Read Online Even by Andrew Grant - Free Book Online

could do, apart from wander around spotting thieves and pickpockets, was the single game in the place that involved skill rather than chance. And even that was stretching the point. All you had to do was throw Ping-Pong balls into empty toilet bowls. You got three shots for five pence. I remember wondering why they bothered. It would have been easier just to hand over the prizes at the start.
    I had a go anyway, and went home with three goldfish. They spent the next few months cooped up in a bowl in the kitchen, between the sink and the toaster. None of them did anything. They just floated aimlessly around while people stared in at them through the glass.
    I never really gave them much thought, once they were home.
    But after the next hour, I knew how their lives must have felt.
     
    The agents withdrew from the booth without saying another word and for fully sixty minutes they hung around outside, observing me. Someof the time they were sitting, tinkering with their PCs or muttering to each other. Some of the time they were on their feet, standing still or wandering about aimlessly. But all the time, at least one of them had his eyes glued to me, watching me waste even more of my time.
    Eventually Lavine’s cell phone rang. He answered quickly, as if he’d been expecting the call. He talked for a minute, gesturing with his free hand even though it was obvious the other person couldn’t see him, and then spun abruptly around to look at me. His face seemed to turn a shade paler, and as he listened I could see his expression change from surprise to bewilderment and finally something close to disgust.
    Weston just looked angry when Lavine spoke to him after the call ended. They talked for another minute, then drew their handguns and Lavine stepped cautiously toward the booth. He pushed the door open with his free hand, keeping to the side so that his body was never between Weston and me.
    “Stand up,” he said. “Get out.”
    This time they did everything by the book. It was as though their actions were being scrutinized by a hidden assessor and they were determined not to get a bad score. We went back through the main office, around to the elevator lobby, and across to a door in the far corner. It led to a staircase. There was no corporate decor, here. Just a gray floor, gray walls, gray handrails, and a gray ceiling. Different sizes of gray pipes were attached to the walls by plain, functional brackets. The place was cold and it echoed, a little like the inside of a battleship.
    We went up one level, to the top floor. Two men were waiting for us. They were wearing neat gray suits like Weston and Lavine, and both were holding guns. As we approached they backed off through a door at the top of the stairs and took up defensive positions on the far side.
    This floor had the same basic layout as the one below, but instead of passing through an open plan area, the corridor led us between two groups of more modest-sized rooms. There were individual offices on the right, and meeting rooms on the left. Several of the office doors still had name plates. I saw PETER MOULDS , NIGEL GOWER , DEREK WOODS . That one was open. I looked inside. The furniture was gone, but the carpetwas a different class and there were outlines on the wall where pictures would have hung.
    We continued along the corridor until we reached a pair of wide doors at the far end. The pale veneer was richly polished, and a plaque on the right-hand side read PRINCIPAL BOARDROOM . Lavine knocked lightly, twice, just below it.
    “Come,” a male voice said.
    Lavine pushed the door halfway open and Weston bundled me through the gap into a large, square room. It was the full width of the building, and all three external walls were floor-to-ceiling glass. There were no blinds, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the tiny people milling around, far below. We were so high there was no sense that the building could be rooted in the same streets. It felt more as if we