Free Tango One by Stephen Leather Page B

get to keep it, yeah?”
    “Every penny.”
    Jamie Fullerton's jaw dropped.
    “Let me get this straight,” he said.
    “Any money I make from illegal activities is mine to keep?”
    “It has to be that way,” said Hathaway.
    “Believe me, the powers that be aren't happy with the idea, but we don't have any choice.”
    “And I won't ever be asked to pay the money back?”
    “I don't see how that could ever happen.”
    Fullerton stood up and paced around the sitting room.
    “And you're going to set me up in this new life? Make me look like a criminal?”
    “Initially. Hopefully you'll become self-funding quite quickly.” Hathaway waved at the section of bookshelves devoted to art.
    “You studied art history at university. Got a First, right?”
    Fullerton nodded.
    “So we'll build on that. Set you up in a gallery. Give you some works of art to get you started. And we'll put some stolen works your way. To add authenticity.”
    Fullerton's eyes widened in astonishment.
    “You're going to give me stolen paintings? To sell? And I get to keep the money?”
    Hathaway wiped his forehead with his hand. He looked uncomfortable and when he spoke he chose his words carefully.
    “What we will be doing is establishing your cover, Jamie. This isn't a game. If Donovan, or anyone else for that matter, discovers who you are or what you're doing, your life will be on the line.”
    Fullerton nodded.
    “I understand, but how does me being an art dealer get me close to Donovan?”
    “He's an art freak. A bit of a collector, but he appears to be more interested in visiting galleries. He also uses galleries and museums as meeting points. What we're suggesting is that you establish a small gallery, then start moving into the drugs business. You presumably have your own suppliers?”
    “Sure.”
    “So start with them. Start increasing the quantities you buy from them, then move up the chain.”
    “And then you bust them?”
    Hathaway shrugged.
    “That depends. We're after the big fish, Jamie, not street dealers. Not everyone you tell us about is going to be brought in, but all the information you give us will go on file. You just keep working towards Donovan.”
    Fullerton sat down.
    “How do you know this will work?”
    “We don't. It's a new strategy.”
    “It's a gamble, that's what it is.”
    “Maybe,” Hathaway conceded.
    “You're gambling with our lives.”
    Hathaway frowned.
    “Our? What do you mean?”
    “I'm assuming I'm not the only agent you're sending undercover. You don't strike me as the type who'd put all his eggs in one basket.”
    Eventually Hathaway nodded slowly.
    “Don't assume anything, Jamie. Don't go into this thinking that there'll be other undercover agents who'll pull your nuts out of the fire if anything goes wrong. You can't trust anyone. Is it a risk? Of course. But the uniformed bobby walking the beat puts his life at risk every day. He never knows when a drunk's going to try to hit him with a bottle or a drug addict's going to stick him with an HIV-infected needle. In a way, you'll be in a better position, because you'll know the dangers you're facing.”
    Fullerton exhaled deeply.
    “Have you ever done it?” he asked.
    “Gone undercover?”
    Hathaway nodded.
    “Several times, but never long term. A few months at most.”
    “What's it like?”
    “It means living a lie. It means developing a second personality that has to become more real than your own. Everything you say and do has to be filtered through the person you're pretending to be. It means never being able to relax, never being able to let your guard down.”
    “That's what I thought.”
    “But you'll be in a slightly different position. When I was working undercover, I was pretending to be a villain. You'll be the real thing.”
    Cliff Warren stood up and walked through to his kitchen.
    “Do you want a beer?” he asked over his shoulder.
    “Thanks,” said Hathaway.
    Warren opened his fridge door and took out two bottles