Even by Andrew Grant

his right. The urge to gooseneck his left wrist and force him onto his knees in front of me was almost too strong to resist. Instead I held my arms out, kept quiet, and let him have a good rummage around in my clothes. Lavine’s gun went into his waistband, next to his own, the money went into his back pocket, and the handle I’d taken from the meeting room seemed to confuse him, so he just dumped it on the ground.
    “Give me your hands,” he said, reaching forward and grabbing both my wrists.
    He’d left himself completely open. I was amazed the FBI could havesent such amateurs to arrest me, knowing what they knew. Quite insulted, actually. Then something struck me about how they’d driven into the wall. How their vehicles had functioning airbags. How they were using shiny handguns in the field. How comically inept their search technique was. Put it all together, and there was only one explanation.
    They weren’t FBI agents at all. I looked down at the guy’s face and smiled. He wasn’t off limits any longer. My head started to roll back. The muscles in my neck began to tighten, all on their own. It was as if some kind of magnetic attraction had developed between my forehead and the bridge of his nose. But before I could split his skull, another thought hit me. It stopped me in my tracks. This was no random mugging. These cowboys were out in too much force for that. And how had they known to target me in particular? What I looked like? Or where I’d be?
    Someone had been helping them. And that was good.
    Because now they were going to help me.

 
     
     
TEN
     
     
     
    When I was four years old my grandparents bought me Snakes & Ladders for my birthday. Chutes & Ladders, they call it in the States. But whatever the name, it was my favorite toy for quite a while. And all because of the first time we played with it. I remember the anticipation, waiting for the old folks to get ready. Then lining up the counters next to the board. Picking up the dice. Rolling. And getting a . . . one.
    I was disappointed. It was a terrible score. The worst you could get. I was obviously doomed. I took my counter and gloomily reached toward the first square. Then I noticed the ladder. It sprouted from the bottom corner and ran all the way up to square 38. It would carry me nearly halfway home with my first move.
    From despair to hope in a single moment. It was an amazing feeling.
    And when the fool from the Lincoln pulled a long white cable tie out of his pocket and wrapped it around my wrists, I felt something like it again.
     
    I knew the guy from the car wouldn’t have been able to tell me anything useful, himself. He was too low down the food chain. But the person who sent him would be a different story. And this idiot was going to save me the trouble of tracking him down. I nearly laughed outloud, even when the driver popped the trunk and gestured for me climb inside.
    We were on the move for fifty minutes. It was absolutely dark in the trunk, but apart from being cramped and a bit airless, I didn’t really mind. The carpet was thick and soft, and there was a raised ledge that made a kind of pillow. The big sedan’s suspension was much more civilized than the FBI van, it didn’t stink like the NYPD car, and the driver was taking it nice and steady. I’d been in hotel rooms that were less comfortable.
    The first part of the journey was all stops and starts, so I guessed we were still in the city. Then there was a really rough section with tight twists and turns and lots of tire noise. After that a long, smooth, fast road with a couple of sweeping right-hand bends. The last five minutes were slower, then we turned left into some sort of rough yard or driveway. We snaked right and left, then crunched to a halt. The car paused for a moment. Then it rolled forward for the final few yards before coming to rest. The engine note died away. A car door slammed. Footsteps passed me. A mechanical clanking sound started up somewhere