“If anyone even has him,” I said. “He could have come back on his own. After you’d conveniently made sure the place was deserted with all that shed bullshit.”
“No. If he was alone, he’d have just answered his phone. I called him enough times. Or he’d have texted me. Or got a new phone, if the old one was unserviceable.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“Think about it. This is the fourth place out of five. On the list that I wrote. No one else knew about that. The message was for me. It tells me he was back here, and he’s in trouble.”
“Maybe.”
“And think about where he wrote it. That was no accident. It was to show me the people who have him, have the stuff too. They won’t need him anymore. Which means next time your phone rings, it’ll be someone telling you where his body’s been found.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“And then we’re going to be reading about the worst civilian massacre of the twenty-first century, soon after. The worst to date, anyway. Unless we can stop them from taking the stuff out of the country.”
“You think so?”
“You can count on it.”
“Then it’s time to stop talking, and start looking. Just in case you’re right. ’Cause we’re going to need more than a pair of numbers to tell us where to find them.”
We started in the main room, and as I worked my way back toward the corridor I tried to piece together what must have happened in there. Young believed McIntyre had been dragged back to collect the canister of gas. He’d taken quite a risk, leaving a message. I admired him for that. But the more I thought about it, the less it made sense to me.
“Young?” I said. “Tell me something. McIntyre’s message. Why didn’t he say who’d taken him?”
“No idea,” he said.
“Or how many of them? Their disposition? Or location?”
“He probably didn’t have time.”
“See, here’s the thing. If I was risking everything to leave a message, I’d make sure it said something really important. Like where the bad guys were holding me, or how you could find them.”
“It’s a miracle he left anything at all. And it’s churlish to start criticizing now.”
“I think there’s another reason for skipping the critical part. The person he left the message for already knew.”
Young was silent for a moment too long before replying.
“That’s crazy,” he said. “He was leaving the message for me.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Because you already know who these guys are. And you know how to contact them. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“OK, it’s time to turn your cards face up. All of them. I’m not looking to cause you any trouble over this. We can keep everything unofficial. But your friend’s life is on the line here. And, if you’re right, a load of innocent Africans, too.”
Young didn’t answer
“I’m going to find McIntyre,” I said. “That’s the job I’ve been given. One way or another, I’m going to do it. The only question is, will I be bringing back a person? Or a corpse? And here’s the thing. If it turns out a coffin’s needed, it’ll be down to you. And I’ll make sure it says so on his gravestone.”
Fothergill didn’t believe Young’s claims of innocence any more than I did when I called him. He was happy to know I had a phone number for the people who’d snatched McIntyre. But annoyingly, he didn’t see eye to eye about how we should use it.
“It’s easy,” I said. “I’ll get Young to call the buyers. He can set up a meeting. And I’ll go to it with him.”
“On what grounds?” Fothergill said. “Why would they see you?”
“To buy more of this gas.”
“There isn’t any more.”
“I know that. But they don’t.”
“What if they want a sample?”
“You know what the containers look like. You could get a mock-up made for me.”
“What if they rumble you?”
“How? What are they going to do? Open the lid and take a sniff”
“No. But still, it’s too risky.”
“Letting them take the stuff out of the country is what’s risky.”
“OK. Suppose you met these guys. What would you do?”
“Let them lead me to McIntyre. Retrieve the canister. And him too, if he’s still alive at that point.”
“How?”
“No idea. It’s too early to say. But I’ll find a way. I do this for a living, remember.”
“The plan’s too vague. Too complicated. There’s too much to go wrong.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
Fothergill didn’t reply.
“I’m telling Young to make the call,” I said.
“Not yet,” Fothergill said. “Please. Wait. Young’s got quite a past behind him. At least let me run some more background. See how far we can trust him. You can’t build a mission around untested intel. That would be suicide.”
I agreed, and this time I did head back to the hotel. Young was quieter and more preoccupied than before, not saying a word except to tell me what food he wanted brought up. His mood didn’t even improve when Fothergill finally called back, two hours later. The sting was on, but on one condition. We still had no backup, so the meeting with the buyers had to be at a specific bar. The Commissariat, on State and Rush. The owners were friendly, Fothergill said. And very discreet. No one would pay attention to what we were doing there. No one would remember seeing us. No questions would be asked if violence happened to break out. And whether it did or not, a CCTV recording of the whole proceedings could be on Fothergill’s desk inside the hour.
Young’s contact said he’d be able to find the Commissariat. He was suspicious to start with, but as soon as Young’s hints about the availability of additional merchandise had sunk in, he quickly softened up. We agreed to meet at a quarter after four. That only gave us two hours, but the guy was determined. He wouldn’t budge. The situation was far from ideal, but we were low on options. It would just have to do.
Fothergill picked us up from the hotel at two forty-five, as agreed. He was using the undercover taxi I’d borrowed from the police yesterday. It was a good choice, blending in perfectly with the traffic as he weaved his way through the city. Fothergill drove with one eye on Young, and the other on the rearview mirror. The route he took was crazy, dodging down an endless variety of alleyways and backstreets, avoiding the worst of the delays and making it hard for any potential tails to latch onto us. It was so effective we hardly stopped until we were within two blocks of the rendezvous. Then Fothergill rolled the car over to the curb. But instead of just letting us out he switched of the engine, pulled his Beretta out of his shoulder holster and began to rapidly check it over.
“Richard?” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry,” he said. “Old superstition. Always have to check my weapon one last time. Can’t move, otherwise.”
“But why? Move where? You’re not coming in with us.”
“I have to. Who are these guys you’re meeting? They’re a completely unknown quantity. And they’re not the only threat,” he said, nodding discreetly at Young. “You need someone in there with you. Someone to watch your back.”
“You can watch our backs,” I said, handing him both guns, my wallet, and the hotel room key. “But you can’t come in. We can’t take weapons with us. And I don’t want to carry ID. They’re bound to search us. So if things go south, we’ll need to bail in a hurry. We need you outside, engine running, ready to get us out of Dodge.”
Young and I walked past the bar three times before we went inside. Once to identify the alternative exits, and twice to scope out the security. The main entrance was set at an angle at the corner of the two streets. A bloated guy in a dinner suit was standing by the door the first time we strolled by, but he’d moved to perch on a flimsy-looking bar stool in an alcove to the right by the time we returned. Two smaller, lighter guys in similar clothes were loitering just inside the building. One was pressing buttons on his cell phone. And neither of them seemed particularly alert, hardly turning a hair as we pushed past and made our way down a set of carpeted stairs to the main bar area.