Finally, he fell back onto the sand and lay there, sky swimming overhead, waves pounding in his ears. There were toxins in the sky and in the sea. There were toxins in his body. So much for the Superman. So much for Mutual Aid. Reeve spent the rest of the day on the beach, dozing, walking, thinking. He was letting McCluskey and Dulwater sweat. His guess was that they wouldn’t go to Kosigin, not right away. They’d try to find Gordon Reeve first. At least McCluskey would. Reeve wasn’t so sure about Dulwater; he was the more unpredictable of the two.

That evening he ate at a roadside diner, his waitress not believing him when he asked for soup, a salad, and some orange juice.

“That all you want, sweetheart?”

“That’s all.”

Even then, he wondered about additives in the juice, chemicals in the soup stock, residues in the salad vegetables. He wondered if he’d ever enjoy a meal again.

Reeve took the Dart back into San Diego. His face was still stinging from his day on the beach. The traffic was heavy heading into town. It was a work week, after all. Eventually Reeve hit the waterfront, parked in the first space he found, and went for a walk.

He found the Gaslamp Quarter. He accosted the first non-crazy-looking beggar who approached him and laid out his scheme. The beggar forced the fee up a couple of notches from the price of a drink to the price of dinner and a drink, but Reeve reckoned he had dollars to spare. The beggar walked with him up Fifth Avenue and west to the CWC building. Reeve handed him the package.

It was pretty crude: a plastic carrier bag sealed shut with Scotch tape, and MR. KOSIGIN: PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL in felt-penned capitals.

“Now, I’m going to be watching, so just do what I told you,” he warned his messenger. Then he stood across the street, on the corner outside the coffee shop. He could see Cantona inside, dunking a doughnut. But Cantona couldn’t see him, and Reeve kept it that way. He kept an eye open for Dulwater or anyone else, but Dulwater was probably still tied up sorting out his own problems. It was a risk, using the coffee shop. After all, Dulwater knew Reeve himself had used the premises, and Dulwater knew what Cantona looked like. But Reeve reckoned he was safe enough. Meantime, the beggar had entered the CWC building.

Reeve waited a few minutes, then walked to another vantage point and waited a few more. Nobody left the CWC building. As he’d guessed would happen, an unmarked police car eventually screamed to a halt outside the entrance. McCluskey got out, and was met halfway up the steps by Kosigin himself.

It was Reeve’s first real look at Kosigin, Allerdyce’s photographs aside. He was a short, slim man who wore his suit like he was modeling in a commercial. From this distance, he looked as dangerous as a hamburger. But then after what Reeve had learned lately, he couldn’t be sure anymore just how safe a hamburger was.

Kosigin led McCluskey into the building. McCluskey looked tired, pasty-faced. He’d had a very long couple of days. Reeve wondered if the detective had slept at all. He hoped not. He knew the beggar was inside, probably sandwiched between two security men. They’d want to ask him questions. They’d maybe take the money away from him; or threaten to, if he didn’t give a convincing description of his benefactor.

Reeve’s mobile rang. He held it up to his ear. Unsurprisingly, Cantona’s voice came over loud and clear.

“Hey,” he said, “your man just came out of the building. But get this, only as far as the steps where he met up with that fucking detective. They’ve both gone back inside.”

Reeve smiled. Cantona was doing his job. “Thanks,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Keep watching.”

“Sure. Hey, do I get to take a lunch break?”

“What? After that doughnut you just ate?”

There was silence on the line. When Cantona next spoke, he sounded amused. “You sonofabitch, where are you?”

“I’m just leaving.” Reeve put away the telephone, turned on his heels, and headed into the shopping district.

The first thing he did was get a haircut. Then he bought some very plain clothes which all but made him invisible. The barber had given him a shave, too. If he hadn’t been in fear of his life, Reeve would have felt great. He found a nice restaurant on the edge of Gaslamp and had lunch with the other businesspeople. His table was near the window, facing another table laid for two with a single woman eating at it. She smiled at him from time to time, and he smiled back. He had the sense that rather than flirting with him, she was acknowledging her right-and his, too-to dine alone. She went back to her paperback novel, and Reeve watched the street outside. During dessert, he saw his messenger slouch past, a dazed scowl on his face. The world had given him another punch in the teeth, and the man was trying to figure out how he’d walked into it. Reeve vowed that if he saw him later, he’d slip him a dollar without stopping.

Hell, maybe he’d make it two.

He gave Kosigin a couple of hours, then telephoned from his mobile. He was guessing they’d try to trace any calls made to Kosigin. Reeve sat on a bench in a shopping mall and made the call.

“Mr. Kosigin’s office, please.”

“Just one minute.” The switchboard operator transferred him to a secretary.

“Mr. Kosigin, please.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Sure, my name’s Reeve. Believe me, he’ll want to talk to me.”

“I’ll try his office, Mr. Reeve.”

“Thanks.”

The secretary put him onto one of those annoying music loops. He started to time how long he was kept waiting. He could visualize them setting up an extra telephone set so McCluskey could listen in, could see McCluskey busy on another line trying to get a trace on the call. Reeve gave it thirty seconds before he cut the connection. He walked to a coffee stand and bought a double decaf latte. He peeled off the plastic cover until he had a hole big enough to sip through, and window-shopped the mall. Then he sat on another bench and made the call again.

“Mr. Kosigin’s office, please.”

“Just one minute.”

And then Kosigin’s secretary again, sounding slightly flustered.

“It’s Reeve again,” he said. “I have an aversion to waiting.”

“Hold the line, please.”

Fifteen seconds later, a male voice came on the phone. “Mr. Reeve? This is Kosigin.” The voice was as smooth as the suit Kosigin wore. “How can I help you?”

“What did you think of the video?”

“Dr. Killin was obviously drugged, delirious. I’d say he’d almost been brainwashed into that crazy story. Abduction is a very serious offense, Mr. Reeve.”

“What did McCluskey think of it?”

That stopped Kosigin for a moment. “Naturally, I sent for the police.”

“Before you watched the video,” Reeve stated. “That’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it? Almost like you were expecting something. I take it you’re recording this call, that’s why you’re acting innocent. Fine, act away. But Kosigin, I’ve got the tape. I’ve got lots of copies of it. You don’t know who’s going to receive one in the mail one of these fine mornings. Maybe they’ll believe your version, maybe they’ll believe Killin’s.”

Another pause. Was Kosigin taking instructions from someone? Maybe McCluskey.

Maybe Jay.

“Perhaps we should meet, Mr. Reeve.”

“Yeah? Just the two of us, same as I was supposed to meet McCluskey? Only McCluskey turned up with his private personal army, and you, Kosigin, you’d turn up alone-right?”

“Right.”

“Apart from Jay, of course, training a laser sight on my forehead.”

Another pause.

Reeve was enjoying this. “I’ll call back in ten minutes,” he told Kosigin, then hung up.

He walked out of the mall into bright afternoon sun and a warm coastal breeze. He didn’t think he’d ever felt more alive. He made the next call from outside the main post office.