The Carbon Trail (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

1 p.m.

Jeff Mitchell walked quickly down the side-street, reaching Regan Plaza in five minutes flat. It was the only place he could think of to contact Ilya, except the farm, and it was too dangerous for Richie to tail him there.

Mitchell pushed open the café’s door and listened as the bell announced his arrival. He peered through the gloom for some sign of life. It came a moment later when Daria appeared through the red beads. Instead of the warm greeting Mitchell was used to from her the old woman gazed at him surprised, a look of wariness in her pale eyes.

“What are you doing here? Ilya will not be pleased.”

Mitchell smiled down at her, knowing that she would be friend or foe depending on what he said next.

“It’s Ilya I’ve come to see. I need to contact him and I have no way except Elza.”

“Then use her. You should not be here. This place has been watched since Elza disposed of the man.”

Claude Brunet. Richie had told him the agent’s name. Mitchell shook his head and gave Daria a fond look. It felt genuine and he knew that he’d known her since he was a child.

“Elza is nowhere to be found, Daria. I have looked around Scrabo Tower and she has gone.”

A worried look crossed the old woman’s face and Mitchell knew that he had her attention. Raising the possibility that Elza had been snatched would bring Ilya running, then Mitchell would find out what he knew about Karen and Emmie’s disappearance. After a moment’s hesitation Daria nodded Mitchell to a seat and hobbled towards the phone. She dialled a number, shielding it from his gaze and then murmured a few words of Russian that Mitchell understood. Ilya was coming, now all he had to do was wait. Richie would do the rest.

***

Richie stood on West Street, watching the turn-off to the square. He scanned each passing pedestrian; waiting for the man that he was certain would come. He wasn’t disappointed. Ten minutes later a white-haired man walked purposefully past him and turned towards the café. He was Ilya Tabakov; there was no doubt of that. Even if he hadn’t looked Slavic, Mitchell had described him perfectly.

Ilya walked briskly through the narrow streets, turning occasionally to ensure that he wasn’t being tailed. Richie followed at a distance, pressing himself back against the side-streets’ high walls and finding cover in the shadows cast by the afternoon sun.

As Ilya reached the square he gave a final backward glance then he pushed at the café’s door, stepping warily into the darkness inside. He knew that Mitchell would kill him if he’d worked out that they had his wife and child. What he said next could save his life.

Richie watched as Ilya altered his expression from wariness to greeting as he entered the café, and imagined the thoughts running through the old man’s mind. Survival would be top of his list, bargaining would be next. Richie wished that he could see what was happening inside but the Russians swept the café too frequently for any surveillance camera to survive. The wire that Mitchell was wearing would have to be enough.

Ilya’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and he strode towards his surrogate son, his arms outstretched in hello. He halted abruptly at the look on Mitchell’s face. Mitchell couldn’t hide the venom in his eyes and in a split second Ilya saw that Mitchell knew his family had gone, and exactly who was to blame. Ilya was sad that they’d had to do it, but he’d known that Elza was right. Mitchell was wavering about giving them his work; the kidnap of his wife and child was the only leverage they had. He had to explain that before Mitchell killed him but the look on Mitchell’s face said he only had seconds.

Jeff Mitchell moved towards Ilya with a speed that shocked them all. Daria gasped in surprise, glancing at each man’s face in turn and knowing instantly that something was very wrong. She moved to step in between them but Mitchell stilled her with a look, then his hand shot to Ilya’s throat without a word. He lifted the old man up and backwards, slamming him hard against the café wall, then he held him there, watching dispassionately as Ilya gasped for breath. Ilya’s eyes rolled and he tore at his adopted son’s fingers, trying to break his grasp. Daria tugged frantically at Mitchell’s arm, but he pushed her away with his free hand. When he finally spoke, Mitchell’s voice was wild, like an animal’s.

“Stay away Daria or I’ll hurt you too.”

Richie heard the snarl that passed for Mitchell’s voice and wondered if he should intervene. If he killed Ilya they would lose their contact and Mitchell’s family. A second later Richie stopped wondering as Mitchell’s voice became a cold hiss, saying that he’d got himself under control.

“Where are they?”

Ilya’s eyes widened and Mitchell watched dispassionately as his colour changed to blue and he sucked frantically for air. Logic told Mitchell that he had to loosen his grip or kill Ilya, and a dead spy couldn’t tell him where his family was. But hatred made him squeeze for a moment longer, savouring Ilya’s gasps for breath. Hatred for what he’d done to Karen and Emmie, and to him when he was a child. Mitchell revelled in the feeling for a moment, sensing that one more squeeze would snap the old man’s neck then he loosened his grip and watched as Ilya fell to the café floor like lead.

Daria rushed forward and Mitchell allowed her, staring coldly down at them both. The old woman glared at him, a stream of Russian invective spewing from her mouth. Her last few words were clear. “Where did you learn to do that?

Mitchell shook his head. He had no idea. They obviously hadn’t taught him trade-craft or she wouldn’t have been so shocked, yet it felt like something that he’d known all his life. Mitchell ripped Ilya’s jacket open, reaching inside for his pistol. He’d seen the Makarov there the last time they’d met and Ilya wasn’t getting a chance to use it. Mitchell motioned the old couple to two chairs then slipped-off the pistol’s safety, pointing it straight at Ilya’s head

Richie listened to the gun’s slide pull back and smiled to himself. Mitchell had been in the military, he must have learned how to handle a gun then. Combat training too? As soon as Richie thought it he shook his head. No. He’d seen Mitchell’s record. He’d been a doctor stationed in Balad, the main medical refuge in Iraq, so where the hell had he learned his fighting skills? There were three people in the café wondering that as well.

Ilya rubbed at his neck and tried to speak. He was shocked by the broken sound that emerged, but not as shocked as he was by what had just occurred. He’d reckoned on Mitchell being angry, but Ilya thought that he more than anyone would understand; they had to ensure the mission. The look in Jeff Mitchell’s eyes said he understood nothing but hatred right now.

“They are safe.”

The words wheezed out of Ilya Tabakov in a whisper that Richie could barely make out. If they were designed to reassure Mitchell then they failed.

“Where are they?”

Ilya’s next words might sign his death warrant. When he heard what they were Richie had to admire the old man’s balls.

“They…they are safe. They will not be harmed if you do your work.”

The sound that came next nearly burst Richie’s eardrum. He yanked out his earpiece with a loud “Ow!” Mitchell had taken a shot! That hadn’t been in the plan. Richie replaced his receiver and listened for the screams that said that someone was dead, but there were none. It had just been a warning that Mitchell meant business. When the gun’s report died down Mitchell spoke again.

“I’ll ask you again, Ilya. Where are they?”

Ilya looked into his adopted son’s eyes and recognised what he saw. This was no calm scientist, this was a man who would kill him and not even blink. Ilya didn’t know where he’d come from but he knew he was dealing with a very different man from the one he’d raised. The old spy re-calculated swiftly then exhaled, signalling defeat.

“Elza’s holding them in an old warehouse at Brooklyn Waterfront.”

“Address.”

Mitchell slid the gun’s mechanism back again menacingly. His voice was unwavering and Richie could hear an undertone that said he really wanted to kill. In that second he knew that Mitchell would shoot unless Ilya told him the truth, and perhaps even then. Fresh desperation tinged the old man’s voice.

“Van Brunt Street, near the Gowanus Expressway. The dockers’ family welfare centre.”

The woman started babbling in Russian and Mitchell turned on her. “Be quiet!”

Daria fell silent, a soldier recognising a very real threat. Richie heard footsteps and he visualised Mitchell crossing the room to stand in front of Ilya. He was right. Mitchell’s next words were a whisper that only Ilya and Richie could hear.

“If that bitch Elza has harmed a hair on their heads, I’ll find you and kill you, old man. Very slowly. Right after I kill her.”

Mitchell looked around for something to rope his prisoners together then he ripped the phone from the wall and used the cable to tie them both to their chairs. He grabbed Ilya’s cell-phone and left the café without a backward look. Richie watched Mitchell emerge into the daylight and scan the square, then walk quickly towards West Street. Richie scanned the square for a moment longer to make sure that they weren’t being followed, then he went to meet Jeff Mitchell at their agreed rendezvous.

***

Magee tapped his inhaler on the desk until he’d managed to annoy himself then he glanced at the clock, wondering what was holding-up his call. He walked to his office door and stood watching his staff at their work, counting the new faces drafted-in to replace the ones who had gone. Chapman, Brunet and Whitman; all lost or dead. And now Pereira, running away to a new life. Death and mobility were curses of the job, but that was four gone in two weeks. Somebody up there hated him.

Only Richie, Dane and Howard were left. Maybe he should ask that Lemanski woman to come up from Miami; at least she was sparky. Magee’s thoughts were disturbed by the buzz of his intercom and he stabbed at it quickly.

“Yes?”

It was Lily, his P.A. She was bright and pretty and so was her voice. The girl deserved a medal for working with him. Even he knew he was a grumpy sod.

“You have a visitor, sir. An Agent Schofield.”

Magee nodded to himself resignedly. He should have known that Al Schofield would come down in person. Special Ops were never going to sanction this over the phone. He pressed the buzzer again and spoke.

“Send him in please, Lily. And bring me the Evans file as well.”

***

Richie pulled the sedan onto the wasteland, scanning the area for signs that they were being watched. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He peered through the windshield and then back at the GPS. They were in the right place but the only building around was a derelict concrete monolith with bricked-up windows and graffiti-ed walls. Even the agency had better welfare facilities than this.

Jeff Mitchell had been like a coiled spring the whole way there, now he was wrenching his seat-belt free and reaching for the handle of the door. Anger was making him careless and Richie said as much.

“Calm down. We need to look around first. I’m going to park over there.”

He indicated the wall nearest the building’s main door. Every window was blocked up so they couldn’t be seen by someone looking out. It would give them cover for a while. Richie pulled the car parallel to the wall and they climbed out, pressing themselves flat against the concrete while he scanned the wasteland again. From what Mitchell said Elza Silin was lethal so he wasn’t taking any chances. Mitchell went to move ahead and Richie hissed angrily at him, pulling him back into line.

“Me agent, you scientist. Remember that”

As Richie said it he remembered Mitchell’s sang-froid in the café and wondered who was more lethal, Elza or him. They inched forward slowly until they’d reached the heavy main door, its paint peeling from years of weather and neglect. Richie pushed gently at the wood and winced as the door creaked, praying that their quarry was too high up to have heard. He was wrong.

Elza Silin startled at the sound and tore her gaze away from Karen Mitchell’s face. She moved swiftly to the window and scanned the street. There was nothing to see, but whoever it was could be hiding. They could have parked on the building’s blind side. Elza readied her Heckler-Koch and turned, just in time to see the look of hope in Karen’s eyes. She’d heard the sound as well.

The Russian untied Karen’s ankles and nudged her to her feet, signalling her to take Emmie into the corner. Re-checking the tape on their mouths and then reinforcing it with more; Elza positioned herself in front of them and waited. The noise might have been nothing. Ilya hadn’t called to say that he was coming and no-one else knew that she was here. Then something occurred to her. Elza reached into her jacket for her phone, pressing dial without intending to talk. If it rang and Ilya answered it would tell her something. If he didn’t it would say something as well. The call cut to answerphone, leaving her none the wiser.

Karen stared at Elza’s back as she made the call, searching for her most vulnerable spot. Her eyes fell on the younger woman’s legs, clad in tight jeans. One kick to the back of her knee could bring her down for long enough to grab the gun. All those self-defence classes Mitchell had made her take might not have been in vain.

Elza glanced back at Karen as if she’d read her thoughts and caught the determined look on her face. She reached down and grabbed Emmie, throwing her on the ground in front of her feet and then pointed the MP5’s barrel down. The message was clear; try something and my first shot goes in the kid’s head. Karen sat back, defeated, and prayed that the noise meant that help was near. Jeff must have noticed them gone by now. He would come looking, she was certain he would.

Richie climbed the stairs slowly, clearing each floor as they passed. Mitchell moved behind him like he’d been trained, turning each corner quickly, with his gun poised. Richie would worry later about how a scientist knew how to do that, probably watching too many cop shows on TV. But there was something about the way Mitchell moved that screamed combat vet.