‘I don’t believe it’s the money. You’ve probably earned enough already. Are you a completist, David — is that it? You want to finish what you started. I respect that. I’m the same. I like to finish what I start. I don’t let anything get in the way of what I want.’
I could see where this was going: the same place it had gone before. This quest of yours, is it about the kid — or is it about your wife? They’d hit on something, and now they were going back to it again. Derryn mattered to me. She was the chink in my armour.
‘Did you think there was any hope for your wife, even at the end?’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘There’s always hope, right? If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Are you deaf?’
‘Death’s not something you can fight. It’s not a tangible thing. It’s an undefeatable enemy, an unfair battle, an adversary you can’t see coming.’ The corners of his mouth turned down: a sad expression, but only skin deep. ‘I know how you feel. I know about the fear of death, David — and the fear of what comes after. I know that you were scared for her.’
I looked at him.
‘Weren’t you scared for her, David? A man of no religion, of no beliefs, weren’t you scared about what came next for the person you loved?’
He could see he had got to me.
‘Wouldn’t you like to find out?’
He took a step closer.
‘That’s why you’re still interested in this, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.’
Another step.
‘You want to find out where she went. Why she had to go.’
Another step, bigger this time.
‘As hard as it is to hear, only God knows when and why our time comes to an end, David. And when He sees some of the people we have in our world, some of these young people getting out of their depth, walking a tightrope between life and death, deciding for themselves how close they want to brush with the afterlife, He is disappointed. I’m sure of that. Because you and I, we don’t decide when our time is up. That’s not our job.’
He paused, and started to reach out for me.
‘That’s the job of God. And the job of the people he choos—’
I slapped the envelope away, out of his hands. As he watched it go, the IDs spilling across the floor, I reached around to the back of my trousers and brought out the gun. He rocked on his feet, staggering a little, holding up both hands.
‘David, wait a min—’
I grabbed his shirt, pushed him around the front desk, and down on to the floor behind. We were shielded from the street. Hidden from passers-by.
‘I like what you’re saying,’ I said, shoving the gun under his chin. ‘And I want to believe you. I want to believe my wife is somewhere better than here. But all I see when I look at you is a fucking snake. You say one thing while you think another. And whatever good you think you’re doing, the truth is you’re wrapped up in this as much as the rest of them. You’re the same as them. And nothing you’ve said to me tonight can wipe that away.’
I cocked the gun. Pressed it in harder.
‘So, now you’re coming with me.’
32
There were a series of empty warehouses about seven miles east where I used to meet sources during my paper days. I parked outside one, marched around the front of the car and pulled Michael out of the passenger seat and in through a broken, rusting door.
Inside there was no lighting. It had all been smashed, the glass from the bulbs and strip lights lying on the floor. I tied Michael’s hands behind his back with some duct tape I’d brought with me, and then kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud, crying out in pain. I rolled him over until he was positioned in a block of moonlight shining in from a window high up on the wall.
Then I put the gun to his head.
He looked at me. There was something in his face. He looked like a man standing on the edge. A man terrified of going over. But not of me, and not of the gun.
‘What are you scared of?’ I said.
‘I’m not scared of anything, David.’
‘What are you scared of?’
He blinked.
‘Are you scared of dying?’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not scared of dying.’
‘So, what are you scared of?’
He blinked again. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘I want to know what you’re scared of. I want to know why everyone’s too frightened to tell me where you’ve put Alex. So… what are you scared of?’
His mouth flattened. A kind of half-smile.
‘You want to know what I’m scared of? I’m scared of my time running out before I’ve done all I need to do. I want to help people. But we’ve done things, and I’ve had knowledge of things, that I fear I might not be forgiven for. And the project… I still believe in its aims, because I still believe it’s a mission from God. A gift. But we’ve done things we shouldn’t have done. And we have people who have drifted from the course we set. So, the thought of my time ending now is what scares me. Because when I die I want to deserve to be where I am. And if you kill me now, I won’t deserve anything.’
‘You’re full of shit, you know that?’
He didn’t reply. Just looked at me.
‘You know that?’
‘I don’t care whether you believe me or not,’ he said, looking up at me. ‘It’s the truth. But it’s probably too late for me already — and it’s certainly too late for you.’
‘It’s not too late.’
‘It’s too late, David. You’ve messed everything up. If you’d walked away when we’d asked you to, the storm would have passed by now. I could get back to the reason I signed up in the first place, and you could be looking at a life that extended further than a couple of days. Instead, you’ve turned this into a war. A war you can’t win. And I can’t do anything for the people we’re helping until the war is over, and you’ve been stopped. And if I can’t do anything for them, I can’t do anything for myself.’
I pushed the gun in harder against his face.
‘Listen to me: you want your shot at redemption, is that it?’
He just stared at me, silent.
‘You tell me what I need to know and maybe I’ll do it for you. Maybe I’ll turn this thing around and this whole… whatever the fuck it is you’re protecting, maybe it’ll start again. Better than it was before. But I can’t do that until one of you gives me what I need. I see the same look in you as I saw in Jade: you’re scared about what will happen when you open the door, but you won’t do anything about it. Well, this time I’m going to do something about it.’
I forced the gun in hard a second time.
‘And you’re going to tell me who’s waiting.’
33
It was almost eleven by the time we got to Michael’s apartment. It was on the corner of a new development that overlooked the Thames in Greenwich. We stopped at the entrance, a tall, narrow foyer with a glass-domed roof, which was connected to the main building by a corridor on the other side.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he said.
‘What do you think?’
He dug around in his pockets and took out his keys. I looked both ways, just to make sure we were alone. The apartment building was eight storeys high, and stretched for about fifty metres in both directions. Thin, conical lights ran the length of a path that snaked in from the main road. Tiny rock gardens had been constructed either side of the foyer doors, wren green spelt out in red flowers. The building looked less than a year old.