For once Archie sounded genuinely concerned.
‘No, but I’m not doing the States again. I’ve told you, it’s too risky doing jobs back there. I know I’m the last person they expect to see but one day they might get lucky.’
‘How did it go?’
‘Pretty much like we planned. Except they were having some construction work done and I was worried about extra security until it was finished. So I staked it out for about three weeks in the end before I went in – you know, just to be sure. I dealt with the pressure pads and the combination hadn’t been reset, so it was all pretty simple.’
‘Nice one. Usual place, then?’
‘My stuff already there?’
‘What do you think?’ Archie almost sounded offended.
‘Fine. I’ll drop it off in a few days.’
‘You’re going to have to get your skates on for the second one, though. You’ve not left yourself much time.’
There was a pause and the line crackled with static as Tom sat down on the tea chest, massaging his temple with his left hand. As he’d thought, Archie wasn’t going to make this any easier for him. But he’d made his decision and he was going to stick to it.
‘I wanted to talk to you about that.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Archie’s tone was immediately suspicious.
‘Thing is, I’m not going to do the other job.’
‘You what?’
‘You heard me. I’m calling it off.’
‘You having me on?’
‘The truth is Archie, I’m done with this shit. I just don’t want to do it any more. I can’t do it any more. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ The word was hammered back into Tom’s ear. ‘Sorry? What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You do me over and then you apologise? You must be having a laugh. Well, I’m sorry too, sunshine, but sorry just doesn’t bloody cut it. You’re sorry and I’m buggered because I’ve got to deliver two Fabergé Eggs to Cassius in twelve days time or I’m a dead man. Capeesh?’
‘Cassius?’ Tom’s lips formed around the word. He stood up again, his feet sinking into the trash-strewn floor like it was quicksand, his voice a whisper. ‘That was never the deal. You said it was for some guy called Viktor. A Russian client. You never mentioned Cassius. You know I don’t work for people like that. For him especially. What the hell are you playing at?’
‘Listen, when I took the job I didn’t know it was for him either.’ Archie’s voice was calm, soothing even. But to Tom it sounded as if he’d practised this speech many times, knowing how he would react. ‘And by the time I found out, it was too bloody late. We were already on the hook. You know as well as I do that you don’t muck Cassius about. Not now, not ever.’
‘Especially if the money’s good, right?’ said Tom bitterly. ‘Has a way of making you forgetful, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh, do me a favour!’
‘What’s your take, Archie? Did he promise you a few extra points for keeping quiet?’
‘The money don’t come into it. It’s a sweet deal for both of us and you know it. Straight in, straight out with a buyer lined up. You never even needed to know it was for Cassius.’ Tom stood with one hand against the wall, his head bowed, the phone pressed to the side of his head. ‘Felix, I know it’s bang out of order but maybe we should meet.’ Archie’s voice was gentle, almost pleading. ‘You know, go for a pint or something. We can plan the second job, deliver both Eggs to Cassius and then move on. If you want to call it a day after that, fine, but we got to do this one thing and we got to do it right.’
What surprised Tom most was how quickly his answer came. He would have expected perhaps some silent deliberation, some internal dialogue as he considered Archie’s position and the implications of Cassius’s involvement on them both, weighed up the pros and cons of doing nothing or agreeing to follow through on this last job. But his answer was instinctive and immediate and had required no debate.
‘I’m sorry, Archie,’ Tom stood up straight, his voice hard. ‘You should have told me the truth. This is your problem now, not mine. You can have the Egg I’ve got as agreed but then that’s it. I’m out.’ He snapped the phone shut and breathed out. There, it was done.
He looked up and flinched. When he had thrown it earlier, the ski mask had snagged on a nail. Now, as it hung there, the empty eye sockets seemed to be mocking him.
Louisville, Kentucky18th July – 2:23pm
It was the sound of the engine that finally woke him. It had broken into his dreams and gotten louder and louder until the noise had shaken him awake. The strange thing was that he had this dizzy, floating sensation as if he was still asleep. Then he remembered. The knock on the back of the head, the sudden flash of pain. Then nothing.
Blinking through the smoke, his head throbbing and awkwardly slumped forward onto his chest, his streaming eyes could just make out a steering wheel, a window, a red tube jutting into the car. The truth slowly dawned on him and his eyes opened wide with fear. Not like this, surely not like this. This wasn’t how it was meant to end.
He realized then that he was coughing, struggling to catch his breath, gasping for air as the blood raced around his head, the dull pumping of his heart echoing in his ears, the tie and collar of his uniform tight around his neck. He felt sick and random thoughts began to tumble through his head as he strained to remain conscious, fireworks of memory that exploded brightly and then immediately dimmed only for another to go off.
His Auntie May, drunk at Thanksgiving when he was eight. Kissing Betty Blake at the Prom. Falling off his bike at college and cutting his chin open. His retirement party when Police Captain O’Reilly had clapped him on the back and whispered that if he ever wanted his old job back, then it was his. The time he’d picked the phone up to do just that, but then slapped it back down in the certain knowledge that Debbie would say no. Debbie and the kids waving to him from the porch, smiling and happy and oblivious.
Debbie. At the thought of her he had started to cry, tried to wrap his guilt in grief, but found that the tears wouldn’t come now, that his arid body had begun to ignore him and his throat merely constricted further with the effort.
Sweet Lord Jesus, he prayed through the drumming in his head, let me live long enough to tell her what really happened; why I really did this; why they killed me.
Even though he couldn’t feel his legs, somehow he managed to summon the strength to beat his hand weakly against the glass, scrabble at the door handle. The handle moved, but the door wouldn’t open. The seat belt was hugging him, pressing into his stomach, crushing his chest, stopping him from breathing.
He tried to scream, but his red lips barely parted. And then, despite everything, despite the heat and the smoke and the fear, he smiled at the beautiful simplicity of it all. Gently, the sound of the engine lulled him back to sleep.
FBI Laboratory, FBI Academy, Quantico, Virginia
18th July – 11:10pm
‘You still here?’
Dr Sarah Lucas paused in the doorway to the laboratory as she pulled her jacket on, lifting her blonde hair out from under the collar. The room was dark apart from the pool