them to call off that conference.”
“You don’t just call off the Five Eyes symposium. I will let Hanley know about this new threat, see what he wants to do.”
“We don’t even know what the threat is, Suzanne. How do you protect against that?”
“Guns, gates, and guys,” she replied flatly. “Trust me, that castle in the Highlands will be the safest place to be on Earth for the next few days.”
* * *
• • •
The knock at the door to Court’s basement apartment came at seven in the evening, a half hour after Court had been promised by Brewer that someone would arrive to watch over Belyakov.
He looked through the peephole, then unlocked the door and opened it. The same young bearded redhead from whom he’d taken the Volvo and the equipment the day before stood there, and he gave Court a surprised look.
“You?” he said.
“Me. What’s up, Red?”
“It’s Jason, actually. What happened to your face?”
Court didn’t answer. Instead he said, “November, Delta, Zulu, fourteen, Golf, Whiskey.” He crossed his fingers, then lifted them up by his face. “Your turn, kiddo. I’m rootin’ for you.”
Jason laughed at this despite himself. “I’ve been practicing. Oscar, Oscar, Kilo, seven, eight, India, X-ray.”
“You rock,” Court said with a tired and pained smile.
To this Jason just said, “I heard you shot up my Volvo.”
Court stepped aside so Jason could enter and said, “Dude, I was crouched down behind it when the bullets started hitting it.”
“The thing this afternoon in Mayfair is all over the news. Was that you, as well?”
“I don’t kill and tell.”
Jason continued up a hall towards the main room, but Court took him by the arm and stopped him in the darkened hallway. “The subject is Vladimir Belyakov. You know him?”
“Know of him, sure. Damn. Really?”
“He’s going to need some new pants before you take him out of here. We don’t need him charged with indecent exposure.”
“Damn,” Jason said again.
“I want a gun in your hand at all times. The location is secure, and he’s tied to a chair and not going anywhere. But remain vigilant. He knows things that people will do anything to keep quiet.”
“I . . . I don’t have a gun.”
Court sighed. CIA case officers didn’t normally carry firearms.
“Take mine. I’ve got a spare.” He unstrapped the Glock 43 from his ankle and handed it to the young man.
Jason took the weapon and said, “We can’t work with the Brits for some reason, so it will take two hours for a cleanup team and an extraction team to show up. I’ll watch him carefully till then. When the cavalry arrives, we’ll get him out of here and the safe house sanitized.”
“Good man.”
Court hefted his backpack off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, groaning in pain with the movement. “Thanks, Red. I’ve got to run.”
The young CIA case officer followed Court to the door and locked it behind him when he left, then drew the Glock from its holster. He headed back up the hall to begin his shift babysitting one of the richest men in London.
* * *
• • •
Zack landed at London Heathrow at nine in the morning, shuffled off the aircraft with the rest of the passengers back in steerage, and made his way towards passport control. Since Wheeler was traveling under a diplomatic passport, he made it through much faster than Hightower, who had documents supporting his civilian cover.
When he finally got through, Zack began jogging through the airport, scanning in all directions, knowing he couldn’t lose Wheeler, not because there was still any chance that he was the mole, but because his orders from Brewer were not to lose him, and Zack was a man who prided himself on always following his orders to the best of his abilities.
Soon, however, Zack realized he needn’t have worried about misplacing the dapper fifty-one-year-old assistant deputy director. While Zack just had a satchel over his shoulder with another set of clothes and a few odds and ends, Wheeler stood waiting for his checked bag with virtually everyone else from the rest of the flight.
Zack rushed on through the airport, went outside, and then, after a few more minutes of jogging, found his way to the vehicle Brewer had waiting in the short-term lot for him. It was a boring four-door Kia, which didn’t exactly thrill the former SEAL Team 6 man, but he climbed behind the wheel and dropped the visor to catch the key fob that fell down.
Minutes later he was back in the