mitchell looked at Chapman’s employment record that things got really interesting. Greg Rudy Chapman hadn’t worked since he’d left Delta Force, except that Mitchell knew that wasn’t true. He’d spoken to his shadowy employers the day before. It all added up to one thing. Chapman had joined a government agency, and that government was looking more American by the minute.

Mitchell glanced at his watch. Five p.m. There was no sign of Devon and the outer office was clear of people, already half-way home. He thought for a minute then pulled out his cell-phone, dialling home. Karen answered his call in two rings.

“Hi honey. What’s up?”

“Karen, don’t worry about collecting me tonight. I’m working late, so I’m not sure what time I’ll be home.”

Karen smiled to herself. This was the dynamic man she’d married. She loved the new softer Jeff, but the more he focused on his work the less time he would spend worrying about his poor memory.

“Sure. Don’t worry about us - I’ll take Emmie over to Mom and Dad’s and see you later.”

Mitchell smiled to himself. Other men in the office talked about their difficult wives but he couldn’t imagine Karen ever being anything but sweet.

“Thanks, babe. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

He clicked-off the phone and turned back quickly to the computer, with one eye on the door, half-expecting Devon to walk in. Five minutes later Mitchell was in a cab heading for Greg Chapman’s apartment, to find out how Chapman’s cell-phone had ended up in his lab. He didn’t notice Elza watching him as he exited the tower, or the dark sedan following him down the street.