‘Where are we going?’ I asked as I settled back into the leather upholstery of the Mercedes. The driver was another of Eisenberg’s men. From the back seat, he seemed to have no neck, his ears going straight down into his collar with no discernible alteration in width.
‘Nowhere in particular – yet,’ Gleason said as we pulled away and accelerated into traffic. ‘That’s up to you.’ She settled herself. The Merc was a brand-new S600, with enough room in the back for her to cross her legs negligently. ‘As you know, my employer is a very wealthy man. He has contacts, connections, in the highest places, and the money and power to get just about whatever he wants.’
A small smile slipped across the side of her mouth, and from it I deduced that she herself had been one of the things Brandon Eisenberg had coveted and then acquired.
‘Fascinating. How does this relate to me?’ And to Sean?
Gleason’s face flickered. She’d got this little speech all worked out, and wasn’t going to let me hurry her to the punchline.
‘I’m coming to that. As you are probably aware, I am ex-Secret Service,’ she said, straightening the cuff of her shirt, and there was more than a hint of pride in her voice. ‘I was tasked with guarding the President.’
‘Let me guess,’ I drawled. ‘Bill Clinton?’
Her mouth tightened, but she ploughed on doggedly. ‘As such, I, too, have friends in … interesting places. Including Homeland Security.’
My expression gave me away, I know it did. She saw my reaction and smiled.
‘You know Epps?’ I said. It hardly needed to be a question.
‘I guess just about everybody knows Conrad Epps,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘Unfortunately.’
Oh yeah, you know Epps all right …
‘Word is that he’s been attempting to track a certain fugitive for the past couple of months – without success. Until now, that is,’ she continued. ‘It would seem that the guy they’re after has just popped up on the radar in Omaha, Nebraska, of all places.’
I was aware of a burning sensation in my chest, which I recognised as both relief and resentment. So, they’d got him back again – maybe. But for how long? Looked at coldly, how could Epps actually charge him without having to admit his own mistakes? And if his guys slipped in and grabbed him again, quick and quiet, who’s to say he’d ever be called to any kind of account anyway?
I sighed. ‘Look, this is all very interesting, Gleason,’ I said. ‘And I appreciate Mr Eisenberg feeling the need to keep me informed, but I don’t see—’
‘I have it on very good authority – the best, as a matter of fact – that nobody will be going to check out this lead until Monday,’ she cut in. ‘We’ve confirmed that one of Epps’s guys is booked on a flight out of LaGuardia early Monday morning.’
Today was Friday. That gave the whole of the weekend for something to spook the guy. For him to disappear, escape, evade. Again …
‘So?’
Gleason studied her fingernails. ‘Mr Eisenberg believes you would like the personal satisfaction of being the one to bring this fugitive in yourself,’ she said. ‘Or … taking whatever alternative action you deem appropriate.’
‘Why?’ I seemed to be reduced to speaking in monosyllables, but it was the best I could manage.
Gleason found a rough edge on her thumbnail and frowned over it, as she said casually, ‘Because you caught the man who killed his son.’
‘That was something of a team effort.’
She shrugged. ‘He still reckons he owes you, for some reason,’ she said. ‘Take some advice – if a billionaire reckons he owes you, don’t argue. I think Mrs Willner may have put a word in for you, too.’
She reached into the seat pocket in front of her and pulled out a plain manila packet, handed it across. It weighed heavy in my hand.
‘The intel reports are all in there – I’d burn the whole lot when you’re done, if I were you,’ Gleason said, conspiratorial. ‘Mr Eisenberg’s private jet is waiting on you. The pilot has a take-off slot booked in about an hour, and a flight plan to the West Coast has already been filed.’ She paused, her tone blandly conversational now. ‘By coincidence, that would take you right over Nebraska. I’m sure no one would object to an unscheduled stop.’
I was silent, staring at the unopened packet in my hand. A real Pandora’s box. What would be let loose if I opened it?
For what seemed like a long time, I sat there and thought about actions and consequences, about scars and grief, about justice and death.
Gleason was looking out of the car window, her head turned away as if to give me privacy. Her body was relaxed, belying the importance of this decision. The thick-necked driver continued to circle aimlessly through the busy streets. The rain continued to fall.
Eventually, I glanced across. Gleason must have caught the movement reflected in the glass, because she turned back to me, nothing but polite enquiry in her face.
‘I’ve always wanted a ride in a new Lear 85,’ I said gravely.
Only then did she allow herself a smile, as if she’d won some small internal bet, but she didn’t make the mistake of allowing satisfaction to creep into her voice. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It’s a very nice airplane.’