The Carbon Trail (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sunday. 12.p.m.

Two research staff sat in Mitchell’s outer office, diligently completing their paperwork for the quarterly research meeting the coming week. At twelve o’clock they filed off the floor for lunch and Mitchell was finally left alone. He slumped behind his desk, with his head in his hands. His hair was getting long; he’d need it cut next week. He smiled wryly; the radiotherapy might save him the cost.

Mitchell stood up and looked in the mirror behind the door, searching for some sign of cancer, whatever that looked like. There was none. He looked just the same, with only his forgetfulness and an opaque mass on some scan to say that he was going to die. They were all going to die; it was just the speed of it that distinguished him from the rest. Who knew, maybe he’d get hit by a truck before the cancer got him. It would be quick anyway.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, Mitchell knew that he wasn’t speculating, he was making a choice. A choice to take his own life instead of rotting away slowly in some hospital bed. He felt better immediately. It wouldn’t be a truck of course, but something more controllable; less mess. But the principle was still the same; death by his own hand, in his own time.

He’d plan it once everything was finished. First he had to stop the Alliance getting their hands on whatever research he’d developed and Karen and Emmie had to be protected. Then he could die in peace. Mitchell looked quickly at his watch. Twelve-thirty. Time to find out more about Greg Chapman.

***

Pereira dressed in her duty suit and strapped-on her gun, then she lifted her bag and headed for the door. Magee had been surprised when she’d called him. He didn’t give his agents much time off, so they usually stayed as far away as possible from him when he did. He’d been curious on the phone and asked what the meeting was about, but Pereira wanted to say things to him face to face. It would add to his stresses but she couldn’t help that.

She dumped her car in the agency building’s car-park and took the elevator to the third floor, walking confidently past the guard. Lily, Magee’s secretary, glanced up at her and smiled. She liked Rosie Pereira. She talked to her as if she was a human being, which is more than she could say sometimes for her boss.

“He’s expecting you, Agent Pereira.” The girl inclined her head towards the door and waved Pereira in.

Rosie smiled in return and headed for the half-glass door. She stopped midway, taking a deep breath. If she did this there was no way back; Magee wasn’t a forgiving man. She nodded to herself, feeling a freedom that she hadn’t felt in years. Then she knocked the door firmly and walked towards the rest of her life.

***

Mitchell adjusted the rental car’s mirror and then looked down at the map. If he took the 278 he’d be at LaGuardia in time for the 15:20 Delta flight and in Miami by 19:00. He’d told Karen he’d be home sometime on Tuesday and she wasn’t to worry. Mitchell pictured the way she’d looked at him that morning, stroking his face in concern. Of course she was going to worry. She would worry about him now until the day he died. He shook the image from his mind and pulled out of Scrabo Tower’s car-park into the bright Manhattan afternoon, heading for Florida to find some answers.

Tom Evans followed through the traffic at a safe distance. Mitchell was heading for the airport, he was certain of that. Where was he flying to so urgently? And for how long? Evans’ curiosity was piqued. He’d seen Jeff Mitchell’s face when he’d left the garage; he was a man on a mission.

Evans patted his pocket. His passport and credit cards were always packed. Then he patted his underarm holster, feeling his Glock.. He would never get the gun through airport security, so it would have to stay locked in the bike. Evans shrugged. He wouldn’t need it. Mitchell was no threat and by the preoccupied look on his face he would never even notice that he was being tailed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lloyd Harbor. 5 p.m.

It was only five in the afternoon but the sky was already growing dark. Winter wasn’t far off. Richie pulled his jacket around him and cranked up the heating, wondering where everyone was. He hadn’t seen the Mitchells all day and Pereira had been due to relieve him an hour ago. He was just reaching for the radio when the Lexus approached, indicating to pull into the drive. Richie watched as Karen Mitchell climbed out. She looked especially pretty today. Her hair shone like strands of white-gold and she wore a cornflower blue jumper that made her eyes flash when she turned. But it was what she did next that made her beautiful.

As she lifted her daughter from the car-seat she gently stroked the hair from the girl’s small face and kissed her forehead, hugging her tight until she giggled. Karen laughed with her and they entered the house giggling together. Richie wondered what they would do next and wished that he could see. He pictured them playing a game on the rug or watching cartoons. He’d done that with his Mom and the memories had never gone. Karen Mitchell was a good mother and he was going to protect her, or die trying.

A sudden burst of static assaulted Richie’s ears. Just as he grabbed for the receiver to stop it Magee’s voice rasped out. He sounded pissed about something.

“You’re being relieved late today.”

There was no preamble and no warm platitudes. Still, at least you always knew where you were with Magee; usually in the shit. Richie decided to risk getting in deeper.

“Where’s Pereira?”

The only answer he got was “She’s asked for a transfer. Howard’s doing the next shift; she’ll relieve you at midnight” then more static. Richie asked him to “say again” but only silence answered him and he knew that Magee had hung up. It was an abrupt exchange, even for him. Richie grabbed urgently for his phone and dialled Pereira. Her cell cut to answerphone. The message was new. “Agent Pereira is on holiday. From September 30
^th
this agent will be working out of the San Francisco office.”

What the fuck? Richie’s mouth fell open. Rosie had asked for a transfer and hadn’t even told him! He dialled her personal cell but it only reinforced his confusion. “Hi, it’s Rosie. I’ve gone away for two weeks.”

Anger overwhelmed him and in a moment of pure rage Richie dialled her landline at home. A man answered. Joey. He sounded bereft. Richie almost cut the call but he needed to know.

“Hello. Is that Rosie Pereira’s residence?”

The man sighed and then answered in a soft voice.

“It was. She’s not living here anymore.”

“What?”

The word was out before Richie could stop it. The man spoke again, sounding curious.

“Who is this calling?”

Richie considered hanging up but that would only cause suspicion. Anonymous calls to an agent’s home could bring the Special Forces out.

“It’s Richie Cartagena, Mr Pereira. Rosie and I work together.”

“Ah, yes, Agent Cartagena. She’s mentioned you.”

Richie wondered in what context but Joey was still speaking.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, so there’s no point in me denying it. Rosie’s left me. She’s requested a transfer to the west coast and taken two weeks leave, starting today. I came home to find a note and she’s not answering either of her phones.”

Richie’s heart went out to the man then his own pain took over. At least Pereira had left her husband a note; he’d had to find out from Magee! A faint glimmer of hope rose in his chest. Perhaps that meant that she’d left her husband for him and was going to call him later? The hope died as soon as it was born. Her husband obviously knew nothing about him. Another hope rose. Maybe Pereira hadn’t mentioned another man at all, so as not to hurt him. Richie needed to know, so he asked the question, phrasing it carefully.

“She didn’t tell you why she was leaving?”

Joey Pereira’s voice was dull now, almost wary. As if he was imagining the years of pain ahead and guarding himself against them already. He answered the question, telling a stranger his news as if there was no-one else that he could tell.

“She said that she wanted a divorce but that there was no-one else…We were married for eight years. She’s just thrown it all away…”

He sounded completely lost and in that instance Richie knew exactly what Rosie had done, and why she’d done it. Her love for him wouldn’t let her stay with her husband, and her love for her husband wouldn’t let her be with him. She’d walked away from both of them and she was going to keep on walking, no matter what he did. Richie’s next words were heartfelt.

“I’m very sorry, Mr Pereira. I really can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Richie cut the call gently then sat back and closed his eyes, thinking about the woman he loved and starting to say goodbye.

***

Florida. 11.50 p.m.

Mitchell pulled the rental car into a layby and checked the map, yawning. It was nearly midnight and he needed some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He’d formulated a back story that would let him ask questions about Greg Chapman that no-one would query. He was a colleague of his from work. Government work. Their security clearance had to be renewed every year, and he’d been tasked with doing Chapman’s background checks. Just some routine questions, folks. Nothing to get worried about.

Mitchell smiled ruefully. People didn’t question the government, not half as much as they should do anyway. The dark suit in his trunk and the fake I.D. he’d made would fool everyone. Except the cops, and he was staying well away from them.

He drove off the I-95 and followed the signs for Escobar’s Motel. Ten minutes later he was pleasantly surprised to see a horseshoe of quaint wooden buildings. Mitchell checked in and had something to eat and by one a.m. he was asleep, completely oblivious to the man who’d parked outside and bedded down for the night.

***

“Where is he? You should have told me that he was going away!”

Ilya looked up from cutting his cigar and fixed Elza with a stare.

“Why should I tell you your job? You were the one who wanted to keep following him.” He snorted. “You’re so damned good at it that you missed him leaving the state.”

Elza’s fury boiled over and she slammed her palm down on his desk. Ilya sprang to his feet and thrust his head forward, stopping half-an-inch from her face. She pulled back in reflex but held her ground. Ilya’s next words were soft but there was no mistaking their chill.

“Be very careful, woman. You are disposable. Be under no illusions about that.”

He sat down again slowly and turned his attention back to his cigar, ignoring her venomous stare. Elza asked the question again, more slowly.

“Where has he gone? ….Please.”

Ilya smiled to himself, knowing that the last word had almost choked her.

“That’s better. You’re learning your place.” He smiled sarcastically. “I imagine if Mitchell had wanted you to know where he’d gone, then you would. But I’ll put you out of your misery. He’s gone to a meeting with a scientific peer of his. He’ll be back on Tuesday.”

“But you know I’ve been tasked to observe him! You should have told me so that I could follow.”

Ilya waved a hand dismissively. “Mitchell told me where he would be and I trust him.” He stared into her wide green eyes, watching the pupils shrink in anger. “Besides. You’d better get used to being alone. When he leaves America he’s taking his wife and daughter with him and I don’t think there’ll be room for a whore as well. Now, get out.”

Elza glared at Ilya for a moment longer before turning on her heel. He laughed coldly as she walked away and Elza made up her mind then that Ilya Tabakov would be joining Karen and Emmie Mitchell in the ground.

***

Lloyd Harbor.

Richie was staring into space when Amelia Howard arrived to relieve him. He jerked himself upright as she opened the car door. Howard smiled wryly. He’d been asleep. One look at his eyes told her that she was wrong. He’d been crying. Richie caught her look of concern and realised how he must have looked.

“Don’t worry, I’m not losing it. Just a bit of personal business.”

She smiled sympathetically and nodded. “I know. I heard about Pereira.”

Richie looked at her, shocked and then shrugged. Everyone in the office must have known about their affair, so much for being discreet. It made Magee’s way of telling him even crueller. Howard read Richie’s mind and shook her head.

“Magee didn’t know how to tell you, so he asked me what to do. I suppose he figured that a woman might know what to say. I told him to keep it short and factual.”

Richie nodded slowly. There’d been nothing else that Magee could have done. Any attempt at sympathy would only have made him feel worse.

“Trust me. He made it both of those.”

They sat for a moment in the dark then Richie started reporting, ending with. “There’s no sign of Mitchell yet. Just the wife and daughter at home since four p.m.”

Howard nodded. “Don’t worry about Mitchell; he’s not coming back tonight. Magee knows where he is, although he’s not sure why.”

Richie gave her a curious look. “OK. I’ll bite. Where is he?”

“Florida. Well, to be more accurate, halfway off the 1-95 in a motel at the moment.”

“What the hell is he doing there?”

“We’re not sure yet. I tailed him to LaGuardia and he took a Delta flight to Miami. That’s why I was late. Magee has the Miami office watching him.”

“Is he running?”

“Without the wife? No. He only hired a car at the airport for two days. But he’s looking for something that’s for sure, and tomorrow we should find out what.”

***

Florida. Monday. 7 a.m.

The early morning road stretched ahead of Mitchell, dusty and dry. Solitary houses were dotted here and there along the route, only their design and the power lines overhead saying that the century was the twenty-first instead of the nineteenth. Mitchell half-expected a lone horseman to appear and say ‘Howdy’.

Every now and then a town appeared, its sidewalks and palm trees lit by the heightening sun. He liked the solitude of the place; it made a pleasant change from the congestion of New York. Mitchell bit off a chunk of pretzel and cranked up the CD, glad that he’d resisted the lure of the eggs and bacon the motel’s menu had advertised. They would have been great and he could almost taste their salty favour now, but he’d needed to get on the road early. He could only stay away from work for so long before his presence was missed. If his watchers in the sedan hadn’t raised the alarm by now, then Elza would have.

Mitchell shrugged, uncaring. Ilya knew he was on a trip, although he thought it was to do with his research. The old man could handle Elza for him. Besides, everything seemed much less important now that he knew he was going to die. Mitchell smiled, correcting himself sarcastically. Everyone knew that they were going to die, they just didn’t know how soon. He was just lucky that way. Mitchell caught himself agreeing with the caustic thought. He
was
lucky; it would give him the focus to do what he needed and not many people had that.

He shook the serious thoughts from his head and day-dreamed unhindered for an hour. An image of Karen’s face filled his mind, the way she’d looked when he’d first seen her on the morning of his blood-tainted shower. Except that couldn’t have been his first sight of her, they’d been married for ten years by then, so why was it his first memory? Why so precise? The disease in his brain didn’t explain that.

Mitchell racked his mind for some glimpse of their first date, their wedding, and Emmie’s birth. But there was nothing, a complete void where the images should have been. Karen said that he’d sat with her all through labour. He’d laughed at her story of how he’d done the crossword and played with his phone but he couldn’t argue with her; he had no clear memories of anything before that morning in the shower. He hadn’t even remembered he was a sleeper! Mitchell corrected himself. He’d remembered some things, when Ilya had pointed out his past, but they’d been shadowy images with only vague feelings attached.

Suddenly a car accelerated past him, jerking him out of his dream. Mitchell glanced in his rear-view mirror. A blue Ford Taurus had been sitting behind him for miles. His paranoia rose briefly and then he shrugged again. It was a free country and he didn’t own the roads. If they wanted to tail him they could, whichever group they were, but it would be a very dull job.

Mitchell thought about where he’d be going soon if Ilya had his way and shuddered. The negative things he’d heard about Russia couldn’t all be true, especially not nowadays, but it definitely wasn’t the West. He wanted Emmie to grow up as free as a bird, not get thrown in jail for singing punk-rock songs in a church. They weren’t leaving the USA, he’d made up his mind on that, what he wasn’t sure about was how he could prevent it. But he had the seed of a plan and he intended to action it soon.

After an hour more driving a signpost for St Augustine appeared and Mitchell pulled the car off the highway gratefully, tired of driving in a straight line. The turn led to a back road with sparse housing on either side. Occasional school children wandered past on their way to class, some of them eager and others bored; the usual range of schoolmates. If there was a school then there would soon be a town. It wouldn’t be St Augustine yet, that was at least ten miles further on, but there would be a rest-stop and a diner and he needed to freshen up.

Mitchell glanced at himself in the mirror. His clean-cut look was getting grubby, time for a shave and fresh shirt to change him into a government man. He spotted a diner five minutes later and pulled in, watching in his rear-view mirror as the blue Taurus whizzed on past. It hadn’t been following him after all. Mitchell laughed at his paranoia and grabbed his bag, heading to clean-up. Just as he entered the diner’s wash-room the Taurus returned and parked unseen in the shade.

***

“Jake. Have you got a copy of that order?”

Jake Anderson looked up from his screen and nodded. Then, like the high-school basketball player that he’d been, he rolled-up the piece of paper and lobbed it expertly into Ruth Lemanski’s tray. She smiled and shook her head. The place got more like college every day. Lemanski unfolded the paper and spread it flat on her desk, reading the instructions, then she picked up the phone to the sender.