The Carbon Trail (17 page)

“Agent Magee?”

Magee wheezed in the affirmative.

“It’s the Miami office here. Agent Lemanski. I was just reading your memo on a Dr Jeff Mitchell and I have a couple of questions.”

“Wasn’t it clear?”

Lemanski stared at the phone, surprised by Magee’s rudeness. Then she shrugged. Perhaps it passed for humour in New York.

“Clear enough and we’ve got satellite covering him right now. I just wanted to check some contingencies.”

Magee sighed noisily and Lemanski glared at the phone, screwing up her face. Jake caught her look and laughed. She put the call on speaker and he wandered over to listen as she carried on.

“You really just want us to observe? Even if Mitchell breaks

the law?”

“Yes.”

“How far does that go? Is breaking and entering OK, but

murder isn’t?”

Magee raised his eyes to the ceiling. This was what came of working with other teams. You had to break them in like a pony.

“Dr Mitchell won’t murder anyone. He’s looking for something down there, that’s all. We just need to find out what. Let him break and enter and ask questions all he wants. If he kills someone then let us know, but don’t lift him. He’ll be back here on Tuesday and we can deal with it then. But be very clear; he’s not to be hurt or halted. This operation has taken months to build and it’s vitally important to national security.”

Lemanski raked her hair, irritated. This was way above her pay-grade and she knew that one more smart word could have her on surveillance for a month. But… Jake caught the glint in her eyes and shook his head. Too late.

“Great. So we’ll just eat popcorn and watch the bodies pile up and I’ll tell my boss to send you the bill, will I?”

Jake winced and waited for the backlash. It didn’t come. Instead, Magee laughed. It was a half-wheezing, tired laugh but it was definitely a laugh. Lemanski was off the hook. More than that.

“You do that, Agent Lemanski. And if you’re ever looking for a transfer, give me a call. That’s a New York mouth you have there.”

A second later the line went dead and the agents stared at each other and laughed. If Lemanski had tried that line with Brookman he’d have had her on a charge. Maybe working in New York wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lloyd Harbor. Monday. 8.30 a.m.

The Lexus reversed slowly out of the driveway. Slowly enough that Richie could sense Emmie’s quietness, and see the signs of a night spent crying written on Karen Mitchell’s face. He knew how she felt. He’d spent the night before tossing and turning, running his last conversation with Rosie through his head a million times.

He’d made Rosie happy, he knew that he had. She loved him and he loved her. X plus Y equals Z; it was the simplest equation in the world. Except that they’d had another variable; her husband. Richie rubbed his forehead hard, trying to erase his memories, but even if managed to forget her face, how could he forget the way he felt? It was no comfort at all that Joey Pereira was suffering too, if anything it made it worse. Rosie Pereira had made two men miserable and herself, just because she wasn’t brave enough to choose. The thought caught Richie unawares and he repeated it aloud.

“She’s a coward.”

It felt like sacrilege. To think it was bad enough, but to actually say the words. And yet it felt right, Pereira
was
a coward. Yes, she’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat, but face her own emotions? My God, no. That was far too frightening. A step too far, even for a woman with bravery awards.

Richie said it again, louder, testing the words. It didn’t feel like sacrilege this time, it felt right. Accurate. Rather than face a tough decision Pereira had hurt three people, herself included. Hurting three people instead of one, how was that brave in anyone’s book?

If anyone had called her a coward yesterday he would have leapt to her defence, but not now. The knowledge made him feel better and Richie could feel his opinion of Pereira drop. He tested his feelings further and noticed a slight cooling in his love. Not a lot, not a whole degree’s fall, but a drop. It was something to go on with. It gave him hope that someday he’d look at her photo and feel nothing but friendship. Someday.

The thoughts flashed though Richie’s mind in seconds and when he looked up the Lexus was still in the Mitchell’s driveway. Karen Mitchell was resting her head against the steering wheel and he could feel her vulnerability. He wanted to jump out of the car and ask her if she was OK. Take her in his arms and comfort her. Get comfort from her. An image of them kissing filled Richie’s mind and he pushed it away, knowing exactly what it meant. He was attracted to her and it was growing.

Karen sat upright and pulled her cardigan straight as Richie watched, then she turned towards her daughter with a wet smile and said something that made the little girl laugh. She reversed out of the driveway and drove down the street with Richie close behind, grateful to be there for her, not to watch but to protect. He had no idea how necessary that would soon be.

***

“Your man has not been working. We gave him the new laboratory so that he could use it.”

Javadi glared at Ilya and waved him to a seat. Ilya smiled, trying to placate the Iranian.

“Mitchell must meet research colleagues to keep up appearances, Behrouz. Until we are ready to extract him, everything must seem normal to anyone who looks.”

“Who is this colleague? Are you sure that he exists?”

Ilya nodded firmly, hiding his own doubts. He wasn’t certain that Mitchell had told him the truth about his Florida trip, but he was his son in all but blood. That bought him trust, and time.

“It will not be long now. He tells me his research has progressed.”

“How far? What will its value be to us?”

“Billions of U.S. dollars.” Ilya said the words firmly, brooking no retort.

Javadi scrutinised his face, suspecting the old man’s relationship with Mitchell of making him soft. Ilya watched Javadi’s expression change and he knew that a decision had just been made.

“In five days my scientists will come here from Iran. We need Mitchell’s basic research by then. They will check every part of his work and tell me its true worth.”

“Five days! It is too soon. Research takes time.”

Javadi glared at Ilya for a moment then beckoned his bodyguard. The large man loomed over Ilya menacingly.

“It is decided.” Javadi smiled malevolently. “Meanwhile we will be watching you all closely. If Mitchell’s research is not what he says it is, then none of you will ever see your Mother Russia again.”

***

Lloyd Harbor. 10 a.m.

The knife slipped easily between the wide glass doors leading from the Mitchell’s deck, breaking the weak latch with one flick. The doors fell inwards; floating silently back against the family-room wall, and with one step the intruder was standing in the sunny room. They walked slowly, checking for life, already knowing that the house was empty. But there was always the unexpected. A sudden movement in the kitchen vindicated their caution and the intruder tensed, readying themselves for a fight, then a flash of ginger streaked across the floor and the tension eased. The threat was nothing but the family cat.

They wandered on, lifting ornaments and pictures, things that marked the house out as a home. They replaced them carefully, leaving no signs that they had been there, just noting each room’s dimensions and where the locks were placed. A child’s toy lay on the rug and they lifted it, scrutinising its bright colours and round shape and picturing the little girl who owned it before putting it back in place.

The visitor wandered upstairs, exploring, until only the master bedroom lay ahead; the heart of the home. The door swung open to reveal a cosy room, with throws and cushions scattered randomly across the bed. A large bed that said sex and love, its occupants entwined in each other’s arms at night. The dressing table was covered in knick-knacks; feminine and perfumed. A bureau under the window was the man’s. They ran their gloved fingers across the bed and then across the bureau, feeling the people who lived there and breathing in their scents.

A car back-fired outside and the visitor startled, moving downstairs swiftly and leaving by the open deck doors, replacing the latch behind them as if no-one had ever been there. No-one would ever know they had and the next breach would be easy. The house was open-plan, the only bolts at the front and back doors, allowing for easy access. The owners too confident in their decent neighbourhood to think that they needed an alarm. The visitor would return soon, once they had everything they needed for their plan.

***

St Augustine, Florida.

Mitchell turned into the short, dusty road and found the house he was seeking. He parked his car out of the sun and loosened his tie, wishing that he’d worn a summer-weight suit. Florida was only fifteen degrees south of New York, but the climate felt sub-Saharan by comparison. He felt in his pocket for his fake I.D. and walked to a gate that fronted a quaint wooden house onto the street. As it creaked open he saw something move behind the slatted blinds; a woman. His guess was confirmed a moment later when the porch door opened and she appeared.

She was a healthy looking woman of around seventy-years-old, dressed, not in the tracksuit and trainers that Mitchell had seen on every street since he’d arrived, but in a flowered summer dress that ended just below her knees. Her hair was set in soft waves of blonde with flecks of grey throughout and she wore no jewellery except a wedding ring. She looked nice, like someone’s mother, which she was.

Nancy Chapman smiled warmly at Mitchell as if she was reading his thoughts and her smile sent a shockwave of recognition through him; so strong that he felt that he’d known her for years. He knew she was Greg Chapman’s mother from the photograph, but the feeling was much more than that. Mitchell gazed at the woman’s extended hand and then took it, holding it slightly longer than usual to see what more he could sense. The warmth he felt for her was unmistakable. He knew this woman, but he had no idea from where.

“Agent Mitchell, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Nancy Chapman. Please come in.”

Mitchell was taken aback momentarily at her lack of recognition of him. He knew her but her eyes held nothing but politeness, as if they were meeting for the first time. The woman led the way to the back of the house where a man of her age was sitting at a table. He rose and shook hands with Mitchell, introducing himself as John. His grip and appearance had the same effect on Mitchell as his wife’s and Mitchell stared at them both, bewildered. He couldn’t possibly know them, except from the photograph in Chapman’s flat, but he did. What’s more his feelings said he loved them.

Mitchell dismissed the feelings as part of his illness, the tumour affecting his limbic brain, and took the proffered seat, accepting the offer of lemonade. The couple gazed at him in anticipation, as if they were looking forward to his questions. They probably were. It wasn’t everyday someone wanted to hear you talk about your child. As Mitchell sipped the drink the woman brought out an album and Mitchell knew he would be seeing photos of Greg Chapman from birth. It was just what he wanted. He needed to find out who Chapman was, and why he knew so much about his life.

Two hours later he’d seen Greg Chapman age from birth to forty-two years. Chapman was an only child; they’d always wanted more but sadly it wasn’t to be. Nancy Chapman looked wistfully at her husband as she said it and Mitchell wanted to comfort her. He curbed the urge quickly, forewarned of what he would feel by their earlier touch.

Chapman had been bright. Not PhD bright but bright enough to gain a degree in economics before entering the marines. His father’s pride was obvious. He talked of his son’s military exploits with excitement while his wife’s face said that she was glad that they were done. John Chapman beamed as he talked of his son doing advanced training of some sort after his time in Delta Force, then entering government work. With whom? Mitchell voiced the question as a test, part of his security update to check if their son had been indiscreet and disclosed information at home. But they had no idea. Greg Chapman had only ever talked of ‘the agency’.

Mitchell could only speculate again which agency had been on his tail. CIA or FBI? Was that who was watching him? No, he didn’t think so. This bunch were specialists, some sort of sub-group. If they were CIA or FBI he would bet they had few more letters added on. Mitchell listened as the Chapman’s talked lovingly about their son, then asked the question he was most reluctant to ask.

“That’s really helpful, Mr and Mrs Chapman. I’ve just a few more checks to do before I sign off Greg’s assessment. Just one more question. Could you tell me when you last spoke to your son, and roughly what the conversation was about?”

A worried look fluttered across Nancy Chapman’s face and she reached for her husband’s hand. Mitchell could see that he’d distressed her and again he wanted to comfort her. Instead he scribbled importantly in his notebook, writing nothing but his own name. It gave Chapman’s mother time to regroup but when she finally spoke her voice was still tremulous.

“We haven’t spoken to Greg since last Wednesday week. It’s not like him at all, he usually calls us on Sunday nights but he’s missed two weeks now.”

Her husband intervened. “I’ve said he’s probably on a job and isn’t allowed to call. That would be it, wouldn’t it?”

Mitchell saw the hope in his eyes and nodded kindly. “Yes, I’m sure it is. I’m often sent away at an hour’s notice and can be out of contact for a month. It drives my wife mad.”

It was a lie, but only a white one. The woman’s relief was palpable. Mitchell scribbled his name again and waited for them to answer his question in more depth. Finally Nancy Chapman did.

“Greg called us about eight o’clock that Wednesday night and said he was following someone, but he couldn’t tell us who. Just that it was somewhere in Manhattan. He probably shouldn’t even have told us that, but he likes to keep his father up to date.”

She smiled fondly at her husband. “John was in the army for twenty years and he misses all that running around. Don’t you dear?” John Chapman nodded. “I think Greg’s adventures make him feel young again.”

Mitchell was only half-listening. Greg Chapman had been at Scrabo Tower on the Wednesday night that he’d visited the research suite in the lab. The night before he’d seen the blood in his shower. To think that Chapman was tailing someone somewhere else in Manhattan would be too far-fetched, especially when his phone had been found in Scrabo Tower. Was it him that Chapman had been tailing? Had they met that day? It might explain some of the things he knew about Chapman, but not all. No-one would know where Chapman’s spare apartment key was kept except a lover or a good friend. The idea that he and Greg Chapman were lovers flashed through Mitchell’s mind but he dismissed it quickly. His sexual experiences with Karen and Elza made it unlikely. Mitchell asked another question just to make sure.

“Does Greg have a girlfriend?”

Nancy Chapman smiled ruefully. “Oh, don’t start me on that. He’s brought more girls home than we’ve had dinners. The last one was somebody he worked with on a job in Washington, but since then there’s been no-one. I always said he should have married Julie Richards, didn’t I John?”

Her husband nodded, interjecting. “Julie was such a nice girl. She works as a teacher up at their old school. They were engaged at college but broke up. We never did find out why.”

Mitchell smiled, imagining Greg Chapman’s taciturn responses when they asked him. Julie Richards, it was another name that sounded familiar. Nancy Chapman was still talking.

“Still, I suppose it’s still not too late for grandchildren. It would be lovely to have children around again and Greg would be a brilliant Dad. Do you have any children, Agent Mitchell?”

Mitchell smiled, thinking of Emmie. “Yes, a little girl. She’s three.”

“That’s such a lovely age. They’re so cute.”

They chatted for a while about Emmie until finally Mitchell finished his drink and stood up, genuinely reluctant to leave. But he had other things to check out and the Chapman’s had just added Julie Richards to his list. They showed Mitchell to the front door and stood there together, waving him goodbye. As Mitchell walked back to the car he felt like he was leaving home.