"But you don't kidnap someone on a bike," Rob said. "He's got to have mates on standby with that van. I'd want at least four to pull off a snatch like this, and a lot more observation time. Is Weaver on a budget or something?"
"Perhaps this guy was just doing recon when he saw Ian morph and decided to go for it. He's got to realise how much that's worth. And he thought he just had to deal with a woman and a kid. Nobody knows how tough Ian is."
"Yeah, but a pro would have slotted Dru right away. It's easier and it makes the other target behave."
"I figured that. Maybe Weaver said no bodies. I'm going with Ian's theory that he thought he could snap Dru's neck and sneak up on Ian. Still risky, though."
"Maybe he's not Weaver's man. We haven't ruled out another company being involved."
"Only KWA knew enough to follow the clues. No, it's got to be Weaver."
Rob kept looking at his watch. "Let's sort out Mrs Gobshite, then, so we can call the cops if we need to. If the biker's still logging that GPS, slap it on my car and I'll tool around to see who shows up."
"Maybe he didn't actually notice Ian morphing. People have missed it plenty of times before."
"I'm not sure if that helps the situation, mate. Whoever this bugger's working for, he's probably already called it in. We could have a dozen more armed bastards out there now."
Mike had to deal with Dru first. She could put Weaver in a difficult enough spot to finish him off, and maybe that would be enough. "Okay, let me talk to her."
Rob opened the living room door. The floor-length vertical blinds were drawn. Dru sat huddled in the china-blue wing chair, clutching a mug with a plate of untouched cookies on the coffee table in front of her. Rob was thorough with detainees. Her bag lay on the sofa at the far end of the room along with her coat. She had to get past him to go to the bathroom, and nobody could see her from the outside. It all looked like tea and sympathy, but she was being held in isolation. Mike pulled up a chair to sit facing her while Rob leaned against the kitchen doorframe.
"I'm Mike Brayne," he said. "But you know that. May I call you Dru?"
"Sure, if I can call a lawyer. Or the police."
Mike understood the Mrs Gobshite tag now. "Do you need one? I think you'd be better off with an employment attorney to sue KW-Halbauer for nearly getting you killed. I found a tracking device on your car."
Dru's touch-me-if-you-dare expression flickered for a split second. She'd obviously grasped how close she'd come to an unceremonious end.
"You think he was working for my boss, then."
"Would there be a business rival involved?"
"I don't think so."
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be. I'm strict about need-to-know, and not even the people I work for needed to know some of this."
"Then your boss used you as a gun dog to flush out the game for someone else," Mike said. "What a stand-up guy."
"Isn't he just."
"Does he know exactly what Ian is?"
"If he does, he certainly didn't tell me." Dru stopped and looked genuinely awkward for a moment, as if she'd detached from her own predicament to stare at something even worse. "If I'd known that boy was an experiment, I wouldn't have gotten involved. I thought this was just industrial espionage."
Maybe she was indicating that she'd negotiate. The fact that it was a classified project was almost nothing compared to the effect it would have on the company, and Weaver would seize the first scapegoat he could find: Dru. Mike could see that dawning on her.
You've finally realised you can't go back to the office again, haven't you?
"We've tracked you, Dru. From the time you called Rob on an illegally obtained number to the time you checked in at the Byway." Mike tried not to sound hostile. Dru kept glancing at Rob as if she was expecting him to step forward and give her a slap like they were running a good-cop-bad-cop routine. "Has Rob summed this up for you? We're completely legal. You and your company aren't. If you want to make a fight of this, fine. My family has the resources to make Shaun Weaver regret the day he started it. But I'd rather resolve this in a way that lets Ian have a normal life without the media turning it into a circus. Do we understand each other?"
Dru looked resigned. "He's quite a kid. And I don't just mean his skills."
"Exactly. He's a boy. Not a commodity. I don't care how many people could be saved by whatever treatments that kind of biotech might make possible – it won't save him. So I need your complete cooperation. Think of Clare. What would you want for her? You don't owe Weaver a damn thing, but you do owe her."
Dru's expression hardened. Maybe Rob hadn't mentioned just how much information they had.
"I bet you're going to offer to help," she said. "And I bet you have a price."
Dad had taught Mike that there were always deals to be done, and the best ones locked people in by giving them what they needed most and couldn't afford to lose. The more mutually beneficial, the more binding the agreement would be. Livvie always told him he was too soft for his own good. This wasn't soft. It was prudent and a lot less trouble than violence. Mike wasn't his great-grandfather.
"You help me kill the rumour for good," Mike said. "You say what I tell you to say, and then you forget you ever saw Ian. All your money worries are solved just by doing the moral thing. If you don't do it, you fall with Weaver."
"Do you even know what money worries are? I'm a single mom with a mortgage, an asthmatic daughter who'll be going to college, and an ex who doesn't keep up his payments."
Maybe Mike hadn't made himself clear, or perhaps she didn't really grasp the kind of resources he had at his disposal.
"You can have a secure job, your mortgage paid off, and a good education and medical care for Clare," he said. "Or you can walk out of here now, ring the police, tell them your side of it, and see what they believe. If Ian won't morph, though, all you'll have is a guy with some odd genes and weird skin cells."
Everyone went quiet. Rob made an annoyed rumble in his throat and went to switch on the kettle. "Tea," he said. "Won the war, that did. Anyone take sugar?"
Dru was now staring into an empty mug. She was either looking for the catch or unable to take in what relative financial freedom meant.
"And how are you going to explain why I'm here in the first place?" she asked.
Mike didn't like the ease with which his lies emerged. "Oh, you were trying to set up a discreet meeting with my father away from DC that so you could ask him for more names from Ringer to pursue leads. Weaver wouldn't like you troubling senators, so you didn't tell him."
"That simple, huh?"
"Yes. That simple."
"Do I get to see Ian again?"
"Why?"
"To thank him."
"We'll see." Mike didn't have an agreement from her yet. He took out his phone and keyed in the Byway's number, ready to press the call key. "It's not safe for you to go back to the hotel. I'll go pick up your things if you call and let them know I'm stopping by later. You can stay here."
"That's the only contact number my family's got," Dru said.
"You might as well switch on your on cell, then." Rob put three cups of tea on the table. Mike couldn't tell if he approved of the deal or not. "It's not as if nobody knows where you are now, is it?"
"I'll pick up the hotel bill," Mike said. Dru opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but he held up his hand. "I'll make the call and you verify it, okay?"
It solved the problem of making the hotel staff suspicious, but it also put Dru firmly on his payroll if anyone checked the records. He wasn't sure if she'd realised that or not.
"Okay," she said.
Mike waited for the Byway to answer. "Hi. I'm calling on behalf of Mrs Lloyd, room thirty-two. Someone's going to collect her belongings and settle her bill later this evening. She needs to check out sooner than expected. I'm going to put you through to her now."
Mike held out the phone. Dru waited a couple of beats, then relented and took
it, avoiding his eyes. She made apologetic noises of agreement to the receptionist, explaining that her plans had changed. Then she rang off and handed the phone back to him.
"My daughter used to tell me I was KWA's kapo," she said, as if she despised herself for giving in. "Selling out the other camp inmates for crumbs and a few more days of life."
Mike knew that he had her now. To make sure, he'd ask Ian to show her the letter that Maggie Dunlop had left him to explain that he wasn't crazy but that he'd been lied to all his life. It would either demonstrate she was smart to abandon KWA and save herself, or appeal to whatever sense of decency she had. Mike didn't mind which prevailed.
"Actually, you haven't sold out anybody," Mike said. "Ian gets to go free. Now, do we have a deal?"
Dru didn't look at all triumphant. Maybe the thought that Weaver had used her and put her life at risk was poisoning what should have been welcome news.
"We do," she said at last. "Because my kid comes first."
"Good," Mike said. "Because so does mine."
CHALTON FARM
1655 HOURS.
"I never knew you were such a crafty bastard." Rob sat in the cover of the small propane store at the back of the cottage, watching Mike fiddling with his phone in the dim light from its screen. "You got her to take the Brayne shilling. She'll have a hard job claiming she's not on your payroll."
Mike shrugged. His hands must have been bloody freezing. "I'm not the one who took her wallet, got her bank details, disabled her phones, and shut down the telecom in the cottage, am I?"
"What can I say? I'm a pro."
Mike did a tight little smile to himself, but there was no humour in it. "Well, she can't change her mind. On Monday she'll have a few thousand in her account that she wasn't expecting to see. Let's say it's to show goodwill. People respond better if they don't feel they've been screwed over."
"Goodwill, spelled f,r,a,m,e,d."
"Or proof that I keep my word. And when I find her a job in one of our companies, we'll be able to keep an permanent eye on her. She can choose whether she sees that as being compromised or winning the lottery."
Rob was relieved that there was a ruthless streak in Mike after all. He deployed it in the same way he turned from nice guy to knife-wielding bastard when threatened. Still, Dru was doing a lot better out of it than the last Nazani guy who'd pushed his luck with him.
"Good man," Rob said. "A chip off the old block."
"I don't want this scheming to become a habit."
"You realise Saint Michael's already trademarked, don't you?"
Mike managed a smile. "Twat."
"You called me a twat. You never say twat. You must be feeling more positive."
"Thanks for not punching me out for ruining Tom's visit."
"I know how crucial this is for you, mate. I can punch you some other time." Sometimes Rob caught glimpses of the other Mike, the one who came from a parallel universe where people did things differently. It wasn't bribery. It was more like a weary realisation that the root of most problems was a need for money, something Mike could fix as easily as other blokes changed a tyre. "Well, we can't sit here like spare pricks all night. We better move her to the house, or else we'll be spread thin covering two locations."
"What about Tom?" Mike asked. "She might blurt it all out."
"I'll hint that you're the lovely bloke who gives her money and I'm the total bastard who'll put one through the back of her head if she says one word out of place."
"I think she believes that already."
"Yeah, I blame all your Septic movies where the Royal Marine's always the psycho. Thanks. We love you too."
"You're kind of intimidating when you put on your war face."
"I'll smile nicely, then. I can always lock her in the staff apartment." Rob checked the camera feeds on his phone again. "Oh, and when you pick up her stuff, check her electronics. Especially her laptop or cameras. You know. Any images we need control of."
"Thought of that."
"Your dad's going to be proud of you. When are you going to call him?"
"When this is over and deniable."
Rob went back into the cottage. Dru watched him as if she was working out where she'd shove a bread knife if she got the chance.
"I think you'll be safer in the house, love," Rob said, careful not to spoil Mike's hearts and minds job. He hoped she wasn't one of those miserable cows who objected to being called love or sweetheart. "It's easier for me to secure one location. Just two rules, though."
"Go ahead."
"My son's staying at the house. Tom. Don't mention Ian's morphing in front of him. He doesn't know about it. And keep the blinds drawn in your room. It's ballistic glass throughout, but there's no need to make things easier for that bloke out there, is it?"
Dru nodded, not exactly the picture of gratitude that she should have been for a woman who was still alive and a lot better off. Well, at least she wasn't screaming and whining. Rob admired anyone who could shut up and deal with shit. If this was her first encounter with an armed scumbag, then she was doing well.
"He's very clever, your friend," she said. "He is your friend, right? Not your employer."
Rob bristled, not sure if she meant brainy clever or sneaky clever. "No, we're mates. He's got a first from Oxford."
"I always try to understand personal dynamics. I can't guess how you met."
"Not at Oxford, but you probably worked that out." Rob picked up her bag and coat. "Hostage rescue. Africa."
"You really are soldiers, then."
"Private contractors these days. That's what we do." Rob decided to be conciliatory. Dru wasn't really the enemy, and Mike was right; people were more cooperative if they didn't feel they'd been humiliated or fucked over. "Look, you didn't lose, so don't feel bad about it. You did a bloody solid job. We're pros, so we know another pro when we see one. You tracked us down, you didn't make many mistakes, and you didn't burst into tears when things went to rat shit. We respect that."
Dru nodded and picked up her coat. "Thanks. I'll mention that at my next job interview."
Rob and Mike covered her, close protection style, all the way to the house. She looked embarrassed.
"Is this necessary?" she asked. "He's not going to have a sniper position out there."
"Why not?" Mike said. "We've got one on the roof."
Rob couldn't tell if she believed it or not, but she didn't comment. Mike went in to check where everyone was and whisked her through to the living room while Rob corralled Ian and Livvie. They left Tom downstairs, playing a game and under instructions to stay put.
"I've warned her to keep her mouth shut about Ian, Mrs Mike," Rob said. "I don't know how long we're going to have to keep her here, but we'll minimize contact. Can you handle her?"
"I can," Ian said. "Leave her to me."
"What, like you handled her earlier?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
"She didn't need to know you could bloody well morph."
"She wouldn't have followed me otherwise."
Livvie stepped in. "Guys, please. I'll stand by to slug her if her lips start to form the S word in Tom's presence."
"I'll brief him. As far as I can."
Tom didn't seem particularly engrossed in the game when Rob opened the door, but he didn't look up from the controller. He was just avoiding asking questions. It struck Rob that it was always going to be like this now. He sat down on the sofa and ruffled Tom's hair.
"How are you doing, Little Matey?"
"You haven't called me that since I was about ten."
"You'll always be Little Matey to me."
"So what's happening? Okay, you don't have to tell me. Just give me my orders."
"Mike's bought her off," Rob said. "He's going to the hotel to pick up her bags. We've moved her back here so I don't have to run my arse off trying to secure two locations. We'll keep her locked down until we find the other bugger. Or buggers.."
The look on Tom's face a
sked why anyone had bothered to buy off Dru at all, but he didn't say it. "You're sure there's nothing I can do?"
"You could forgive me for ballsing up your trip."
"I just want to hang out with you. I've really missed you."
Rob's guard was lowered by fatigue, and the one thing in life that could always make him tearful was Tom. "Oh, for Chrissakes. You've made a grown man cry. I miss you too."
"Dad, I don't want to know if this is protecting Ian's identity in some custody battle or inheritance dispute." Tom seemed very specific. It was his way of saying he thought he'd worked out that it was precisely that. "If it helps, why not just wheel me out and say 'Look, this is my son, that's who you saw, now go away'? It's easy to prove who I am. Give her a few hairs from both of us for DNA and tell her to piss off."
"It's not that simple." To put it mildly. He couldn't tell Tom that she'd had plenty of time to study Ian's face. "She's met Ian."
"But it might be. There's an experiment where they switched people in the middle of a face-to-face conversation that was interrupted by a guy walking between them with a sheet of wood or something. Half the test subjects didn't even notice that everything about the person they'd been talking to had changed. For a species with so much brain devoted to vision, we're totally crap at noticing real detail. And even if she thinks she knows his face, she saw him under extreme stress. Victims get police line-ups wrong."
"Well, she's not the problem now. To be fair on her, she's just the hired help. It's the guy who came after her that I need to worry about."
"Okay, then give the hair to him."
"He's armed, Tom. This is past the talking stage. And I don't want you handing out your DNA."
"I'm documented like a pedigree bull. So are you. It goes with the territory."
Maybe it really is that simple. But let's see what Weaver does next, before Leo finds out and rips his balls off.
"Come here, kiddo." Rob hugged Tom tightly for a long moment and realised he still had that same wonderful, familiar smell he had as a little kid, a clean skin scent with all the body chemicals that marked him out uniquely as Tom. Humans could still sniff out their kin even if they didn't consciously know it, Livvie claimed. "I love you, son. I'm sorry I had to involve you in this. I'll never forgive myself."