Chapter Sixty-Two

New York City

Two days later, the sun was blazing over Manhattan as a gleaming Lincoln Town Car pulled up. Four men got out and walked briskly westwards down Fulton Street. Their manner was purposeful but discreet, so that none of the passersby and business types on lunch break who thronged the busy sidewalk would have guessed that a team of ex-SAS, SBS and Marine Corps veterans were heading armed into the heart of the financial district to execute a carefully-planned mission.

‘This is it,’ Jack Quigley said as they reached the glass tower with ‘Mandrake Holdings Inc’ in polished steel letters above the entrance.

‘Let’s go,’ Ben said.

They pushed through the doors and strode four abreast across the lobby towards the reception desk. The pretty receptionist looked up as they approached. She’d redone her nails a different shade. Her well-practised smile dropped as she recognised Quigley.

‘Hello, sweet face,’ Quigley said, leaning on the desk and flashing his new CIA ID card. ‘Remember me?’ He pointed at the phone next to her. ‘Better tell your boss I’m back, and I’d like to talk to him.’

The receptionist hesitantly picked up the phone, shooting nervous looks at the four as she stabbed the keypad with a glossy nail.

Quigley pointed across the lobby, past the modernist sculpture pieces and plastic foliage to the door his two escorts had taken him through last time. ‘It’s that way.’

‘Wait,’ the receptionist began as they headed towards it. ‘You can’t—’

But they were already through it. Quigley remembered the way perfectly, and led them along the twisting soft-carpeted corridors, Ben second, Boonzie and Jeff bringing up the rear.

‘Any time now,’ Quigley murmured. They were fully expecting to be intercepted, and it happened right on cue before they reached the scanner and coded security doors. A lift whooshed open and three men in dark suits marched out. ‘Excuse me?’ the burly one in the middle said in a strong voice, raising his hand. ‘Hey. You. Hold it right there.’

‘That’s him,’ Quigley said to Ben. ‘The guy who locked me in the room.’

The man’s eyes narrowed as he saw it really was Quigley. He nodded to his companions and they spread out to block the corridor, ready for trouble. The one in the middle was reaching for the butt of his concealed sidearm when Ben pinned him roughly against the wall, drew a black Steyr automatic from under his jacket and thrust it hard under the jowls of his chin.

‘Trust me, you don’t want to do that,’ he said quietly.

Boonzie and Jeff had whipped out their pistols and had them trained on the other two men. ‘Drop them,’ Boonzie snarled through his droopy salt-and-pepper moustache. ‘Nice an’ easy does it.’

Pale as ghosts, the men delicately drew their sidearms between trembling fingertips and tossed them on the ground.

Quigley scooped the guns up and then turned to the burly guy. ‘Let’s finish that conversation,’ he said in a genial tone. ‘Somewhere nice and private where we won’t be disturbed. Unless you want to call the cops and discuss this in the District Attorney’s office instead. No?’

The man’s eyes bulged. He was too choked to speak with Ben’s gun muzzle pressing against his windpipe, but he managed a quick shake of the head.

‘I didn’t think so,’ Jeff said. Boonzie surveyed the man with a look of disgust and spat on the carpet.

Disarmed and helpless, the three men were frogmarched into an empty office. The air conditioning was whirring softly. At one end of the room was a bank of computers and a row of tall filing cabinets and a bare whiteboard. At the other was a stack of chairs.

‘This’ll do nicely,’ Ben said, covering all three with the Steyr. Quigley locked the door behind them and then walked over to the window and slanted the blinds to give them more privacy. Jeff grabbed three chairs from the stack and clattered them down in a row in the middle of the room. Boonzie unzipped the shoulder bag he was carrying and took out a length of rope and a Ka-Bar fighting knife. Unsheathing the menacing black blade, he grinned at the looks on the men’s faces.

‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ Ben said. When the burly guy hesitated, he grabbed him by his tie and sent him sprawling into the middle of the three chairs. The other two obeyed instantly. Boonzie stepped around behind the chairs, used his knife to slice three lengths from his rope and made short work of trussing the men securely to their seats.

Quigley stood with his arms folded and addressed the one in the middle. ‘Now, before we got interrupted last time, you were just about to tell me all about Triton.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the guy growled. ‘And you people just fucked yourselves by coming in here like this. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.’

‘I think these fellas are a wee bit uptight,’ Boonzie said.

‘Looks like it to me,’ Ben said. ‘How about a drink to loosen things up?’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a quart vodka bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he stepped up to the three men as if to offer it to them.

‘You’re fucking nuts,’ said the burly guy, but his tone changed to a squeal of fear as Ben upended the bottle and poured a third of its contents over his head. He did the same for the other two, then tossed the empty bottle away. The men blinked and gasped and shook their heads furiously. The sharp tang of gasoline filled the office.

‘I’m not one for barbaric tactics,’ Quigley said. ‘But my friend here,’ — pointing at Ben — ‘he’s another matter. Once he gets started I really don’t think I’ll be able to call him off. And he always keeps his promises. I’d urge you to bear that in mind.’

‘Still don’t know what we’re talking about?’ Jeff said.

From his other pocket Ben drew out a fresh pack of Gauloises. It wasn’t an easy brand to find in Jakarta, London or New York City. Without a word he peeled off the plastic wrapper, flicked it away, opened the pack, took one out, slipped it between his lips and then clanged open his shiny brand-new Zippo to light it with. The cigarette’s tip glowed brightly as he sucked in smoke.

He wasn’t here to waste time on words. He blew out the smoke and said to the men, ‘I’m going to count to five. Then I’m going to burn you.’

Instant panic. The men kicked and struggled in their chairs, rocking from side to side.

‘One,’ Ben said.

‘Here’s where we’re at,’ Quigley told the three gibbering, gasoline-soaked men. ‘We’re not idiots, so we figure Triton is the name of one of Mandrake Holdings’ shipping fleet. Except it doesn’t appear on any register. That’s where you guys come in.’

‘Two,’ Ben said.

‘You’re going to assist our inquiry by telling us all about that ship,’ Quigley said. ‘Registration number, tonnage, personnel, cargo, every last detail. You’re going to show us all your secret computer records, files, the works. You’re also going to oblige us by saying whether there’s a certain gentleman by the name of Victor Craine on board. You might know him better as the Director.’

‘Three,’ Ben said.

‘Additionally, you’re going to tell us the Triton’s destination and its exact current position and radio frequency,’ Quigley said. ‘Then we want to know the precise nature of the relationship between this company and the Nemesis Program. Names. Details. Dates and numbers. If that’s too much to ask, then too bad for you. Out of my hands.’

The three men couldn’t take their terrified eyes off Ben. The air-conditioned office was pleasantly cool but the sweat was pouring off their faces.

‘Four,’ Ben said. He sucked on the cigarette, making it burn hard. Took it from his lips.

‘Barbeque time,’ Boonzie said with a sadistic grin.

All three of the men broke more or less at the same instant, as Ben stepped up to them with the cigarette and was just about to toss it. ‘All right! All right!’ the one in the middle bawled. ‘Don’t burn us! I can tell you what you want to know! Just for the love of God, don’t burn us! Please!’

‘Sounds like cooperation,’ Jeff said. ‘That’s what we like, isn’t it?’

‘We like it a lot,’ Ben said. He put the cigarette back in his mouth and stepped back.

‘Pity,’ Boonzie said. ‘I was hopin’ they wouldnae talk.’

Quigley took a small digital recorder from his pocket and switched it on. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘The floor is yours. Let’s have it.’

Twenty-six minutes later, the four left the Mandrake Holdings building and headed eastwards back down Fulton Street to where the black Lincoln Town Car was parked. Ben bleeped the locks and took the wheel, Quigley up front next to him, Boonzie and Jeff in the back. Ben gunned the engine and took off with a squeal into the traffic.

‘Just one question. Would you really have burned those guys?’ Quigley asked Ben.

Ben didn’t take his eyes off the road. ‘What do you think?’

They drove several blocks and stopped outside a bar. The four of them got out and walked calmly inside. Music was playing in the background. Quigley and Jeff ordered beer. Boonzie had a taste for wine these days. Ben got a whisky, double malt, no ice. They took a table in the corner and drank in silence.

‘So now we know what’s involved,’ Ben said after a few minutes. ‘Anyone who wants to walk away now, say so. No hard feelings.’

‘Hell with that,’ Quigley said. ‘You know where I stand.’

‘Same here,’ Jeff muttered. ‘All the way.’

Boonzie didn’t need to say a word, as the look of quiet ferocity on his craggy face said it for him.

Ben nodded. He drained the last of his whisky and clapped the empty glass on the tabletop.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and sink a ship.’

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