The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (53 page)

       
‘Are you trying to find yourself, Mike Cramer?’

       
Cramer smiled. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He knew exactly where he was and where he was heading. He turned away from the map. ‘Do you go to New York a lot?’ he asked.

       
‘Fairly often. In the last year we’ve been out in the Far East most of the time. That’s where the fastest growing markets are.’

       
‘What about the red mercury? Do you think your boss plans to sell that out there?’

       
Su-ming put the paper she was holding onto the stack. ‘It’s a possibility,’ she said. ‘Why?’

       
‘It’s for making bombs, you said?’

       
She put her hands together, like a child about to say its prayers. ‘That’s one of its uses, yes. It can be used for lots of other things, too.’

       
‘What you didn’t tell me was that it’s used in nuclear bombs.’

       
If Su-ming was surprised at Cramer’s newly acquired knowledge, she didn’t show it. ‘Red mercury isn’t a bomb. It’s a chemical. And it’s a chemical with many uses.’

       
‘Is it used in nuclear weapons, yes or no?’

       
‘The honest answer is that we don’t know. Nobody knows. Nobody has yet detonated a nuclear weapon containing red mercury.’

       
‘Yet?’

       
‘I mean ever. It’s never happened, maybe it never will.’

       
‘And what about those documents? What do they say?’

       
She waved her hand over the papers. ‘According to the section I’ve just been reading, it can be used to start up civilian nuclear reactors, nothing more sinister than that. And there’s a section describing a coating based on the substance which appears to make whatever you paint with it become virtually invisible to radar.’

       
Cramer went over to her. The coffee table was carved from a solid block of black and grey marble, more than capable of bearing his weight, so he sat down on it, facing her. He linked his fingers together and leaned towards her. ‘So Mr Vander Mayer just wants to kick-start nuclear reactors and help keep the friendly skies safe, is that it?’

       
‘Mr Vander Mayer is a businessman. He does what business he can.’

       
‘Tell me about the other uses for this stuff.’

       
Su-ming pulled a face as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. ‘I told you about the fuses. It can be used to detonate bombs. All sorts of bombs, not just nuclear. I don’t quite understand how, but it also makes nuclear bombs more effective.’ She patted the pile of papers beside her. ‘The chemistry is way beyond me, but it’s some sort of catalyst.’

       
‘And your boss will sell it to the highest bidder?’

       
‘Of course.’

       
‘Even if it’s to terrorists?’

       
‘Terrorists? No. Mr  Vander Mayer wouldn’t deal with terrorists.’

       
‘Are you sure?’

       
She frowned as if she was considering his question, then nodded. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

       
Cramer shook his head in amazement. He could scarcely comprehend what sort of life Vander Mayer must live, travelling the world selling instruments of death to anyone with the money to pay for them. ‘The sample that Tarlanov gave us. How is it made?’ he asked.

       
‘Why do you want to know?’

       
Cramer shrugged. ‘Just curious, I guess.’

       
Su-ming studied him for a while, then picked up the papers and riffled through them. She put her spectacles back on and looked at Cramer over the top of them. ‘It starts off as mercury antimony oxide.’ She studied the sheet of paper for a few seconds, her mouth working soundlessly. ‘Okay, it’s a ternary oxide with a cubic pyrochlore structure.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’ve no idea what that means.’

       
Cramer returned her smile. ‘Me neither.’

       
‘They take the oxide and dissolve it in mercury and irradiate it for three weeks.’

       
‘So the stuff in the case is radioactive?’

       
‘Slightly. Don’t worry, it’s shielded.’

       
‘Yeah? So was Chernobyl.’

       
‘I’m being serious, Mike Cramer. If the red mercury is going to be used in nuclear weapons, plutonium has to be added and it’s irradiated again. Then it is radioactive, but it can only be stored for thirty days. The sample we have is inert.’

       
‘So what is it that your boss is hoping to buy? The inert stuff or the radioactive stuff?’

       
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. Cramer narrowed his eyes. ‘Really,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t know.’

       
Cramer nodded at the stack of papers. ‘What else does it say there?’

       
‘Most of it’s very technical.’ She scanned the sheet of paper. ‘It explains how the red mercury works – it’s something to do with the way it changes the mass value of isotopes which makes the nuclear material more effective. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

       
Cramer shook his head. ‘You lost me at the cubic structure part.’

       
Su-ming smiled. ‘I don’t follow it either. I can translate it, but that doesn’t mean I understand it. Mr  Vander Mayer has experts who will be able to tell him what it means.’ She took off her glasses again. ‘It’s not something you should be worried about. You should be more concerned about the man who’s trying to kill you.’

       
Cramer shrugged. ‘There’s nothing I can do but wait.’

       
Su-ming stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek, close to his lips. It was a fleeting touch, little more than a peck, but it electrified Cramer. He sat with his mouth open as she moved away and put her glasses back on. ‘What was that for?’ he asked.

       
Su-ming didn’t look at him. She began to read again. ‘Just curious,’ she said.

       
Cramer watched her, stunned by the sudden kiss, and the longer he sat there, his fingers still interlinked, the more it seemed that he’d imagined it. Su-ming brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, as she studied the typewritten sheet, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the technical information. Cramer wanted to press her, to get her to tell him why she’d kissed him, but somehow the question seemed inappropriate. He stood up and rubbed the spot where her lips had brushed against his skin. ‘I guess I’ll go to bed,’ he said.

       
‘Good night,’ she said, not looking up.

       
Cramer left her sitting on the sofa. He closed the door behind him and walked slowly to his room. By the time he was lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t even remember what the kiss had felt like.

The Colonel was studying his chess computer, his brow creased in concentration. He had the machine set to its highest level which meant it took almost fifteen minutes between moves, and after two hours of play it had the Colonel in an almost impossible situation. Computers were taking almost all the fun out of chess, thought the Colonel. Now that they could regularly beat human grandmasters, what was the point? He sat back in his chair and pulled a face. It would be mate in four moves, maybe five, unless he was missing something. One of the three telephones on his desk rang, jarring his concentration. He stared at the black and white plastic pieces as he picked up the receiver. It was an overseas call.

       
‘Colonel?’ The accent was American.

       
‘Yes.’

       
‘It’s Dan.’

       
Dan Greenberg, the Colonel’s liaison in the FBI headquarters in Washington. ‘What’s the problem, Dan?’ There was no mistaking the tension in Greenberg’s voice.

       
‘Discenza’s dead.’

       
‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that it was natural causes.’

       
‘It was a hit. Poison.’

       
The Colonel slumped back in his chair. ‘That’s the last thing I want to hear right now, Dan.’

       
‘Tell me about it. Heads are rolling as we speak.’

       
The Colonel closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If Greenberg had been one of his own men, the Colonel would have ripped into him. There was no excuse for losing a man in protective custody. None. And Discenza had been Greenberg’s responsibility: if anyone’s head was going to roll, it should have been his. ‘Do we know who it was?’

       
‘White male, early thirties, about six feet tall, brown eyes. Got in as a waiter. Had the right ID, Discenza had just ordered room service  . . .’

       
‘And the real waiter turned up dead?’ The Colonel opened his eyes again. He looked out of the window at the Conrad Hotel to his right. The Colonel was sitting in a disused apartment which had been requisitioned because of its proximity to the tower block which housed the Vander Mayer apartment. In an adjoining room sat two SAS troopers in leather jackets and jeans, drinking coffee and watching television with the sound turned down. Another trooper was sitting at the stern of a large motor yacht moored in the marina below. The trooper had dressed for the part in a white turtleneck sweater and blue jeans and was drinking from a can.

       
‘In a storeroom. Garrotted.’

       
‘How many of your men saw the killer?’

       
‘Two.’

       
‘And that’s the only description you have?’

       
‘He was wearing a false moustache and a wig,’ said Greenberg defensively. ‘We’re not even sure about the eye colour. One of our guys thought he might be Mexican but that was probably the moustache. Do you think it was our man?’

       
‘How close did he get to Discenza?’

       
‘He stood right next to him. Why?’

       
‘Because if he was that close and it was our killer, he’d have used a gun. A shot to the face, a shot to the heart. Business as usual. Did anyone else get hurt?’

       
‘Nah. He pushed in the trolley, opened a couple of beers, and left. Two minutes later Discenza was dead. We’ll have the poison identified by tomorrow.’

       
‘It doesn’t sound like the man we’re looking for,’ said the Colonel. ‘As far as we know, he’s never used poison.’

       
‘You know what it means if it was,’ said Greenberg.

       
‘Yes, Dan. I know what it means.’ If the assassin had discovered that Discenza had betrayed him, then the operation was blown. ‘Has Discenza got any other enemies?’

       
‘Like a dog’s got fleas. He’s crossed a lot of heavy guys in Miami.’

       
‘The sort of people who’d be prepared to kill a man in protective custody?’

       
‘It’s possible.’

       
‘Possible or probable?’

       
There was a long silence, then Greenberg exhaled. ‘I’m not sure what it is you want me to say,’ he said. ‘We fucked up. I don’t know who knocked off Discenza. It could have been the killer, it could have been someone hired by people in Miami, hell, it could even be someone from out of town. And the way things are going I don’t think we’re going to be any the wiser, not with the description we’ve got. It’s got to be your call. If you want to cancel the operation, we’ll understand.’

       
The Colonel tapped the receiver against his ear. ‘No, we go ahead,’ he said. ‘As things stand, we put Discenza’s death down to bad timing. If our killer doesn’t attempt to carry out the Vander Mayer contract within two weeks, we’ll know then that he’s onto us.’

       
‘Agreed,’ said Greenberg.

       
‘Can you keep a lid on the situation there, at least for two weeks?’

       
‘No problem,’ said Greenberg. ‘We’re doing the autopsy in-house and no one else knows that Discenza’s dead.’

       
‘Good,’ said the Colonel. ‘I don’t want to be accused of trying to teach my grandmother to suck eggs, but you might want to look into how the killer discovered Discenza’s location.’

       
‘It’s been taken care of,’ said Greenberg. ‘If I get anything, you’ll be the first to know. Oh yeah, by the way, I got our guys to cross-check with previous killings, to see if the same method had been used before the current rash of killings. The guys at Quantico had already done it, but I did a check internally, just to be one hundred per cent sure.’

       
‘And?’

       
‘And it’s just like I said, there’s no match. Not recently, anyway. There was one guy about ten years back, he used to kill his victims with a shot to the head and one to the heart, but he’s in a maximum security prison. And he’s a psycho, he used to torture his victims with a wire coat hanger. There’s no way he’s our man. He’s been well-documented by the profiling boys.’

       
‘Any chance of you sending me the file?’

       
‘Sure, I’ll have his details faxed to you, but you’ll be wasting your time. You could ask Jackman, I think he was with the Bureau at the time they were interviewing him. How’s Jackman getting on?’

       
‘He said he was off to South Africa to investigate the assassination there. He gave us a briefing before he went.’

       
‘Was he much help?’