as our own, and a dusty old mid-Eighties’ Ford Econoline panel van. The van, as much rust as paint, looked perfectly at home in its current surroundings, which was, no doubt, why it had been chosen.
We pulled up with a decent distance between us in which to dance. Immediately, the front passenger door of one of the opposing Suburbans opened and a lone figure got out. He was tall, made taller by a ramrod-straight back and parade-ground stride. His grey hair still Marine Corps-clipped, silver moustache the same. He, too, was wearing dark glasses against the bleached-out glare, and for once I was glad of the barrier. I knew from experience there was nothing to be gleaned from this man’s stone-cold gaze.
‘Epps?’ I said, almost a whisper. I turned, staring. ‘We’ve been working for Epps ? ’
Parker gave a single staccato nod, bit out, ‘We still are.’
I’d never been sure exactly what position within the USgovernment security services was held by Conrad Epps. I doubt there were many who could offer a comprehensive job description, and fewer still who wanted to know.
But when my father had got himself into a mess on this side of the Atlantic the previous autumn, Epps was the one who made it all go away. I had no illusions that Epps had acted for any reasons remotely related to altruism or sentimentality, because I was pretty convinced he was a man devoid of either quality. If it hadn’t coincided with his interests to help us, then nothing I could have said or done would have made him lift a finger.
And now, if the stiff distaste on Parker’s face was anything to go by, he’d called in the marker for that happy quirk of fate.
Epps’s team climbed out of their vehicles and assembled like a well-drilled display behind him. Four men with regulation shaded eyewear and regulation haircuts, wearing long, dark raincoats despite the cloudless sky. Two more got out of the old Econoline, more casually dressed, but clearly Epps had bought these men from the same factory store as the others. There were no firearms on show, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close.
I heard Parker let out a quiet breath, saw his knuckles flex, then he slid the MP5K into the footwell and opened his own door. As he stepped down empty-handed onto the baked concrete, he was nothing but calm. The rest of us followed suit. Sean got out of the centre Chevy and held the rear door ajar for Witney, so Epps got his first look at the object of this cloak-and-dagger exercise.
Epps stilled for a moment, removed his sunglasses as if making sure, then nodded.
‘Mr Armstrong,’ he greeted, raising that deep voice just loud enough to carry. ‘Good job.’
‘Thank you, Mr Epps,’ Parker returned gravely. ‘I trust this wipes the slate clean between us.’
‘That would be a reasonable assumption on your part,’ Epps said, which was neither confirmation nor denial. Perhaps he had learnt a long time ago never to speak in absolutes.
I’d moved up on Parker’s left, close enough to see the way the corner of his eye narrowed slightly at the exchange. Even Epps, I considered briefly, would be a fool to push him too far.
Sean came forwards with Witney walking alongside him. The schoolteacher seemed older, greyer in the piercing reflected sunlight. That smooth coordination I’d noticed in him was gone, so he almost stumbled over the roughcast concrete beneath his booted feet, as though, whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. When he reached Parker and Epps, he halted.
‘A case of better late than never, huh?’ Witney said with that sad little upward hitch of his mouth.
‘Indeed it is, Mr Witney,’ Epps said. ‘I should have taken notice of you five years ago. For that, you have my apologies.’
Witney regarded him. ‘If you had, we wouldn’t be here now,’ he said and the bitterness to his voice almost masked the desperation. ‘There was nothing to find.’
Epps turned his head a fraction and fixed Witney with a very
We pulled up with a decent distance between us in which to dance. Immediately, the front passenger door of one of the opposing Suburbans opened and a lone figure got out. He was tall, made taller by a ramrod-straight back and parade-ground stride. His grey hair still Marine Corps-clipped, silver moustache the same. He, too, was wearing dark glasses against the bleached-out glare, and for once I was glad of the barrier. I knew from experience there was nothing to be gleaned from this man’s stone-cold gaze.
‘Epps?’ I said, almost a whisper. I turned, staring. ‘We’ve been working for Epps ? ’
Parker gave a single staccato nod, bit out, ‘We still are.’
I’d never been sure exactly what position within the USgovernment security services was held by Conrad Epps. I doubt there were many who could offer a comprehensive job description, and fewer still who wanted to know.
But when my father had got himself into a mess on this side of the Atlantic the previous autumn, Epps was the one who made it all go away. I had no illusions that Epps had acted for any reasons remotely related to altruism or sentimentality, because I was pretty convinced he was a man devoid of either quality. If it hadn’t coincided with his interests to help us, then nothing I could have said or done would have made him lift a finger.
And now, if the stiff distaste on Parker’s face was anything to go by, he’d called in the marker for that happy quirk of fate.
Epps’s team climbed out of their vehicles and assembled like a well-drilled display behind him. Four men with regulation shaded eyewear and regulation haircuts, wearing long, dark raincoats despite the cloudless sky. Two more got out of the old Econoline, more casually dressed, but clearly Epps had bought these men from the same factory store as the others. There were no firearms on show, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close.
I heard Parker let out a quiet breath, saw his knuckles flex, then he slid the MP5K into the footwell and opened his own door. As he stepped down empty-handed onto the baked concrete, he was nothing but calm. The rest of us followed suit. Sean got out of the centre Chevy and held the rear door ajar for Witney, so Epps got his first look at the object of this cloak-and-dagger exercise.
Epps stilled for a moment, removed his sunglasses as if making sure, then nodded.
‘Mr Armstrong,’ he greeted, raising that deep voice just loud enough to carry. ‘Good job.’
‘Thank you, Mr Epps,’ Parker returned gravely. ‘I trust this wipes the slate clean between us.’
‘That would be a reasonable assumption on your part,’ Epps said, which was neither confirmation nor denial. Perhaps he had learnt a long time ago never to speak in absolutes.
I’d moved up on Parker’s left, close enough to see the way the corner of his eye narrowed slightly at the exchange. Even Epps, I considered briefly, would be a fool to push him too far.
Sean came forwards with Witney walking alongside him. The schoolteacher seemed older, greyer in the piercing reflected sunlight. That smooth coordination I’d noticed in him was gone, so he almost stumbled over the roughcast concrete beneath his booted feet, as though, whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. When he reached Parker and Epps, he halted.
‘A case of better late than never, huh?’ Witney said with that sad little upward hitch of his mouth.
‘Indeed it is, Mr Witney,’ Epps said. ‘I should have taken notice of you five years ago. For that, you have my apologies.’
Witney regarded him. ‘If you had, we wouldn’t be here now,’ he said and the bitterness to his voice almost masked the desperation. ‘There was nothing to find.’
Epps turned his head a fraction and fixed Witney with a very
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