"I've come for the package," the American said.
"I'm sorry. What package?" Mallory said. "If it's a DHL pickup, the secretary has it up front."
The American looked annoyed. "Don't you think you're overdoing it?" he said. "Just give me the fucking package."
"Okay, fine," Mallory said, getting up from behind the desk.
Apparently the American felt he had been too harsh, because in a quieter tone he said, "Nice posters," and pointed to the wall behind Mallory. "You do 'em?"
"We did," Mallory said. "Our firm."
There were two posters, side by side on the wall, both stark black with a hanging globe of the Earth in space, differing only in the tag line. One said "Save the Earth" and beneath it, "It's the Only Home We Have." The other said "Save the Earth" and beneath that, "There's Nowhere Else to Go."
Then off to one side was a framed photograph of a blond model in a T-shirt: "Save the Earth" and the copy line was "And Look Good Doing It."
"That was our 'Save the Earth' campaign," Mallory said. "But they didn't buy it."
"Who didn't?"
"International Conservation Fund."
He went past the American and headed down the back stairs to the garage. The American followed.
"Why not? They didn't like it?"
"No, they liked it," Mallory said. "But they got Leo as a spokesman, and used him instead. Campaign went to video spots."
At the bottom of the stairs, he swiped his card, and the door unlocked with a click. They stepped into the small garage beneath the building. It was dark except for the glare of daylight from the ramp leading to the street. Mallory noticed with annoyance that a van partly blocked the ramp. They always had trouble with delivery vans parking there.
He turned to the American. "You have a car?"
"Yes. A van." He pointed.
"Oh good, so that's yours. And somebody to help you?"
"No. Just me. Why?"
"It's bloody heavy," Mallory said. "It may just be wire, but it's half a million feet of it. Weighs seven hundred pounds, mate."
"I can handle it."
Mallory went to his Rover and unlocked the boot. The American whistled, and the van rumbled down the ramp. It was driven by a tough-looking woman with spiked hair, dark makeup.
Mallory said, "I thought you were alone."
"She doesn't know anything," the American said. "Forget her. She brought the van. She just drives."
Mallory turned to the open boot. There were stacked white boxes marked "Ethernet Cable (Unshielded)." And printed specifications.
"Let's see one," the American said.
Mallory opened a box. Inside was a jumble of fist-sized coils of very thin wire, each in shrink-wrap plastic. "As you see," he said, "it's guide wire. For anti-tank missiles."
"Is it?"
"That's what they told me. That's why it's wrapped that way. One coil of wire for each missile."
"I wouldn't know," the American said. "I'm just the delivery man." He went and opened the back of his van. Then he began to transfer the boxes, one at a time. Mallory helped.
The American said, "This guy tell you anything else?"
"Actually, he did," Mallory said. "He said somebody bought five hundred surplus Warsaw Pact rockets. Called Hotfire or Hotwire or something. No warheads or anything. Just the rocket bodies. The story is they were sold with defective guide wire."
"I haven't heard that."
"That's what he said. Missiles were bought in Sweden. Gothenburg, I think. Shipped out from there."
"Sounds like you're worried."
"I'm not worried," Mallory said.
"Like you're afraid you're mixed up in something."
"Not me."
"Sure about that?" the American said.
"Yes, of course I'm sure."
Most of the boxes were transferred to the van. Mallory started to sweat. The American seemed to be glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Openly skeptical. He said, "So, tell me. What'd he look like, this guy?"
Mallory knew better than to answer that. He shrugged. "Just a guy."
"American?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know whether he was American or not?"
"I couldn't be sure of his accent."
"Why is that?" the American said.
"He might have been Canadian."
"Alone?"
"Yeah."
"Because I hear talk about some gorgeous woman. Sexy woman in high heels, tight skirt."
"I would have noticed a woman like that," Mallory said.
"You wouldn't be...leaving her out?" Another skeptical glance. "Keeping her to yourself?" Mallory noticed a bulge on the American's hip. Was it a gun? It might be.
"No. He was alone."
"Whoever the guy was."
"Yes."
"You ask me," the American said, "I'd be wondering why anybody needed half a million feet of wire for anti-tank missiles in the first place. I mean, for what?"
Mallory said, "He didn't say."
"And you just said, 'Right, mate, half a million feet of wire, leave it to me,' with never a question?"
"Seems like you're asking all the questions," Mallory said. Still sweating.