Chapter 38

‘I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr . . . ?' Summers said.

Koenig didn't fill the gap.

‘What's your name?' Summers said after a beat.

‘My name? That's just the noise people make to get my attention. If I were you, Marion, I'd stop focusing on who I am and think about what I am. But to move things along, you can call me Ben.'

‘And what are you, Ben?' Summers said after a pause.

‘I guess I'm a stick.'

‘A stick?'

‘Or a carrot.'

Summers didn't respond, but Koenig could tell he was thinking hard. Eventually he said, ‘I have no idea who this one-eyed idiot is. I sell movie memorabilia, I don't know anything about guns. Now, I'd like you to leave, please.'

‘Do you want me to tell you how I know you're lying, Marion?'

‘I doubt I could stop you.'

‘I pulled out a knife. It has wet blood on the blade. Yet you didn't bat an eyelid. You didn't panic. You didn't scramble for your cell or yell out in fear. You saw a Fairbairn–Sykes, I saw someone who was unafraid. Someone used to being around weapons.'

‘I'm from Manchester, mate. This isn't the first knife I've seen.'

‘But do you want to know what really gave you away?'

Summers shrugged.

‘You did,' Koenig said.

‘Me?'

‘I've spent seven years as a grey man. I understand how to hide in plain sight. How to blend in. To be unmemorable.'

‘You're making a point, I take it?' Summers removed his elbows from the counter and put his arms down by his side. Out of sight.

‘I see you, Marion. Not only that, I see through you. The unthreatening way you dress yourself can't hide your physique. It's toned, it's sinewy, and although I would advise you not to try anything, you'll undoubtedly be proficient in one of the more aggressive fighting techniques. The way you dress can't hide the way you looked me up and down when I entered your store, the way you immediately understood I was a threat. It's why you're behind your counter. I suspect you have a weapon under there. You may even be tempted to use it. If you do, I'll use mine and I'm not going to lie, I've been trained by the best. If I see a weapon in your hands, you'll never use them again.'

Summers brought his hands out from behind the counter. They were empty.

‘And there's the shop,' Koenig continued. ‘The location is perfect to meet the needs of both Liverpool and Manchester. It's within a ninety-minute drive of a dozen ports, some of them lightly regulated. Easy to get guns into the country. And the nature of the shop itself is perfect to meet potential customers in a safe environment. No one's going to bat an eyelid if it's open at midnight – you're stocktaking or meeting an out-of-town collector, like I claimed to be.'

Summers smiled. ‘So, you think I know something about that . . . what was it you called it, a derringer?'

‘I think you sold it to her, or you know who sold it to her. And ever since Speakers' Corner, I think you've been dreading a guy like me turning up. Especially a guy like me.'

‘A guy like you?'

Koenig showed him the commando dagger again. ‘A guy comfortable using Fairbairn–Sykes diplomacy.'

Summers smiled. Didn't look the slightest bit worried. They might as well have been talking about Stanley Kubrick.

‘Let's pretend what you say is true,' he said. ‘That I am this big bad arms dealer. Surely I'd be a fool to keep anything on any premises that could be linked to me? I'd probably have cutout after cutout. A whole team of mules who had no idea who was paying them.' He paused. ‘Do you think I'm a fool, Ben?'

‘I don't think you're a fool, Marion.'

‘Then we have nothing more to discuss. I'm sorry I couldn't sell you a movie poster, but you have nothing to threaten me with. No carrot, no stick. Just a rumour and a knife we both know you won't use.'

‘I don't think you're a fool, Marion, but I do think you're wrong. Because I do have something to threaten you with.' He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and threw his passport on the counter. ‘Do you know what that is?'

‘Is this a trick question? It's a passport.'

‘Wrong. This is a diplomatic passport.'

Summers leaned forwards and checked. The word ‘diplomatic' was front and centre on the black cover.

‘You say I have nothing to threaten you with, Marion,' Koenig said. ‘How about the US government?'

Koenig pushed the passport across the counter.

‘I've been sent to the UK with one purpose: to track down the woman who bought that derringer,' he said. ‘I'm here on behalf of the kind of people who discuss things like wet work over breakfast. You've now been sucked into their gravity well. That leaves you with a simple binary choice: you either become an ally of the United States, or you become an enemy of the United States.'

‘But I'm neith—'

‘If you choose the latter, the Brits will arrest you pending an extradition request.'

‘My country won't extradite me on unsubstantiated rumours,' Summers said. ‘I have rights.'

‘Supplying weapons to enemies of the United States? I think the Brits will do exactly what we ask them to do. Otherwise, we might turn off Netflix. Or stop giving them the codes to their own submarines.' Koenig paused. ‘Or maybe you're right. Maybe my no-name colleagues will extraordinary-rendition your limey ass to a black site in eastern Europe.'

Summers deflated like he'd been punctured. He picked up Koenig's passport and flicked through the pages. He reached under his desk and brought out a magnifying glass. Koenig figured he was always being offered memorabilia and a large part of maintaining the store as a viable front was identifying fakes. A magnifying glass would be a tool of the trade. He bent down and examined the signature page and the data page. ‘This is real,' he said.

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘But it was only issued yesterday.'

‘I'm on the clock,' Koenig said. ‘And now, so are you. If I step out of this shop without getting what I want, you'll be indefinitely detained as an enemy combatant at Guantanamo Bay.'

‘And if I cooperate?'

‘Then you have options. The arms business is over for you, though. You know that, right? Steeleye Stan gave you to me, and I'm giving you to the cops. Way it has to be. But who knows? Maybe you're right, maybe there is enough separation between you and the guns that they can't get the main charges to stick. When we're finished here, your first call is to retain the meanest lawyer you can afford. I'm talking the Brit equivalent of Johnnie Lee Cochran Jr.'

‘Who?'

‘The guy who got O. J. acquitted.'

Summers nodded, like he'd made a decision. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘Tell me about the woman who bought the derringer.'

Summers sighed. ‘She said she hoped she'd never have to use it,' he said.