It was Su-ming who broke away first. ‘I have to call Mr Vander Mayer,’ she said.
‘Sure. He’ll be glad to hear that he’s in the clear.’
Su-ming picked up the phone and looked at Cramer. The message in her eyes was obvious. She wanted to make the call in private.
Cramer shrugged and walked disconsolately back to the sitting room. He stared out of the window, deep in thought. A few minutes later she reappeared carrying a mobile telephone. ‘He wants to speak with you,’ she said, holding it out.
There was static on the line and a short satellite delay. ‘Mike? Congratulations. First class.’
‘Thanks,’ said Cramer. He didn’t think that two men in hospital and a dead SAS trooper was something to be congratulated on. And he was still embarrassed about his own performance, or lack of it.
‘Mike, listen. Remember the conversation we had before? About the Russian consignment?’
‘Yes. I remember.’
‘Well I want you to stay with it until I get there.’
‘It’s in your safe,’ said Cramer. ‘It’s not going anywhere.’
‘I’d feel a lot happier if you’d keep an eye on it,’ said Vander Mayer. ‘The fee we spoke of, it’s still available. A quarter of a million dollars.’
Cramer looked at Su-ming. She was pacing up and down in front of the window. ‘Where are you now?’ he asked.
‘I can be there in eight hours. Nine, max.’
Cramer nodded slowly. ‘Okay. I’ll be here.’
‘Great, Mike. Great. Now put Su-ming back on will you?’
Cramer handed the phone back to Su-ming. She pressed it to her ear and walked back along the corridor to the study, her shoes making no sound on the polished wooden floor. As she left the sitting room she whispered into the receiver but Cramer couldn’t hear what she was saying.
The Colonel picked up the phone and tapped out Dan Greenberg’s private number. The FBI agent answered on the second ring. The Colonel gave him a quick rundown on the situation but Greenberg interrupted him before he could finish. ‘Hot damn, good job,’ said Greenberg. The Colonel heard him shout over to his co-workers that the Brits had got their man. ‘You guys deserve a medal,’ said Greenberg. ‘And you saved us the cost of a trial, huh?’
‘That wasn’t intentional, Dan,’ said the Colonel archly. ‘He was about to kill our man.’
‘Same MO as the previous killings?’
‘He was close in and going for a head-shot,’ said the Colonel. ‘He wasn’t working alone, though. He had a woman with him. She’s dead, too.’
‘It won’t be the first time he’s had help,’ said Greenberg. ‘Any idea who she is?’
‘No, and it’s unlikely we’ll ever know. Her car went up in flames. We’ll run a check on her dental work, but we don’t even know where she’s from. We’ll have more luck with the killer. His face was shot up but we’re running his prints through our records now. I’m sending copies to you.’
‘If he’s on file, we’ll match them,’ said Greenberg. ‘And thanks, Colonel, I owe you one.’
The Colonel replaced the receiver. ‘Yes, Dan,’ he said to himself. ‘You certainly do.’
The doorbell rang. Su-ming was still in Vander Mayer’s study so Cramer lifted himself off the sofa, grunting with pain as his stomach muscles tightened. He opened the door to find the doctor whom he’d last seen at the school in Wales. Dr Greene looked at Cramer over the top of his gold-framed bifocal spectacles. ‘Sergeant Cramer, you can’t believe how pleased I am to see you in one piece,’ he said.
Cramer stepped aside to let the doctor in. He was wearing the same brown cardigan with leather elbow patches that he’d had on in Wales. Cramer wondered if it was some sort of uniform the man wore to put his patients at ease.
The doctor put his black leather medical bag down on one of the marble coffee tables then turned to face Cramer. ‘How have you been?’ Dr Greene asked.
Cramer was going to say something sarcastic, but he restrained himself. He knew that the doctor was sincere and only trying to help. ‘Worse,’ said Cramer. ‘Much worse.’
The doctor nodded sympathetically. ‘What about your motions?’
Cramer smiled grimly. ‘Motions?’ he repeated.
‘You know what I mean,’ Dr Greene said. ‘How are you in the toilet department?’
‘It’s painful,’ said Cramer. ‘And bloody.’
‘Constant pain?’
‘Constant dull pain, like a toothache. Then bolts of pain that come and go.’
‘Getting worse?’
Cramer paused. He hated showing weakness but he realised there was no point in papering over the cracks. He was sick, and he needed help. He nodded. ‘Much worse.’
The doctor bent over his bag. He clicked it open and took out a bottle of capsules. He held them out to Cramer. ‘Take as many of these as you need to kill the pain,’ he said. ‘But no more than eight in one day. They’re stronger than the others I gave you.’
Cramer took the bottle. There was no label. He wondered whether the doctor’s instructions were a subtle way of telling him how many he’d need to take if he decided to end it all. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
Dr Greene looked at him gravely. ‘They’ll only do the job temporarily,’ he said. ‘A week, maybe a little longer. Then I’ll have to give you something stronger, something in liquid form. I’ll come and see you next week and we’ll see how you’re getting on.’
Cramer put the tablets in his jacket pocket. He wanted to swallow a couple there and then, but that would have been too much of an admission of what a bad state he was in. He forced a smile. ‘Hopefully it won’t be necessary,’ he said.
The doctor looked at Cramer. He nodded as if he understood. ‘I wish there was something else I could do,’ he said.
‘You and me both, Doc, but I’m not complaining.’
Dr Greene clicked his bag shut and picked it up. ‘I’m told that the girl might need my attention. What’s her name, Sue something or other?’
‘Su-ming,’ said Cramer. ‘I think she’s okay now.’
The doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I should be the judge of that,’ he said.
Cramer nodded wearily. ‘She’s in the study. Down the corridor, on the right.’ He waited until the doctor had left the sitting room before taking the bottle out of his pocket. He swallowed two of the capsules dry, almost choking on the second one. He sat down on the sofa facing the balcony and poured the capsules out of the bottle and into the palm of his hand. There were thirty-six. More than enough, said a small voice in the back of his mind. He tipped the capsules into the bottle and screwed the cap back on.
Dr Greene came back into the room. ‘She seems to have calmed down,’ he told Cramer.
‘Have you prescribed her anything?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘The best thing for her is a cup of hot, sweet tea. And someone to talk to.’
‘I’ll take care of her,’ said Cramer. He stood up and showed the doctor to the door.
On the threshold the doctor turned to face him. He put a hand on Cramer’s shoulder. ‘I hope I see you again,’ he said.
Cramer looked at him levelly. ‘Don’t count on it, Doc,’ he said quietly.
The doctor held Cramer’s look for several seconds. It seemed to Cramer that he was struggling to find the right words to say but before he could speak Cramer shut the door. He went back to the sofa and sat down. The bottle of tablets was on the coffee table and he picked it up and shook it. Eight, the doctor had said. Cramer figured sixteen would be better, to make absolutely sure. He began to unscrew the cap from the bottle, but suddenly stopped. He felt ashamed of what he was doing. There was no honour in swallowing tablets, it was a coward’s way out. Embezzling accountants or wronged wives took tablets. Soldiers didn’t. Soldiers fought like men and died like men.
He took the Walther PPK out of his shoulder holster, ejected the clip and checked that it was fully loaded — an unnecessary precaution because he hadn’t used it since he’d left Wales. He smiled to himself as he remembered a joke he’d heard while on a surveillance mission in the Falklands, lying in a trench overlooking Goose Green for three days, drinking rainwater and shitting into a plastic bag. The joke involved the Argentinians playing Russian roulette with an automatic, and at the time Cramer had thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Now, with a loaded automatic in his hand, it didn’t seem so amusing. He slotted the clip back into the weapon and flicked off the safety. His throat was dry, but it was going to be easier to swallow the barrel of the gun than it would have been to swallow the capsules.