Down Among the Dead Men (48 page)

'I think he's –'

'Stop. Just stop, Frank.' Charlie Searle sounds tired. 'I don't want to hear anything else. Here's what's going to happen. I'll call the Americans and forward your concerns – no, wait, don't interrupt – and they can take whatever steps they deem appropriate. Is that clear? Good. You will return home immediately as planned. You will send Koopman back to the colonies. You will not take any action on this, not even calling your liaison. I don't want to turn on the news and see one of my officers being marched into court wearing orange pyjamas.'

Searle hangs up. He hadn't sworn once. Frank thinks this may be the most disturbing part of the whole conversation. He pockets the phone and goes back inside.

Koop looks up as Frank sits. There's a beer in front of Frank.

'Thanks,' he says and takes a pull.

'So?'

Frank shrugs. 'He said we should do exactly what I thought the situation required.'

'And that is?'

'Do you have any mountain climbing experience?'

'You have to be kidding.'

Frank shakes his head and Koop raises his beer. 'Yippee ki-ay, motherfucker.'

The two of them sit in silence.

'We're going to need vests,' says Koop.

Forty-Four

Ben Noone spends Wednesday doing the things he should be doing. He goes to the gym at Pacific Palisades and talks to people. He acts normal. Afterwards he has lunch in Santa Monica and calls in at his bank. He buys some clothes and gets the shop assistant's phone number. He takes the shop assistant out for an early dinner and cocktails and they spend the night at the Hotel Shangri-La on Ocean Avenue.

Noone doesn't sleep well but it's more excitement than nerves. He imagines that all truly great performers feel this way the morning of a career-defining show. You'd have to be a monster not to.

Leaving the girl asleep Noone leaves the Shangri-La at five and drives the short distance home. By six he's in the Jeep with a backpack containing what he needs in the footwell of the passenger seat and is driving east. Once again he takes care not to attract any unwarranted attention and makes certain he isn't followed. In Culver City he parks the Jeep in a multi-level car park and picks up the white Ford saloon he bought for cash the previous week from a used car lot in the Valley. In recent days his paranoia has increased to the point where he feels precautions like this are required. Daedalus are more than capable of installing tracking devices. If they have they will already know he's been out to Twentynine Palms. In itself, that shouldn't be too much of a problem but Noone doesn't want to take any more chances like that. The Jeep in Culver City will keep them focused there for a while and by then it will be too late.

The morning traffic builds as Noone crosses the city but he misses the main rush and gets to Kenny Hoy's place around nine.

He parks the Ford at the back of the mini-van and takes his backpack into the house. He puts the bag down on the kitchen table
and heads out to the shed. Hoy's body is still there in the freezer, his features coated with a thin ream of ice, the blood around his eye glittering black. Noone closes the lid, locks the shed and goes back into the house.

In Hoy's bedroom he selects clothes from the dead man's wardrobe. He and Hoy are close in build and Noone picks out a pair of khakis, immaculately laundered, and an olive-coloured long-sleeve shirt with a vaguely military feel. Hoy only has one tie, a black one, so this is the one that Noone uses. He takes the pants, shirt, tie and a leather flying jacket and lays out the clothes neatly on the bed.

Hoy's boots are several sizes too small so Noone wears his own. He takes these off and puts them with Hoy's clothes. He takes off the rest of his own clothes and puts them to one side.

Above the TV set in the living room Hoy has a number of framed photographs. Several show him in uniform, some in formal dress and others taken overseas. In these images Hoy is dressed in the bulky battle-dress of the Marines. There is only one image that shows Hoy in a wheelchair and it's him receiving some sort of award. Noone lifts this photo off the wall and takes it into the bathroom along with his backpack.

He places the photo of Hoy on the bathroom cabinet above the mirror and takes out a number of items from a theatrical make-up supplier from the backpack. Hoy's face isn't much like Noone's but he has a beard and long hair. With sunglasses and a cap it'll be difficult for anyone who doesn't know Hoy to tell it's not him. Noone finds a Marine Corps cap on a shelf in Hoy's room.

Noone looks in the mirror and sees Kenny Hoy staring back at him.

'Hey,' says Noone, trying to get Hoy's laconic tone. He tries it a slightly different way. 'Hey.' Better. 'Hey, bro. Semper Fi.'

He dresses carefully in Hoy's clothes and once more inspects himself. For some reason he's not as happy with this but he thinks he knows why. He retrieves the wheelchair from the hallway and sits in it again. This time in the lowset mirror in the living room, Noone sees Kenny Hoy once more. He drives the wheelchair around the house and out a few times using the ramps, getting to know the
feel of the machine. He spends a long time working out how the chair gets in and out of the mini-van and how Hoy gets himself in and out. If anyone observes him he wants to make it look at least partway convincing.

Hoy's phone vibrates and Noone checks the ID. It's a text message from someone called Mike. Nothing important. Since pocketing Hoy's phone yesterday it's only the third call he's received and one of those was a promotional thing from the phone company. Hoy was clearly not someone with a busy social calendar.

Noone checks his watch. Ten after twelve.

Time to go.

Forty-Five

With over fifteen hundred expected at the Mount San Jacinto picnic, the cable car to the plateau at two thousand metres has been shuttling groups up since seven-thirty. With the First Family in attendance, security is tight at the base station. The event is invitation only.

The access from the Palm Springs side via the Aerial Tramway can be easily policed. There are no roads past the base station and all access to the peak from the east is by cable car. The existing electronic ticket system in place already does most of the security work: without a ticket, you can't get on the cable car.

Additional cops are on hand but they are mainly there to facilitate the movement of people. Local Lions Clubs and Veterans Associations have set up tents at the base serving hot dogs, coffee and soda. Almost half the guests are children from the surrounding areas belonging to church groups, schools and environmental groups with junior memberships. The rest are local dignitaries, representatives of climate groups, veterans, academics and press. Although the main gig is going on in Los Angeles later that day there are a lot of TV stations covering the picnic.

Noone's pleased to see that there is some national TV there in addition to the locals. Driving Hoy's mini-van with a prominent disabled sticker on the windshield, he's directed to one of the designated parking spots close to the tramway station.

As he pulls into the slot, a cop approaches. 'You need a hand with anything, buddy?'

'Thanks, man,' says Noone, 'but I like to do things myself.'

'I hear you,' says the cop. He holds up a hand and disappears.

It takes Noone a few minutes to get settled in the chair. He opens the rear gate on the van and a ramp descends to the floor. Noone
rolls the chair out into the sun. It's cooler here than in the valley but still warm; on the road up from Palm Springs the signs advise drivers to switch off their aircon as they climb the two thousand feet to the base station.

Noone's sweating in the leather flying jacket so he takes it off and places it across his knees. He'll need it when he gets to the summit. Up there it's forty degrees cooler.

The crowds part as he moves the chair towards the disabled ramp. It's like being Moses. Noone almost thinks it could be worth being disabled if this is how it works. The veterans badge on his cap adds to his aura, more than one patriot slapping his shoulder as he passes. At his age there's only one conflict where he could have picked up his injuries and, this close to the Marine Combat Center, there are friendly faces everywhere. Noone tries to keep his head down. He doesn't want to meet anyone who knows Kenny Hoy. This is the biggest risk in the whole scheme but it can't be helped.

Inside the ticket office to the cable car Noone shows his invitation at the first checkpoint. A Parks Service agent, a stocky woman in her forties, smiles broadly and waves him through. In the chair he's fast-tracked to the front of the queue. At the final check before the cable car there are two policemen scrutinising invitations against ID. Noone fishes out Hoy's wallet and shows the cop. He takes off the cap and sunglasses without being asked.

'You're good, Mr Hoy,' the cop says. 'You enjoy yourself, up there, y'hear?'

Noone nods and replaces the cap. 'I aim to,' he says. He slips the sunglasses back into place and moves into the holding room for the next car. When it arrives he is allowed on first and directed to a spot at the back of the car.

'Don't matter where you are,' says the operative. 'The cable car rotates 360 degrees every few minutes. You'll get a good view. Just make sure your wheels aren't crossing the gap.'

Noone sketches a salute and locks the wheelchair in place. He tries to shift his weight in the chair without appearing to use his legs. The gun under the seat is uncomfortable and Noone's back is already strained with the effort of keeping his legs motionless. Behind him the car fills up with the remaining passengers. Noone's
pleased to note there are no other disabled travellers. For some irrational reason he fears they would know he was faking. Exactly why this would be, Noone's unsure, but the feeling's there.

The cable car closes its doors and moves upwards. There is a cheer from a group travelling together and a few squeals from a bunch of schoolkids. Noone sits quietly and watches the desert move away from him. Palm Springs stretches across the valley floor, shimmery in the August heat. The car bumps over the first stanchion and there are more squeals. Noone's point of view swings round to face Mount San Jacinto. The terrain below is steep and unforgiving.

They're nearly there.

Forty-Six

They decide it's too risky to call on Dooley which means they're on their own and that leaves both Frank and Koop feeling vulnerable. It's one thing to give the appearance of not caring about the consequences. It's a completely different thing actually doing it.

After the call with Searle, Frank knows that the only option he has is to do as his superior officer ordered. On the basis of the evidence Searle's right.

Except he's not.

All coppers live their lives making compromises and seeing the guilty walk free. Frank's no exception. He's not some newborn mewling infant who expects everything to work out exactly as he wants.

But this one is different and Frank knows that he is incapable of doing nothing about Noone, even if that's just heading out to Mount San Jacinto to see if they can spot anything. Nicky Peters and his parents won't let him. Dean Quinner won't let him. Warren Eckhardt won't let him.

'Searle doesn't need to know,' says Frank. 'If I'm wrong about Noone then we get on the flights tomorrow and no one is any the wiser.'

'And if we're right about Noone?' says Koop. 'Won't it take some explaining how you happened to be on the spot? Or how about if we're wrong and we get mistaken for terrorists?'

'I thought you were all Bruce Willis about this?'

They're driving back to the apartment through the relatively traffic-free streets.

'I think we should go,' says Koop. 'But all that action hero stuff is just talk. I think the best we can hope to do is spot Noone. If he's there we'll know something's up.'

'And what then?'

'Fucked if I know,' says Koop.

On Wednesday they go to the library to dig a little deeper into the six names from Twentynine Palms. They don't get far. Even discovering the addresses is problematic. After almost two hours they have two addresses and they decide to switch tactics and concentrate on the location.

'We come at it from the south,' says Koop. He points at the screen. 'This road takes us within eight kilometres of the top cable car station. It's tricky terrain but it's got trails that can be followed, even by us. Given the size of the area there is no way for the security forces to be able to seal off access on the wider perimeter.'

As with most potential security threat assessments, the biggest factor stopping a determined intruder is pure luck. Which doesn't mean it will be easy.

'We just walk in?' says Frank. 'That doesn't sound right.'

'I don't have a better idea.' Koop turns back to the layout of the park. 'And unless they've got most of the Army patrolling the mountain there has to be a way in.'

He hesitates. Frank's not going to like the next bit.

'There is something else,' says Koop. 'I think if we can get past the first level of security there's a way round to the plateau they won't be watching.'

'Why?' Frank's been around Koop long enough to know when he's hiding something. 'What's the problem?'

Koop zooms in on a section of the mountain. It's hard to tell from the satellite images but it's clear that this is the edge of a steep drop-off.

'Just here,' says Koop. 'There's a gap. Quite a well-known one. There are photos.' He clicks a side panel and an image appears.

'Fuck me,' says Frank. He looks pale.

'It's not that bad. We can jump that easy.'

'Are you fucking mental? It's impossible.'

'We'll talk about it tomorrow,' says Koop. 'But it's what we should do.'

'What's this place called?'

'Er . . .'

'What's it called, Koop?'

'Gallows Drop.'

Frank feels sick.

He's got a thing about heights.

'No way.'

'We'll talk about it,' says Koop.

In the afternoon, back in the apartment, the discussion about Gallows Drop suspended, Frank books flights for himself and Koop to England and Australia. They keep the talk to discussions of return plans. Frank emails MIT to update them on his return. It'll be enough – he hopes – to keep both Charlie Searle and Sheehan's goons off their backs. On Wednesday evening they pack before going to eat at a grill around the corner. In hushed tones they go over the details of tomorrow's plan.