That Henry C.
Pale, horrified, desperate, beseeching…
Incredulous.
Yeah, degrees of culpability, Rundle thinks to himself, don’t get me fucking started.
The car door opens and Ribcoff gets back in.
‘OK,’ he says, reaching for his laptop, ‘here’s the new plan.’
‘And how long had you been working with this guy, this, er…?’
‘Ray Kroner?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Few months, I guess. On and off.’
‘And what was he like?’
‘Ray was OK, you know, but he was always wound pretty fucking tight, I’d have to say, and -’
Jimmy looks up from his notebook. ‘Maybe tone the lingo down a bit?’
‘Yeah. OK.’ Szymanski shuffles, repositions. ‘He was always wound pretty tight, but at the same time he was no different from plenty of other guys who get into this business, you know. When they’re over there they want to be back here, and once they finally get back here all they can do is dream about packing up and heading over there again. It’s the old story. But I mean, that was me, too, you get caught up in a cycle of it, and it’s just that, you know, you may as well earn good money while you’re doing it. Unfortunately, some guys never flush it out of their system, or else they never learn to control it.’
‘Right. And on that day?’
‘Well, Ray clearly flipped, but what you have to understand is that… in Iraq, in Afghanistan, there’s at least some semblance of a context, some sense that a war is being fought. But in Congo, it’s just totally insane. It’s not your war you’re fighting, there are no clear sides, and yet you’re in the middle of this epic shitstorm, six, seven, maybe eight million people dead in the last, I don’t know, fifteen years. You don’t have any compass, no flag, just an assault rifle and a fucking logo.’
‘A logo?’
‘Yeah, I mean, whether it’s Gideon Global or BRX or any of the others out there, that’s your point of reference. So it’s kind of hard to feel that any of it means anything. And when you witness some of the things we witnessed, well, I sometimes envy Ray Kroner, you know. What he did made no sense, not at all, it was… messed up. But in a weird way he escaped, he found release. You know what I’m saying?’
‘Yeah.’ Jimmy replies. But does he? Not really. He isn’t supposed to.
That’s what’s going to make this such a compelling story.
‘Good,’ he says, flipping over a page of his notebook, ‘let’s try another question. Can you tell me when you realised that the man you were escorting in your convoy was, in fact, Senator John Rundle?’
Szymanski glances out the window, then back at Jimmy. ‘Sure. It was afterwards. We were standing around waiting for backup, a few of us, and the company CO, guy called Peter Lutz, more or less told me straight out, he said he had to shoot Ray Kroner because did I know who that was in the back of the car, it was Senator John Rundle, for Christ’s sakes, brother of the guy who owns the mine.’
‘And you had previously seen this man that your commanding officer identified as the senator having a meeting with Colonel Arnold Kimbela, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, Tom. That’s good.’ Jimmy looks down through his scribbled list of questions. ‘Right, let’s go over the incident again, especially the part where the senator’s hand got crushed in the door of the car.’
‘Sure.’
‘That part needs to be really clear.’
‘Yeah, I get that, but believe me, Jimmy, it’s clear in my head. It couldn’t be any clearer. I can see him now, screaming, leaning back, crying like a fucking baby.’
‘What’s the delay? Send them in.’
‘They’re not ready yet, Clark. They need a little more time. Jesus. This is an improvised operation. They have to be sure of what they’re doing.’
Rundle exhales loudly, refraining from further comment, and goes back to his laptop.
Fox and CNN, all they’re talking about is John Rundle.
Commentators, panellists, pundits, bloggers.
It’s a bit hysterical and hugely premature, Rundle realises that, but it’s still a great start.
They’ll need to build on this momentum.
He looks up again and across the street.
Assuming they get the chance, of course.
The next few minutes will be crucial.
It seems unreal to him, what’s happening – unreal that everything hinges on the suppression of a conversation two guys are having in some coffee shop on Third Avenue.
He closes his eyes.
Ribcoff’s plan is audacious. It’s based on causing a diversion. Three men definitely not looking like Gideon security contractors – and this seems to be what’s causing the delay – will show up thirty seconds apart. The first man will enter the coffee shop and go straight to the counter and order something. As the second man is entering, the first man will feign a seizure of some sort and draw as much attention to himself as possible. Using a gun with a silencer, the second man will then shoot and kill Tom Szymanski. At this point the third man will arrive and Taser Jimmy Gilroy, who will then receive a rapid, surreptitious and lethal jab in the back of the neck. The two men will remove Gilroy’s notebook and phone and will then carry Szymanski’s body out to a waiting vehicle on the street.
Amid the confusion, the first man will recover and leave.
What could possibly go wrong?
Right?
Well, apart from the first hundred most obvious things, Rundle did have one question.
Why leave Gilroy behind?
Logistics, was Ribcoff’s response, manpower, timing. Szymanski is off the grid, this keeps it that way. Gilroy’s disappearance might drag things out, not to mention dredge things up. By doing it this way it’s open and shut, he’s here, he’s dead – questions remain, but they’re unlikely ever to be answered to anyone’s satisfaction.
The whole thing should only take two minutes, max. Most people in the general area won’t notice a thing and those who do will inevitably have conflicting memories of it.
It’s high risk, no question about it – but really, do they have any alternative?
Rundle opens his eyes. He looks around, out the window, at his watch. ‘Come on.’
‘Few more minutes, Clark, trust me.’ Ribcoff texting with one hand, keying something onto his laptop with the other. ‘We didn’t come here today equipped for this. And the first guy who walks in there has to look like a civilian. Otherwise it won’t work.’ He pauses, nodding his head in the direction of the coffee shop. ‘Besides, look at them over there, yakking like two old ladies.’ He shakes his head. ‘No one’s going anywhere.’
His other phone rings and he picks it up. ‘Yeah?’
Rundle closes his laptop. He takes out his own phone. As Ribcoff is talking, Rundle dials the number for Regal. He faces away, gives his membership code in as low a voice as possible and asks if Nora is available.
She isn’t.
Nora is no longer with the agency.
‘What?’ Too loud. ‘Why not?’ Whisper ‘Where is she?’
They’re not allowed to give out that kind of information. It’s confidential. But they have many other beautiful and sophis-
He hangs up.
Shit.
Ribcoff looks at him, phone held to his chest. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘No.’ Rundle waves a hand at the window. ‘Except for this shit. When do we get moving?’