The Carbon Trail (10 page)

Richie nodded. “They have a young kid. A little girl. Keeps them in a lot.” He turned to Magee abruptly. “How much more proof do we need to move on this guy? Brunet got killed tailing him and now Mitchell’s at Chapman’s flat, acting as if he owns the place!”

Pereira nodded in agreement, throwing in her fifty cents. “And how does a scientist afford a house in Lloyd Harbor anyway, without getting money from somewhere else? Mitchell’s as dirty as hell.”

Magee thought for a moment before speaking.

“I understand the urge to avenge your dead colleagues.”

“We don’t know that Greg is dead.”

Magee ignored the comment and continued calmly. “Or search for your colleagues. But we all know that there’s more at stake here than agents’ lives. If Dr Mitchell has made the breakthrough that we think he has, then we have to follow this right through to the end and catch whomever he’s dealing with. This is too big an operation to blow for revenge.”

Richie came back at him instantly.

“How about for honour and loyalty then? Greg could still be alive and where I come from we don’t leave our men to die if we can still save them!”

Magee’s eyes narrowed and he stared coldly at him. “Be careful, Agent Cartagena. Once you cross that line there’s no way back. You’re not the only one who gives a shit here!”

Pereira was shocked by Magee’s unexpected swearing. She’d heard it plenty of times from others, but with him it just didn’t seem to fit. Magee stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair.

“This isn’t a debate. They know we’re watching now so we need to wrap this up quickly. You have your orders; follow them. Find out who Jeff Mitchell’s about to sell his research to.”

Chapter Seventeen

Wednesday. 2 p.m.

The morning flew by in a haze of trivia but by two o’clock in the afternoon Mitchell was finally alone. He stood by the window of his small office, opening it the limited distance allowed by building regulations. If people wanted to commit hari-kari they’d have to do it on somebody else’s watch; Scrabo’s architects were determined to stop their staff messing up the sidewalk.

Mitchell sucked in a draft of cool air. The first hints of winter were appearing and then withdrawing, so that people could fool themselves that autumn would last forever and New York’s snow and ice would pass them by this year. He smiled to himself, remembering Septembers in Florida, no hint of frost ever dimming the heat there.

The question came one second later. Florida? When had he been there? It was something else to ask Karen, in a way that wouldn’t make her think he was going mad. It wasn’t the only new question he’d had since yesterday. How come he’d known where Greg Chapman’s key was kept? The mail that he’d stolen as he left Chapman’s building hadn’t thrown any light on their acquaintance. It was just a collection of circulars and bills that told him what he already knew; Chapman hadn’t used his phone since Wednesday last. That and the fact he was forty dollars overdrawn at the bank. Mitchell rubbed his eyes tiredly, searching for something that explained Chapman’s cell-phone being found in his lab, but there was nothing.

He turned back to his desk and sat down heavily, thinking about the green-eyed girl who could be his best lead and wondering how to find her in a building with five hundred staff. He knew nothing about her, except her first name. Still, a woman called Elza wouldn’t be commonplace anywhere in America. He lifted the phone and made the call.

“Jenny? It’s Dr Mitchell in R&D. We talked a couple of days ago.”

The girl’s voice was cheerful, holding none of Monday’s suspicion.

“Yes, Dr Mitchell. How may I help you?”

“I’ve found a bracelet in my office this morning. It seems to be my week for finding things.”

He laughed and she joined in.

“The thing is, I had a meeting yesterday with a staff member called Elza and I think that it might be hers.”

“What was the meeting about?”

It was on the tip of Mitchell’s tongue to say “none of your damn business” when he saw her question’s validity. The meeting’s content might told HR which section Elza worked in, if they’d had any other business but sex. He swallowed and then told the lie that would cast the widest net.

“International research.”

“Oh. I’m not sure what section that would be, it’s probably better if I search for her by name.”

There was a moment’s silence while Mitchell willed the woman on, then a soft intake of breath that showed she’d had success.

“We’re in luck! There’s only one Elza in the company. Isn’t that strange? She works in interpersonal relations.”

Elza was very good at it.

“I’ll transfer you now.”

Mitchell was about to object when the ring tone was interrupted by a husky voice. There was no doubt who it belonged to.

“Can I help you?”

Mitchell hesitated for a moment, remembering Elza’s slim thighs, and bit back the urge to suggest a re-match. It might have to come to that to get her information, but suggesting it would be a step too far for his married guilt. When he spoke his voice was authoritative, no hint of confusion to re-ignite her doubts.

“Come to my office at five.”

Elza’s only answer was a gasp, as if he’d caught her unawares. Good. He wanted her off-balance. She’d had the advantage the week before but now he knew more, and as a wise man once said, knowledge was power. Mitchell cut the call before Elza could say another word, then lifted it again to call the other woman in his life. He gave Karen the excuse about working late that he was sure he’d given her many times before. It wasn’t a lie, just a different type of work tonight.

***

Pereira towelled herself off from her shower and dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats. She grabbed a white wine and flicked on some music, curling up on the settee to think, before her husband Joey came home. As she let the soft melody wash over her, tears sprang into her eyes. They teetered on her dark lashes then rolled slowly down her cheeks, followed by more; until there were so many that she swallowed hard, gasping for breath.

Why was life so crappy? She loved Joey, really loved him. They’d met at high-school and held each other’s hands through everything since. Pereira thought of his soft face and blue eyes and smiled, until her smile dissolved quickly in her tears. She loved her husband; she should be happy. She was lucky; lots of her friends were still searching for Mr Right, long into their thirties. She knew she was lucky. So why was she crying?

It was stupid to ask why, when the answer had sat across Magee’s office the evening before, chewing the end of his pen and scraping half-heartedly at a stain on his tie. Her heart warmed at the thought of him and she gave a wet smile. Richie.

As she thought of his wide grin and his long soft kisses when they were alone, the warmth in her chest became a wave of excitement, a bubble that rose up, enveloping her completely. Then the tears came again and this time she understood why. She was in love with Richie, totally, completely, head-over-heels in love. She wanted to see him every morning and sleep with him every night, and that was what he wanted too. If only it was that simple. If only it didn’t mean ripping another life apart.

***

The limousine stopped outside the elegant apartment block on Madison Avenue just as Neil Scrabo emerged through its gilded-glass doors. Nodding to the concierge who held the car door open, Scrabo climbed in, settling on its long back seat. Five seconds later a cigarette was in his mouth. After a few slow drags he pressed a switch, lowering the glass partition and revealing a black-suited chauffeur whose fit alertness said that he was much more than that.

Scrabo inhaled again, slowly, letting the smoke fill his lungs and carry his drug of choice swiftly to his brain. He’d tried every illegal substance that there was, but none of them gave him the hit that nicotine did, so he’d returned to his boyhood vice. He’d go to hell his own way, no matter how politically incorrect it was. After savouring the burn for a moment Scrabo spoke.

“Take the Palisades Interstate, Tom. We’re meeting some new friends. And remember to load your gun.”

***

5 p.m.

The outer office on the fifteenth floor was empty, the only light visible coming from a desk-lamp halfway down the room. Mitchell walked towards it and then froze; every instinct telling him that someone else was there. He readied himself for a fight just as a velvet voice broke the silence.

“Hello, Jeff.”

Mitchell relaxed immediately, watching admiringly as Elza’s curves emerged from the gloom.

“You certainly like to make an entrance.”

Elza Silin stood completely still, as if someone had pressed ‘freeze’. Only her eyes moved, running slowly across Mitchell’s face as if she was trying to read his mind. Finally she shrugged, as if what she’d read had been boring, and turned her attention to their surroundings, scanning each desk for information.

Mitchell watched her and a grudging smile tugged at his mouth. There was something magnificent about Elza. Sex oozed from her every pore, but she didn’t hide it apologetically like American girls did, embarrassed and shy. She embraced it, breathed it, used it like a weapon; every inch of her lethal.

He felt himself moving towards her, sucked in by her unapologetic sensuality. Then he was at her side, inhaling her perfume, knowing that the scent was addictive but already powerless to resist. Mitchell reached forward and stroked Elza’s face, tracing each curve and edge with his finger, then he pressed it hard against her full red lips, as if they were ripe fruit that would yield juice. With one step she was lying against him and Mitchell felt her high nipples harden against his chest. Elza thrust her hips into his until they melted into each other and his need to take her overwhelmed him, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Chapter Eighteen

6 p.m.

The limousine pulled up to a pair of high, iron gates and a voice whose first language was Asian barked a question through the intercom. Tom Evans threw the camera a bored look and grunted a reply. He didn’t like foreigners; they’d caused him problems in the past. He’d conveniently forgotten that his father was from Africa.

The gate opened inwards and Evans drove smoothly up the curved drive towards the house. House was the wrong word for it. Mansion would have been nearer the mark. Scrabo was loaded so he was used to driving him to luxurious places, but even so, this was something else.

The white stone edifice loomed impressively against its backdrop of the Hudson Highlands, staring down at New York as if it was its front yard. It was five stories high, not including the turrets, and as wide as a baseball field. The place looked like a medieval castle; the only thing missing was a drawbridge.

Evans pulled the car to a halt and sat awaiting his boss’ instructions. The glass partition slid down and Neil Scrabo leaned forward, offering him a cigarette. Evans took it gratefully and they sat in silence for a moment, savouring the smoke, Evans’ alertness level rising with each puff.

After several minutes the mansion’s front door opened and a guard in an olive-green uniform emerged He carried a PPS-43 submachine gun; standard military issue, but not in America. Evans reached for his Glock but Scrabo’s hand on his shoulder told him to stand down. They watched as the guard waited by the door and a small, East Asian man marched past him towards the car.

Evans got out and held the door wide for Scrabo to emerge. Scrabo walked towards the man and Evans watched as they bowed then shook hands, barely surprised when Scrabo started to speak in a foreign tongue; the benefits of an expensive education. The words sounded Chinese, but what did he know? The only Chinese words he knew were on a menu.

The sign for Evans to follow came in a backward glance. He walked close behind his boss, studying the armed guard and ready to take a shot if he made one wrong move. It never came and two hours later they were heading back to Manhattan, in a partnership with North Korea. It was the step too far for Tom Evans that would finally bring Neil Scrabo’s empire down.

***

Mitchell reached over and stroked Elza’s thick black hair, gazing down at her satisfied face. He hadn’t meant for this to happen again and he could feel his guilt about Karen starting to grow. He pushed it away firmly. This wasn’t love and it wasn’t a betrayal, it was necessary, he was sure of it. He didn’t know how just yet, but the woman beside him was the key to information. Information that would tell him just what was going on.

Elza smiled up at him dreamily and Mitchell smiled back. There was no sign of suspicion in her eyes; he was safe for now. His next move was important. He had to find out what Elza knew, in a way that implied he already knew it.

Mitchell lay back on the office floor and made his voice as neutral as possible, then he played the bluff that he thought might draw her out.

“The café’s getting hot.”

Elza turned quickly to stare at him. Her eyes were quite uncanny, green and clear, so clear that Mitchell could almost see through them. He wished that he could, perhaps then he could read her mind. In the second that it took Mitchell’s thoughts to form, Elza was forming her own. They ran across her face in a mix of questions and calculations, until they finally settled on scrutiny. Mitchell held the girl’s gaze, counting the seconds until she called him out, until finally Elza sighed.

“You’re right. The agency already knows about it. One of them followed you there on Monday.”

The agency? Holy Shit! His bluff had hit the jackpot. The number he’d dialled was an agency of some sort. Was that what they’d meant by classified? Which one was it? CIA, FBI, NSA? It didn’t matter; they were all the same. Dangerous. Mitchell’s mind raced so fast with the possibilities that he almost missed Elza’s next words.

“I had to dispose of him. I covered it up - made it look like a robbery. But the agency recovered the body, so Daria said it’s just a matter of time before they send someone else.”

Mitchell’s mouth half-opened in shock. He closed it hurriedly before Elza noticed and stared at her, unblinking, trying hard to hide his disgust. She’d just described killing a man as casually as if she was ordering a drink. Elza kept talking, completely missing his look.

“The big meeting’s organised for Thursday night, but we can’t use the café anymore.” She stood and dressed slowly as she talked. “I’ll let you know where.”

She made for the door then turned back to Mitchell with a coy smile.

“Don’t worry lover, I can deal with the spooks. You just worry about your equations. Then we can all go home.”

Somehow Mitchell didn’t think ‘home’ meant where he’d slept last night.

***

“Honey, can you put Emmie to bed? I’ve got to tidy up.”

Mitchell jerked himself from his thoughts and turned questioningly towards his wife. Karen sighed inwardly at his vagueness and repeated her request. Mitchell nodded and stood to lift Emmie. She was having a tea-party with her dolls at his feet and he watched as she kissed each one good night in turn then turned her sunny face towards him with a smile. The gap between her front teeth was beginning to close as more teeth grew, and her baby curls were long tendrils of gold that hung around her face. A tear sprang to Mitchell’s eye, surprising him and then he realised why it had come. He didn’t want to leave her, or Karen, but if Elza was right then whatever crap he’d got himself into would make it inevitable soon.

The questions had been coming thick and fast since he’d seen Elza that evening. What sort of people was he involved with? And what part did Daria play in all of this? Mitchell thought of the old woman’s softly lined face, trying to imagine her as anything but someone’s Mom. As someone involved in murder. He couldn’t get his head round it, but she obviously was.

Which equations had Elza meant? His screen was covered with them every day; how the hell could he choose which ones they wanted? He understood some of the science he read at Scrabo now but it came in fits and starts, and it definitely wasn’t clear enough to help him with this.

Mitchell’s mind flew to his discussion with the Board the week before. When he’d mentioned the new carbon allotrope they’d got very excited; it had to be linked with that. He’d been trying to find out more about it since he’d said the words that day, but there was nothing that could possibly be relevant on his PC at Scrabo. Nothing except perhaps the ‘Café’ file that Daria had pointed him to and he didn’t understand anything he’d read in that.

Just then Emmie’s tiny hand took his, pulling Mitchell from his reverie and into a pink bedroom at the top of the stairs, where an hour of bedtime stories pushed all thoughts of equations from his mind. As Mitchell finally tucked his daughter in and turned to leave her room he realised that Karen had been watching them from the doorway. The grin on her face said that she’d seen him reading ‘The Three Pigs’ and mimicking every voice.

Mitchell ushered her down the hallway, tickling her playfully, and Karen turned, reaching up to kiss him. When she pulled away he saw real love in her eyes, not the lust that he’d seen in Elza’s hours before. Jeff Mitchell knew then that no matter what plans anyone had for him leaving, he wasn’t going anywhere at all.