arrivals area in front of the international terminal. He pulled in as if he were picking someone up. Wheeler appeared ahead of him, climbing into a black cab, and Zack followed him through the scrum of vehicles trying to get off airport property.
He thought about his job to come. For some weird reason Hanley wouldn’t admit that Renfro was the traitor, even though that seemed obvious to Hightower. So Zack would be stuck following this innocent bore to the embassy, and then following some other innocent bore around London before he headed up to Scotland for the conference where, no doubt, Zack would be tasked with following both Wheeler and Karlsson around some more.
Zack followed Wheeler’s taxi, hanging back, not bumpering. The thrill of all this was long gone now that the man he was certain was responsible for the treason was dead in the morgue.
This was a boring gig, nowhere as exciting as what he’d hoped for.
He figured that wherever Court Gentry was these days, that was where the real action would be going down, and this pissed him off.
Zack followed the taxi to the east, approaching greater London. He stayed far back, not that he was worried about the cabbie noticing he had a tail, but simply because it was more work to do a close-in follow, and he already knew the assistant deputy director was heading to the embassy, so he had no real fear of losing him outright. He hung a dozen car lengths off his objective vehicle, trying not to lose him in the sea of other black cabs out there, but didn’t stress too much about it.
In morning traffic it was over an hour’s transit from Heathrow into the city, but when Zack began driving along the Thames on Great West Road he knew he was getting closer. The U.S. embassy was on the south side of the river, and he fully expected to be following the taxi across the Battersea Bridge, but the cab bypassed the turn and continued along the northern bank of the Thames.
This seemed odd to Zack, but still, he didn’t stress. The cabbie would know the way better than he.
And then the taxi made a left on Oakley Street, turning to the north and away from the embassy, and now Zack was thoroughly confused.
He started to call Brewer, just to let her know that he’d be delayed getting to the embassy because the suit he was tailing was diverting, probably heading to Harrods for pink socks or some shit, but just before he tapped his phone, the taxi made a quick right turn on Kings Road. This was followed by another right on Chelsea Manor, and now Zack was pulling up tighter to the taxi, worrying he would lose Wheeler with all the oddball maneuvers his cabbie was making.
Another right turn on Cheyne Walk, and then a jog to the left to put him on the Chelsea Embankment, and for a moment Zack wondered if the cabbie was heading to Battersea Bridge to cross the Thames, because he was now traveling back to the west.
But this theory didn’t stand ten seconds of time. Wheeler’s cab turned right again, back on Oakley.
They’d just driven in a large square.
Zack knew a few things in life, for sure, and one of them was that London cabbies do not get lost.
And that meant only one thing to him.
Is Wheeler running an SDR?
And then another thought occurred to him. It would have to be one hell of a weird conversation in that vehicle ahead for Wheeler to ask the cabbie to make an unnecessary series of turns and double-backs.
The only thing that made sense was that the cabbie was the one doing the SDR, and Wheeler was just along for the ride.
As the taxi made another right, Zack reached for his phone.
CHAPTER 46
David Mars took his phone from his pocket and answered it while stepping out of Dr. Won’s laboratory. He stood on a third-floor stone balcony, looking down at the University of Edinburgh. It was a rainy day in Edinburgh, but for the moment the precipitation was light enough for Mars to stand here and remain dry.
“Hello?”
“Black? It’s Barnacle.”
“Excellent, mate. You’re in London?”
“Yes, yes I am. But . . .”
“But what?”
“The driver you had pick me up is doing an SDR, and we’ve detected a definite tail.”
This was distressing to Mars, but not overly so. “That’s unfortunate.”
“No shit, it’s unfortunate. If they get the idea I’m not going to the embassy, they might