“Fine,” I said, waving my hand at the cloak-and-dagger nonsense. “When do I get to meet them?”
“The same day you get to meet God, Mr. Carter.” There was so much ice in her voice, I almost expected to see her breath. “In the meantime,” she continued, “you go through me.”
“Go through you for what? This is the part where we talk about exactly what it is you need my people to do.”
Trish motioned for the male agent to come over. He punched up something on his phone and placed it in front of me. On the screen was a file photo of an agent in the FBI. Her freckles folded into the wrinkles just starting to deepen on her face. The text next to her head shot showed her to be a twenty-year veteran of the Bureau. Her name was Nadia Spencer.
He swiped left and a new photo appeared. Another FBI agent, this one named Frank Portis. His bio revealed him to be Nadia’s partner, although he looked at least a decade younger. Both were on assignment in Saudi Arabia.
He swiped left again. Another agent, David Lofton, but this one was MI5. Blonde hair, blue eyes. More Daniel Craig than Sean Connery.
Swipe. David’s partner, Lewis Reed. Both men stationed here in London.
Swipe. Yosef Abram. Mossad operative. No file photo this time, just a grainy black-and-white snapped from a distance.
Swipe. Yosef’s partner, Leah Abram. A rare husband-and-wife duo. Risky, but effective for deep cover work if the marriage was strong enough to handle it.
The agent withdrew his phone, and I looked up at Trish. I already knew I wouldn’t be taking the job, but I wanted to at least hear her out. Professional courtesy still mattered to me, even if it didn’t to them.
“Together,” Trish said, “these six agents represent an international task force that has become more problematic than we originally anticipated. We need them removed. The sooner the better.”
I plucked a speck of fuzz off my sleeve and dropped it on the floor, then rubbed my fingers and thumb together several times. I was stalling. I needed to choose my words carefully. In my old firm, when I found white collar executives for white collar companies, passing on a search opportunity was a sign of strength. It proved you didn’t need to chase work outside your niche; that your services were so in demand, you had the luxury of choosing which projects to take on and which to turn down.
As I found out early on, however, clients in my new industry didn’t view rejection the same way and tended to react . . . poorly.
“Can’t you just buy them off?” I said at last. “If you’ve got Interpol in your pocket, bribing a half dozen other agents should be well within your means.”
“We tried. Several times. It seems possessing an impenetrable set of moral standards was a prerequisite for joining this particular task force.”
“What about your own people? If you have a Board of Directors, don’t you also have a . . . project management team, let’s say . . . that can handle this?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “One of the best in the world. But as I said, we need to be as far removed from this as possible. That’s where you come in.”
I sighed and looked for more lint to pick off my suit, but there was none. “Unfortunately, Trish, it’s not.”
“Excuse me?” For the first time since she sat down, her accent broke. Just a little. Enough for a whiff of her cockney upbringing to seep through.
“Frankly,” I said, “I’m surprised I’m even sitting here. If you went to all the trouble to find out my favorite brand of scotch, then you must have also learned that I don’t get involved with hits on law enforcement. Never have.”
“We did,” she said. The cracks in the accent were gone, sealed up by the return of her icy tone. “We hoped we could convince you to make an exception.”
“I don’t see how—”
“Three million dollars.”
I blinked.
“That’s our budget for all six hits, plus your fee of course. You can divvy that up among your candidates however you see fit. At your going rate of 30 percent, that will net you a nine-hundred-thousand-dollar payday.”
My mouth was dry. Nine hundred thousand dollars was almost double what I had stashed in all my accounts combined. But Trish wasn’t done.
“Nine hundred isn’t a very psychologically satisfying number though, is it? It’s so close to the edge of being something more, something much grander. It’s a tease, really. Which is why we took the liberty of depositing a hundred thousand into your Swiss account this morning. Call it an engagement fee. Or better yet, call it our way of apologizing for breaking those unspoken rules you care so much about.”
My hand reflexively reached for my phone but I pulled it back. Trish saw and laughed.
“Go ahead and check with your bank,” she said. “I won’t be offended.”
I hesitated just a second before I did. Sure enough, the money was there. How the hell did they get my account information?
“That’s a million dollars total, Mr. Carter. Unless our facts are wrong, that’s more than you’ve earned at one time in your entire career.”
Her facts were not wrong. And if I were in this for the money, we’d already have been shaking hands. But the money stopped being important to me the minute I stopped needing it. By that time, of course, I’d lost everything else of value in my life, and no number of zeroes would bring them back.
I was in it now because getting out wasn’t an option. Sleeping at night was never easy, but one of the ways that still made it possible was telling myself that the people involved in every deal I closed were all on the wrong side of the law. When no one hurt by my actions was innocent, it made it far easier to suppress my own guilt. That went out the window the minute I started accepting jobs where the targets were good guys.
“While I’m flattered,” I said to Trish, “and you’re not wrong about the fee, I’m still going to have to decline. I’ve built my career doing what I do best, and it isn’t jobs like this.”
“Jobs like what,” Trish said, “finding people to kill other people? Forgive me, but I thought that’s exactly what you built your career on.”
“You’re forgetting my work in smuggling, money laundering, and online hacking,” I replied.
“We operate in those areas, too,” Trish said. “And it would be wonderful to have someone as talented as you on hand to help us recruit for those projects, when the need arises. But for now, this is our need. And it trumps everything else.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find another recruiter.” I tried to strike a firmer tone without coming off too aggressive. The male agent moved away from the door and stood next to me.
Careful, Rick.
“If you like,” I said, wishing very much that the holster under my jacket wasn’t empty, “I’d be happy to recommend a few names that are just as good in this niche as I am in my own.”
