The Double Eagle. James Twining

He signed up to you.’

      ‘What?’ It was Tom’s turn to sound concerned.

      ‘I got the usual visit from one of his people.’ Archie stared down at the floor as he spoke. ‘Another bloody foreigner. Sometimes I think all the English people have left this country.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, he said you were the best, that only you would do for the job, usual spiel. I told him that there’d been a death in the family, that you’d gone abroad for a few months to sort everything out and to find someone else. But he said he’d wait. When you came back it all sort of fell into place.’

      ‘So you did know that Cassius was behind this job right from the start. You lied to me.’

      ‘So what?’ said Archie, suddenly defensive. ‘What did you expect me to do? Turn him down?’

      ‘After all the jobs we’ve done, all the years we’ve worked together, I’d expect you to tell me the truth.’

      A mobile phone rang, an annoying, rambling tune that bounced jarringly down a high-pitched scale like a child sliding down stairs. Archie reached into his jacket’s left inside pocket, the lining flashing emerald as he pulled a phone out, checked the number that had flashed up on the screen and killed the call. He looked up.

      ‘And I’d expect you to follow through on your promises. You signed up to both jobs. You can’t just back out because you feel like it. What do you think this is? A bloody game? I’m trying to run a business here. A business that has made you a very rich man. I find the buyers, you do the jobs. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s worked for the last ten years. Did I deliberately not tell you that the job was for Cassius? Too fucking right I did. A buyer is a buyer. His money is as good as anyone else’s.’

      ‘It’s always the money with you, isn’t it?’ Tom retorted. ‘Except now you’ve realized that his money isn’t the same. It comes with conditions attached.’

      They were both silent and Archie moved closer to Tom, his black brogues sinking into the grass’s soft pile.

      ‘What’s really going on, Felix? Let’s go for a pint and sort this out.’

      ‘Felix is gone now. Finished.’

      ‘It’s just another job. Pack it in after that if that’s what you want.’

      ‘How long have you been doing this now, Archie? Twenty, twenty-five years?’

      Archie shrugged.

      ‘About that.’

      ‘You never wonder how you got to this point in your life?’ Tom spoke with a low, urgent voice. ‘About how a different decision here or action there could have totally changed things? Sometimes I think my life has been like a row of dominoes that I knocked over fifteen years ago. I can’t even remember how the first one got toppled and suddenly I’m here.’

      Archie gave a short laugh.

      ‘A thief with a mid-life conscience? Pull the other one.’

      A phone rang again, this time with a series of frantic beeps that grew louder and more frequent the longer the phone rang. Archie reached down into his other jacket pocket and drew out a second phone, a thick gold bracelet glinting momentarily as his sleeve rode up his arm. Again he checked the number. This time he answered it.

      ‘Hello … not right now, no … about five hundred … no … no deal, not unless he takes the lot. All right, cheers.’

      Tom waited for him to return the phone to his pocket and look up before continuing.

      ‘You know what? I’m thirty-five years old and I’ve never spent more than four weeks in the same place since I was twenty.’

      Archie snorted.

      ‘What, am I meant to feel sorry for you or something? That’s how they trained you. It’s part of what makes you so good. It’s part of the job.’

      ‘There’s more to life than this job, Archie.’

      Archie’s eyes flashed with impatience.

      ‘Sorry mate, but I’m fresh out of tissues.’

      ‘All good things come to an end. Even this. Even us.’

      Archie sighed.

      ‘I’m just not getting through to you, am I? Unless we deliver a week today, we’re both dead men. Period.’ Although his voice sounded casual, Archie’s eyes were burning brightly. ‘There’s a rumour about that Cassius is hard up, that he lost everything in some deal. So he won’t let it slide, won’t take no excuses. And if I can find you, then he certainly can. If we’re going to sort this, we’re going to have to do it together. I’m sorry, Tom, but this ain’t just my problem. It’s our problem.’

       TWELVE

       Fort Knox, Kentucky20th July – 10:05am

      A black Ford Explorer had picked Jennifer up from her apartment that morning and driven her to Reagan Washington National, where, in one of the side hangars, a tan Cessna Citation Ultra had been prepped and was waiting for her. Corbett clearly did not kid around when it came to getting things done.

      The jet had looked brand new, and apart from the pilot and lone cabin attendant, she was the only passenger. Sinking back into the soft leather seats, she had stretched her legs right out into the narrow aisle, basking in the cabin lights. Twenty minutes later and the plane was arrowing through the clear Washington sky.

      Flying had always made her slightly nervous. Once a plane she was on had hit an air pocket and dropped almost five thousand feet. As if they’d hit a glass wall in the sky and slid down it. Takeoff and landing were the worst and she unconsciously alternated between gripping the arm rests and bracing herself for possible impact against the seat in front of her, depending on what stage of the journey they were at. This time though, tired from the early start, she had found herself falling into a deep sleep until the gentle bump of the undercarriage coming down shook her awake.

      Blinking, she turned her head to the window. The elliptical porthole framed a quilt work of differently coloured fields, each one bounded by a dark line of trees. A single, cotton thin strip of blacktop ran in an unbroken line right to left and disappeared in both directions into a shimmering heat haze. Lonely farmsteads and barns stood marooned in the flat landscape like small wooden islands. Then, as the plane dropped lower, a low-slung galvanised fence on the military airbase’s outer perimeter surged up to meet her.

      ‘Welcome to Kentucky, Agent Browne.’ Jennifer stepped down off the steps that had concertinaed out of the jet’s gleaming fuselage and shook the hand of the man waiting to greet her. ‘I hope you had a pleasant flight. I’m Lieutenant Sheppard. I’m to escort you to the Depository.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she answered, unable to mask her smile. It was quite an outfit. Pink plaid trousers, white polo shirt and yellow sun visor all competed for her attention. Beneath the visor the man’s face was creased into a broad grin as he pumped her hand up and down enthusiastically.

      Although Jennifer was mindful never to form opinions of people too quickly, a trait she had inherited from her mother who maintained that time was the only reliable lens through which to view someone’s true character, she instinctively liked Sheppard. He had a breezy, cheerful confidence and an uncomplicated and genuine manner that his gaudy wardrobe reinforced rather than undermined.

      Sheppard looked down at himself and then flashed her a guilty smile, brown eyes twinkling in his smooth, sun-tanned face.

      ‘I’m real sorry about the clothes, Ma’am. I was just heading out for a round when I got word to come and meet you here. I didn’t have time to change.’ Jennifer nodded back, her tone understanding.

      ‘That’s quite all right, Lieutenant. I