happening? Can you hear me, Anna?
Suddenly, two of the SCO19 officers pivoted and leveled their HK G36 assault rifles at Mikhail. Hands raised, he backpedaled slowly and returned to the Ford.
“Is she dead?” asked Eli Lavon.
“As a doornail. And her friend at the hotel in Frinton knows it.”
“How?”
“She was on the phone with him when it happened.”
Lavon tapped out a message to Gabriel. The reply was instant.
“What does it say?” asked Mikhail.
“He just ordered Sarah to leave the hotel immediately. He wants us to get out to Essex as quickly as possible.”
“Does he really?” Behind them, a chorus of car horns arose in the night. The traffic was at a standstill. “You’d better tell him we’re going to be here awhile.”
69
Frinton-on-Sea, Essex
Nikolai Azarov had allowed the connection to Anna’s phone to remain active longer than he should have—five minutes and twelve seconds, according to the call timer on his own device. He had heard the burst of automatic gunfire, the sound of shattering glass, Anna’s screams of agony. What came next were effectively the first chaotic moments of a highly unusual crime-scene investigation. There was a declaration of death, followed a moment later by a shouted warning of something called a full-scale deflection, a term with which Nikolai was not familiar. The same voice instructed officers to move away from the vehicle until it could be made secure. One officer, however, remained close enough to spot Anna’s phone lying on the floorboard. He had also noticed there was a call in progress. He had requested permission from a superior to retrieve the device, but the superior had refused. “If she touched the phone,” he shouted, “the bloody thing is positively heaving with radiation.”
It was then, five minutes after Anna’s death, that Nikolai ended the call. No, he thought angrily. Not Anna’s death, her assassination. Nikolai was well versed in the rules and tactics of the Metropolitan Police and the various county and regional forces. Ordinary officers did not carry guns, only AFOs, authorized firearms officers, or SFOs, the highly trained specialist firearms officers of SCO19. AFOs did not typically carry the type of automatic assault rifle Nikolai had heard over the phone. Only SCO19 officers were armed with such weapons. Their presence on the M25 suggested they had been lying in wait for Anna. So, too, did the presence of a hazardous materials team with a radiation-detection device. But how had the Metropolitan Police known that Anna would be contaminated? Obviously, surmised Nikolai, the British had been watching her.
But if that were the case, why had they not tried to arrest him? At present, he was drinking tea at his usual table in the lounge bar. He had checked out of his room earlier that afternoon. His car was waiting curbside in the Esplanade. His small overnight bag was in the custody of the porter. The bag contained nothing of operational value. Nikolai’s Makarov 9mm was resting comfortably against the small of his back. In the right front pocket of his trousers was the spare vial of radioactive toxin that Moscow Center had insisted he carry into Britain. They had assured him the radiation could not escape the container. After hearing the voice of the hazmat technician, he was no longer certain that was the case.
A full-scale deflection . . .
He glanced at the television above the bar. It was tuned to Sky News. It seemed Khalid bin Mohammed had paid a visit to his uncle’s house in Eaton Square shortly before Downing Street announced the cancellation of tonight’s dinner. The event was noteworthy for another reason; it was the first public sighting of KBM since his abdication. Sky News had somehow obtained a video of his arrival. In Western clothing, his head bare, Khalid was scarcely recognizable. Nikolai’s eye, however, was drawn to the British security agent walking next to him. Nikolai had seen him somewhere before, he was certain of it.
He picked up his phone. Sky News had posted the story on its Web site, along with the video. Nikolai watched it three times. He was not mistaken.
They’re newlyweds. Apparently, it was all very spur of the moment . . .
He powered off his phone and removed the SIM card. Then he went onto the terrace overlooking the Esplanade. It was dark, the wind had died. He could see no sign of surveillance, but he knew they were watching him. His car, too. It was parked outside the hotel’s entrance. Suddenly, another car drew up behind it. An