The Carbon Trail (23 page)

Suddenly they heard a noise from the floor above. A soft thud, as if something small had been dropped. Richie felt Mitchell’s tension heighten, saying that he’d heard it too. Richie raised a hand to still the man behind him and then indicated the next landing, where the floor split into left and right. Nothing about the sound had said which direction to take so Richie signalled Mitchell towards the right, positioning himself on the left. He turned briefly to stare at Mitchell, his gaze a silent reminder of what they’d discussed in the car. Elza was to be taken alive if possible, but she couldn’t be allowed to escape. As it stood now, Ilya might still believe that Mitchell was acting alone; just a loving father, desperate to protect his family. With a bit of explaining Ilya would forgive him and Mitchell could go back to work, with the Alliance none the wiser. But if Elza escaped she would tell them Mitchell was working with a federal agent and a nine month operation would be blown.

The two men ascended the stairs in silence, pressing themselves back against the wall. At the landing they split off left and right. Richie turned left, moving down a corridor with rooms off it and a final door at its end. He cleared the rooms quickly as he went, knowing that any spy worth their salt would be waiting behind the end door. It was the best vantage point. Richie reached it just as Mitchell did the same on the right. They glanced at each other and then at the last two doors, kicking as hard as they could and entering the rooms with only seconds to make their choice.

As soon as Elza heard the kick she jerked her machine-pistol reflexly towards the door, pressing the trigger as she aimed for the intruder’s head. Karen saw her aim shift away from Emmie and returned to her earlier plan, kicking Elza’s knees as hard as she could and bringing her crashing to the floor. It was all the diversion that Richie needed. He scanned the room and saw Elza’s gun, realising that he only had time for one shot. He made it count. If you only had one shot there was no ambiguity, head or chest; it was head every time. Richie’s bullet whistled through the air and found its mark, but not before Elza Silin had managed to fire as well.

Mitchell scanned the empty room he’d entered just as shots rang out on the building’s far side. He raced across the stairwell, down the corridor and into the small room. The sight that greeted Mitchell made his heart sink. His tiny daughter was lying on the floor with Elza slumped across her. There was blood everywhere; on Emmie’s dress and face and soaking into her blonde hair. Mitchell heard nothing for a moment, only the shots ringing in his ear and then the sound of Karen’s screams ripped through the air, forcing their way through the tape across her mouth.

“EMMIE, EMMIE…”

Karen Mitchell moved faster than she’d ever thought she could and pulled the woman’s body off her child, pushing it roughly across the floor. She gathered Emmie in her arms and cradled her, pressing her ear against her child’s chest and watching anxiously for its rise and fall. Finally she nodded to herself and smiled, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mitchell took them both in his arms, embracing them, his own tears mingling with his wife’s. He glanced at the woman lying on the floor, her wide, unseeing eyes saying that Elza was dead. He was glad. Death was too good for her, but it would keep his cover safe.

A loud moan from the doorway reminded Mitchell that they weren’t alone and he broke away from his family and headed for its source. Richie was lying in the corner, pressing hard on his bloodied shoulder. He gave Mitchell a rueful smile.

“Time for a refresher at the shooting range. I’m getting slow. She would never have got a shot off a year back.”

Mitchell smiled gratefully and bent down to check Richie’s wound. His left shoulder had a nasty graze but the bullet that had caused it was lodged in the wall behind. Part of a spray of Elza’s bullets that formed a line six feet above the floor.

“You were lucky. She was aiming for your head.”

“I know.”

Richie nodded towards Karen and smiled.

“She missed. Thanks to your wife.”

Mitchell glanced at Karen questioningly but her eyes were on her child. Explanations could wait. Right now, Emmie and Richie needed to be checked-out at a hospital and Elza Silin was heading for the morgue. The operation was still intact and Richie had kept his side of the bargain. Soon it would be time for him to keep his.

***

“You realise that this is impossible. Washington will never wear it.”

Al Schofield tugged at his jacket, readjusting its perfect fit as Magee scrutinised his face. Schofield’s features were a recipe for disaster; each one mis-sized or set a millimetre too far out of place. The overall effect was curious but not ugly; what the French called ‘Jolie-laide’. Magee smiled inwardly, wondering what would happen if his visitor could read his thoughts. He shook his inhaler and puffed at it twice before speaking.

“The prize will be worth any crud Washington has to swallow.”

“How so? Evans is a traitor, so anything he gives us is suspect. And then there’s this so-called research, which frankly I find it hard to get excited about. Carbon atoms affecting human life! The nerds have been cloning sheep for years, so what’s new? We’ll lift Evans and I’ll make him tell the truth. ”

Magee shook his head tiredly and stared at his guest. The ignorance of some people in power was just depressing.

“Cloning is just copying, Al. Like if I made another one of you, God forbid. This is something else completely. Mitchell’s work can alter the actual building blocks of life.”

Magee could see that his cod science was passing over Schofield’s head, so he shrugged, gave up on any attempt at educating him and went for shock value.

“This can build monsters that will do anything you want, Al. And a very dangerous country wants to buy the recipe.”

The penny dropped and Schofield’s face with it. He leaned urgently across the desk.

“Which country?”

Magee sighed, knowing that his point had flown straight over Schofield’s head.

“The other countries are only one part of it;
we
want the research as well. And the man who is selling it.

But Magee still wasn’t getting through. Schofield had returned to his favourite topic. Tom Evans.

“Get Evans in here. We’ll make him tell us. Our interrogation methods have improved since he was an agent.” Al Schofield waved his finger in Magee’s face. “You were always too close to Evans. You’ve gone soft.”

Magee swatted his hand away, refusing to rise to the bait. He sat forward, elbows on the desk and clasped his hands.

“Your desire for revenge against Evans is getting boring. So you were a Presidential Aide and he set your career back a few years. Boo-hoo. Get over it. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to give Tom Evans what he wants.
Everything
he wants.”

An angry look crossed Schofield’s face and he opened his mouth to object. Magee kept talking.

“And you’re going to help arrange it. Because if you don’t and the North Koreans get hold of this research, I’ll make sure that
this
President knows your name and it definitely won’t be in the way you want.”

***

Karen wandered slowly around the family-room, picking up pictures and knickknacks and running her hand over the well-worn couch. She buried her fingers in the fake-fur throw across its back for comfort, as Mitchell and Richie watched her from the door. Karen stared at the glass doors that Elza had entered through and wanted to smash them. She knew that their fragility hadn’t let her in, Elza had slipped the latch not broken the glass, but their very presence offended her now, symbolising everything vulnerable about their lives. Mitchell could read her mind and his decision took less than a second. They couldn’t stay in this house.

He scanned the room, letting its familiarity sink in. It was his home, regardless of how briefly he remembered it, but it wasn’t safe now. Mitchell wasn’t worried for himself. He would be at work or the facility, and pretty soon he would be dead. But Karen and Emmie were still vulnerable.

Emmie was in hospital. She would be OK, but the drugs that Elza had given her were taking time to clear her system and it was better to be safe. She was well protected now; the armed guard Richie had posted outside her door would make damn sure of that. But Richie had been watching the house when Elza had broken in and it could happen again, no matter how many agents were around. It didn’t matter to Mitchell if they killed him, but he couldn’t allow his family to be used again, or worse, killed, for his work.

Richie watched them both and read their thoughts. “We’ll move you to a safe house, Mrs Mitchell. We have plenty of them across New York.” He turned to face Mitchell. “Until this is over you need your family safe.”

Mitchell nodded then suddenly Karen gave a scream that shocked them both. It turned into a low-pitched moan that didn’t stop. A keening sound, like at a Gaelic requiem where women mourn their loss. She was sitting on the small couch, doubled over, rocking herself back and forth as she cried. They couldn’t see her face but the pain in her tears was impossible to ignore.

Both men moved instinctively towards her then Richie stopped himself, pulling back as Mitchell took his wife in his arms. Richie’s urge to hold her shocked him and he turned away, but not before Jeff Mitchell had read the signs. Instead of being jealous he was strangely comforted by them. He wouldn’t be around in the future to protect her, but Richie really cared. And he’d proved that he could be trusted with Karen and Emmie’s lives.

Karen clung to her husband like a child, reliving the nightmare that Elza Silin had put them through and outlining her every fear. She needed a counsellor and when they got to the safe house they would get her one. Finally Karen’s rocking slowed and her sobs became a sigh. When she spoke again her words were clear and what she said surprised both men.

“We’re not leaving this house.”

Richie went to protest but she stilled him with a glance.

“This is our family’s home.” Karen gazed at her husband. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I trust you, Jeff.” She shot Richie a watery smile. “I trust both of you. Do whatever you need to do to finish this and protect us from these people.” A look of defiance filled her eyes. “Because no bastard from any country is making me leave my home.”

***

Friday. 4 a.m.

Richie shifted uncomfortably in the armchair and finally gave up trying to sleep. He glanced at the clock. Four a.m. He was handing over at five so there was no point even trying any more. He unfolded himself from the leather chair and wandered, yawning, into the kitchen. One minute later he was staring into a coffee, deep in thought.

Karen would have to accept re-location eventually. If this went down the way that he thought it would then Russia would name Mitchell a traitor and make it open season on his wife and child. Richie’s thoughts went to Jeff Mitchell. He was still hiding something, he was sure of it. Yes, Mitchell was going to give them his research, Richie believed him on that. So where was his ‘but’ coming from? Richie answered his own question. Mitchell wasn’t giving them all of it, but he wasn’t giving it to the Alliance either. Why? The answer hit Richie squarely between the eyes.

The dawning of realisation never got old and it was always unexpected. It couldn’t be earned and it couldn’t be planned for, it just appeared like a tree in heavy fog. Invisible the moment before, then suddenly there with all the substance that it would ever have. Richie suddenly knew that Mitchell thought something in his research was too dangerous to trust to anyone. Not even the U.S. Government. Mitchell was going to destroy it. He was sure of it.

Richie had a moment’s thought that maybe it was for the best. Mitchell must know his own work’s potential, if he thought it was too dangerous to exist then maybe it was. After all, who wouldn’t un-invent the atomic bomb if they could? But the agent in him said no. If advanced research existed, then Mitchell had no right to hold it back if it could possibly be utilised for good.

A noise outside the kitchen made him jump and Richie grabbed instinctively for his gun, only to laugh a moment later when the cat wandered in. His imagination was playing tricks on him. Maybe he was imagining that Mitchell was hiding information too? He shook his head. No, Mitchell was definitely holding something back. Richie made up his mind to tell Magee his suspicions and trust in whatever he said.

***

Friday. 7.40 a.m.

Tom Evans stood for a moment gazing around the small office then he sat down and lit a cigarette, waiting for Magee to object. He was disappointed. Magee just kept staring at the screen in front of him, deep in thought. Evans could hear the whispers coming from outside and he smiled. He’d taken a certain amount of pleasure walking through the agency building’s reception. The reception of a building that he’d been banished from eight years before. The wary looks hadn’t bothered him. Nor had the knowledge that beneath their identikit jackets every agent wore a Glock and was itching for him to give them a reason to pull it. Evans smirked, remembering the hall of fame set high on one wall, with stars under each picture hailing patriotism and honour. Somewhere there was another wall for traitors and he knew his name was there.

The irony of his current situation didn’t escape him. Define traitor. His crime had been too much belief in God and country, not too little, and being disillusioned by the truth. Instead of adopting the low-level cynicism that his colleagues seemed to have been born with, reciting their oaths from rote, he’d actually believed his. He’d believed it all, God, country and the American way. He’d even had faith in their political masters. Too much faith and look where it had got him.

Magee glanced up, watching the debate his old protégé was having in his head. It made him sad to know that Evans was still trying to make sense of what he’d done. He understood it perfectly, so why couldn’t Tom? His fault hadn’t been in believing too much, but in lashing out like a child when he’d found out that the fairy-tale wasn’t true.