The Carbon Trail (24 page)

Magee stood up and gathered some papers, then gestured to a coffee area across the room, motioning Evans to sit across the low table from him, as if they were back in the café. Magee coughed once and glared at Evans’ cigarette. Tom Evans smiled and stubbed it out. The look was all he’d wanted. Attention. Something to show that his old boss still gave a damn. Magee shrugged; more childish crap.

“I met with Schofield.”

Magee’s lack of preamble made Evans laugh. Magee was a man of few words and most of them barked. A quick shadow crossed the periphery of Evans’ vision and he knew that a curious agent was lurking outside the room, not daring to pause too long for fear of Magee. It seemed that he was quite the celebrity. Evans decided to play Magee’s word game and keep it brief.

“And?”

“Agreed.”

Evans raised a sceptical eyebrow. Eight years in exile, treachery in the press and it was this simple. He didn’t believe it and he said so.

“No way. Schofield’s up to something.”

Magee stared across the table and reached to pour them both coffees. Black, two sugars, just the way Evans liked it. He’d been touched that Magee had remembered in the coffee-house.

“I see that you’ve finally abandoned your naiveté, Tom.”

“Not all of it, but I wouldn’t trust that bastard as far as I could spit. Schofield has a life plan called ‘Get Tom Evans’.”

“It seems that you’ve replaced it with paranoia.”

Magee half-smiled and Evans smiled back, shrugging an admission. “That’s what eight years on the run does for you.”

“Don’t they call it ‘on the lam’?”

“Only in James Cagney movies.”

They descended into amiable silence and sipped at their drinks. Evans could hear the desks filling up outside and the eavesdropping agent being joined by several more. He glanced at his watch and tutted. Eight o’clock. He’d hoped to be out of there before the day-shift arrived. No chance of secrecy now. He glanced at Magee and saw that he wasn’t worried; he was up to something. Evans tensed instinctively and Magee raised a hand in peace.

“I want us to talk.”

Evans stared hard at Magee for a moment and then he slowly relaxed. The government could lift him now and throw away the key if they wanted to, except that they wouldn’t. They needed him to get to the North Koreans and they were too big a catch for the agency to drop. He would walk out of here in an hour and go back to his life, and within weeks he’d be a free man, Magee would make sure of that.

But Evans’ curiosity was piqued. Did Magee have an add-on? Something else that he needed him to do? It almost felt like the good old days. Tom Evans was surprised by how much he liked the thought.

***

Jeff Mitchell gazed through the bedroom window as the night turned into day. He glanced at his watch and then at his sleeping wife. The bruises on Karen’s face would heal but he wasn’t sure about the ones inside her head. She turned in her sleep and whimpered and Mitchell wanted to climb back in beside her and take her in his arms, but he had work to do and he needed to keep up his front.

Mitchell showered slowly in the bathroom where he’d first seen his wife, trying to remember her face through the steam. The feeling that went with the image was kindness; it was what Karen was. Loving and kind, always kind. A sob escaped from his chest, surprising him with its force. What was he crying about? His family’s hurt? Or his own imminent death? There was no point crying about that, it was as inevitable as the dawn.

Mitchell shook off the mood and dressed quickly, then tiptoed softly down the stairs, lifting his briefcase and thinking of what was inside. He hadn’t looked at the Archaeus file yet. That was today’s shock; yesterday’s had been bad enough. Mitchell nodded at the agent seated out on the deck, then at the one inside the hall; their position inside the house easier to hide than a sedan in the street. Then he lifted the keys to drive himself to work and find out the truth.

***

8.30 a.m.

Magee glanced at the office wall and Evans turned to see his target. It was a clock that he’d missed in his scan of the room. Magee was waiting for something. They’d covered the basics of his pardon in the first half-hour. He would get 20,000 dollars to start again and his slate would be wiped clean; no black marks. He could even take a job in law enforcement again, if that was what he wanted. Evans had shaken his head at the suggestion. He’d seen enough guns to last him a lifetime.

What else would he do? Magee was surprised by Evans’ answer. He wanted to open a restaurant somewhere. He could cook well and host even better, and it was as far away from the violent world he’d spent his life in as it was possible to get. Somewhere in Italy, or maybe France; anywhere warm and relaxed.

Magee smiled as Evans’ face lit up talking about it and he remembered the eager young agent that he’d met twenty years before. Tom Evans had been the best he’d ever trained, until he’d gone bad. Magee corrected himself quickly; Evans had never gone bad, he’d just had his ideals shattered and blown the whistle. Unfortunately he’d done it in the New York Times, and some people had never forgiven him for that. Wash your dirty linen by all means, just not in the Hudson.

Magee glanced at the clock again and Tom Evans stared at him, puzzled. His original thought that they were waiting for something was altered to someone. Magee had a meeting organised. But surely they couldn’t be planning the operation yet? They’d barely had time to cover his benefits under the deal. Evans let his curiosity show.

“Are we meeting someone?”

“Yes.”

Evans shifted irritably in his chair. “But we’re less than half-way through. We haven’t even discussed Scrabo.”

Magee lifted a hand to still him. “The man that’s coming will be helping you with the operation.”

Evans sprang to his feet angrily. “I work alone. That was the deal!”

As soon as Evans said it he could hear how petulant it was. Magee gave him a jaded look. He didn’t have the energy to placate anyone these days, much less a middle-aged man acting like a kid. He took a puff of his inhaler and waved Evans back to his seat.

“That’s understood. He won’t be working with you; he’s on another strand of the operation.”

Evans went to ask another question but Magee was saved by two sharp knocks at the door. A man’s lean silhouette was visible through the glass. Magee shouted “enter” and as soon as the door swung back Evans saw that the man was shocked by his presence as well. Magee was up to his old tricks.

Richie stood in the doorway assessing the scene. When he’d phoned Magee asking him for a meeting he’d expected a one-on-one, not a group hug. There was no way that he would detail yesterday’s events with some stranger in the room. Magee saw the questions on both men’s faces and pre-empted them.

“Tom Evans, this is Agent Richie Cartagena.”

Evans sprang to his feet and extended his hand. Richie took it without thinking, shocked by the name that he’d just heard. Tom Evans was the agency’s bête noir. What the hell was he doing in the building, never mind here with Magee?

Richie scanned the man in front of him for threats, getting ready to move. There were none, so he took his hand back and sat beside Magee in the only free chair. A shocked silence filled the room. Magee let it fester, watching each man’s face in turn and enjoying the show. After a minute he spoke.

“Alright. First things first. You’re both working the Mitchell case and I’m not listening to any arguments.”

Evans went to object then stopped, remembering Magee’s earlier reassurance that he would work alone. Richie hadn’t heard it and he sprang to his feet again.

“No way.”

His words were unambiguous. Magee was their boss and he could order them to do whatever he wanted, but the image of Emmie Mitchell on the ground was making Richie brave.

“These people trust me. I won’t put them at risk.”

Evans lurched forward. “What people?”

Confusion flicked across Richie’s face and they both looked at Magee. He yawned theatrically and then spoke.

“If you both tried listening for a moment, this would go much quicker.” He waved Richie back to his seat and started speaking in a bored tone.

“OK. To recap. Jeff Mitchell has been researching carbon for years, following the discovery of Graphene. If you don’t know what Graphene is, then find out, and fast. The whole world is working on new applications for it; worth billions. We’ve had Mitchell under surveillance for some time because of his association with Russian agents. We know that there’s a small cell in the city, working out of a café in Regan Plaza.”

Magee sipped his coffee and continued. “We got wind that Mitchell’s research had progressed way beyond the work being done elsewhere, but we couldn’t get any details. If we’d tailed him too closely, he could have bolted. Unfortunately we believe that Greg Chapman, one of our most experienced agents, acted on his own initiative and tried to find out.” Magee paused for a moment, looking sad. “Chapman’s been un-contactable for nearly a fortnight. The last sighting of him was entering Scrabo Tower. Chapman radioed that he was following Mitchell and then nothing, so we have to assume that he’s dead.”

Richie interjected. “I still think we should go in and look for him.”

Magee and Evans shook their heads simultaneously. Evans spoke first.

“It would blow the whole operation. Mitchell’s lab is secured both ways by codes and retinal scanning. If Chapman did manage to get in, he never got out. He must still be there somewhere.”

Magee re-started. “In the past few weeks things have started getting messy. Claude Brunet, another of our agents, tailed Mitchell to the café and was killed. The café has become redundant since then. We know they’ve moved operations to a farm of some sort; Mitchell has a secondary lab there where he’s continuing his research. We have its exact location, but there’s only one road in and it’s heavily guarded, so any attempt to steal Mitchell’s research would fail.” Magee’s eyes clouded. “We lost a third agent, Brad Whitman, tracking Mitchell there.”

Evans interrupted. “So Mitchell’s research at Scrabo might not be the full extent of it?”

“We’re certain that it isn’t, but we don’t know how far his other work has gone.”

“Neil Scrabo wants to get his hands on it.”

Richie interjected. “But surely he owns Mitchell’s research? He pays him to do it.”

Evans shook his head.

“Only the work that Mitchell does on Scrabo Enterprise’s behalf, and they think Mitchell needs more time to develop that further. I’m not so sure.”

Richie nodded vaguely, giving nothing away. Magee carried on talking.

“Another recent development is that Dr Mitchell is very ill.”

Evans looked shocked and Richie realised that he hadn’t been fully briefed.

“He has an inoperable brain tumour. Even with radiotherapy and a lot of luck only a third make it beyond a year.”

“He could become desperate.”

“Desperate in more ways than one. Mitchell’s intellect is his life. The race will be on for him to finish his work while he can still think clearly.”

Evans shook his head. “There’s no way Neil Scrabo knows any of this. If he did he’d reckon Mitchell had got further than he said and he’d have already sold his research to the highest bidder.”

What Magee said next shocked them both. “That’s exactly what I’m banking on.” He saw their shocked expressions and smiled. “The sooner that Scrabo thinks Mitchell has cracked his carbon research, the better; he’ll think that Mitchell has something worth stealing.” He turned to Evans. “That’s where you come in.”

Richie spluttered out his coffee and indicated at Evans. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to let this traitor and Neil Scrabo get their hands on Mitchell’s research!”

Before Magee could stop them both men were on their feet and Tom Evans’ hand was on his gun. “What did you just call me?”

Evans’ voice was a growl and he slid his Glock from its holster and pressed it hard against Richie’s chest, before Richie had time to move. Magee smiled at Evans’ speed; he still had it.

Richie stared at Tom Evans without flinching and leaned forward into the barrel, repeating the word. “Traitor.”

Magee watched them like a tired parent for a moment then he moved faster than either of them had ever seen. He knocked Evans’ gun vertically with his left hand and shoved the men to the floor one by one with his right. He stood above them wearing a look of disgust, his voice cold.

“Grow up both of you, for God’s sake! This is the biggest threat to national security for years and you’re having a pissing contest.”

Magee sat down abruptly and glared as they clambered back to their seats. Then he turned to Richie.

“Apologise, Richie, and don’t even think about arguing with me.”

Richie shot Evans a look of hatred and muttered a grudging apology under his breath.

Magee turned to look at Tom Evans. He was retrieving his gun from the floor. “And you.”

Evans shook his head hard. “Fuck you, Magee. He’s responsible. And you, for arranging this blind date.”

Magee’s voice tightened. “Apologise, Tom, if you ever want to see your pardon.”

The men locked eyes for a moment then Evans shrugged, saying the right words and meaning none of them. It would have to do. Magee turned back to the matter in hand.

“Now. Can we get back to work? The sooner Neil Scrabo thinks that Mitchell’s progressed his research enough, the sooner he can steal it and arrange the drop with the North Koreans. That’s where Tom comes in. He’s going to set Scrabo and the Koreans up for us to grab.”

Richie’s jaw dropped. North Koreans; when in hell did they get involved? He decided not to ask just yet. He had his own secrets and he wasn’t keen to discuss them in front of Evans.

Magee squinted at Richie, knowing that he was hiding something but letting it pass for now.

“Tom was never a traitor, Richie, he was foolish. He got burnt and shot his mouth off to the press. Remember that he’s giving us Scrabo and the Koreans. We need his help to pull this off, so you’re to give him all the support that he needs. Understand?”

They watched astonished as Richie shook his head. “No.”