“I must be off, love.” She bent down to kiss him again. “Don’t get up. I know where the door is.” And a final kiss, lingering and inviting . . . for the next time. Uda was as regular as regular could be. And she’d be back here. Mandy was good, and a friend, but she knew how to treat these wogs, and, best of all, she didn’t have to starve herself like a bloody runway model. Mandy had too many American and European regulars to eat normally.
Outside, she hailed a cab.
“Where to, dear?” the cabby asked.
“New Scotland Yard, please.”
IT’S ALWAYS disorienting to wake up on an airplane, even in good seats. The window shades went up and the cabin lights came on, and the earphones played news that might or might not be new—since it was British, it wasn’t easy to tell. Breakfast was served—plenty of fat, along with no-shit Starbucks coffee that was about a six on a one-to-ten scale. Maybe a seven. Through the windows to his right, Brian saw the green fields of England instead of the slate black of the stormy ocean that had passed during his thankfully dreamless sleep. Both twins were afraid of dreams right now, for the past they contained, and the future they feared, despite their commitment to it. Twenty more minutes and the 747 touched down gently at Heathrow. Immigration was a gentle formality—the Brits did it much better than the Americans, Brian thought. Baggage was on the carousel quickly enough, and then they walked out to the cabs.
“Where to, gentlemen?”
“Mayfair Hotel on Stratton Street.”
The driver took this information with a nod and headed off east toward the city. The drive took about thirty minutes with the start of the morning rush hour. It was the first time in England for Brian, though not for Dominic. The sights were pleasant for the latter, and both new and adventurous for the former. It seemed like home, Brian thought, except that people drove on the wrong side of the road. On first inspection, drivers also seemed more courteous, but that was hard to gauge. There was at least one golf course with emerald green grass, but aside from that, rush hour here wasn’t all that different from the one in Seattle.
Half an hour later, they were looking at Green Park, which was, indeed, itself beautifully green, then the cab turned left, two more blocks, and right, and there was the hotel. Just on the other side of the street was a dealership for Aston Martin cars, looking as shiny as the diamonds in the window of Tiffany’s in New York City. Clearly an upscale neighborhood. Though Dominic had been to London before, he hadn’t stayed here. European hotels could teach lessons to any American establishment in terms of service and hospitality. Six more minutes had them in their connecting rooms. The bathtubs were large enough to exercise a shark, and the towels hung on a steam-heated rack. The minibar was generous in its selection, if not in its prices. Both twins took the time to shower. A check of the time made it a quarter to nine, and since Berkeley Square was only a hundred yards away, they took the moment to leave the hotel and head left for the landmark where nightingales sang.
Dominic elbowed his brother and pointed left. “Supposedly MI5 used to have a building that way, up Curzon Street. For the embassy, you go to the top of the hill, go left, two more blocks, then right, and left to Grosvenor Square. Ugly building, but that’s the government for you. And our friend lives right about—there, on the other side of the park, half a block from the Westminster Bank. That’s the one with the horse on the sign.”
“Looks pricey here,” Brian observed.
“Believe it,” Dominic confirmed. “These houses go for a ton of money. Most of ’em are broken up into three apartments, but our friend Uda keeps the whole thing for himself, a Disneyland for sex and dissipation. Hmm,” he observed, seeing a British Telecom van parked about twenty yards ahead of them. “I bet that’s the surveillance team . . . kinda obvious.” There were no people visible in the truck, but that was because the windows were plastic-treated to keep the light inside. It was the only inexpensive vehicle on the street—in this neighborhood, everything was at least a Jaguar. But the king of the hill, auto-wise, was the black Vanquish on the other side of the park.
“Damn, that’s one bad-ass automobile,” Brian observed. And indeed it looked as though it were doing a hundred miles per hour just sitting in front of the house.
“The real champ is the McLaren F1. Million bucks, but it only seats one up front, I think. Fast as a fighter plane. The one you’re looking at is quarter-mil’ worth of car, bro.”
“Fuck . . . ” Brian reacted. “That much?”
“They’re handmade, Aldo, by guys who work on the Sistine Chapel in their off-hours. Yeah, it’s a lot of wheels. Wish I could afford it. You could probably put the engine in a Spitfire and shoot down some Germans, y’know?”
“Probably gets lousy mileage,” Brian observed.
“Oh, well . . . Everything has its little price—shit. There’s our boy.”
And just then the door to the house opened, and a young man walked out. The suit he wore was three-piece, and Johnny Reb gray in color. He stood in the middle of the four stone steps and looked at his watch. As though on cue, a black London cab came down the hill and he walked down the steps to hop in.
Five-ten, 155 to 160 pounds, Dominic thought. Black beard down the line of his jaw, like from a pirate movie. Sucker ought to wear a sword . . . but he doesn’t.
“Younger than us,” Brian observed, as they continued to walk. Then, on Dominic’s initiative, they crossed over the park and headed back the other way, slowing for a covetous look at the Aston Martin before heading on their way. The hotel had a coffee shop, where they got some coffee and a light breakfast of croissants and marmalade.
“I don’t like the idea of having coverage on our bird,” Brian said.
“Can’t be helped. The Brits must think he’s a little hinky, too. But he’s just going to have a heart attack, remember. It’s not like we’re going to pop him, even with a suppressed weapon. No marks, no noise.”
“Okay, fine, we check him out downtown, but if it doesn’t look good we blow it off and step back to think it over, okay?”
“Agreed.” Dominic nodded. They’d have to be clever about it. He’d probably take the lead, because it would be his job to spot the guy’s police tail. But there was no sense in waiting too long, either. They’d looked at Berkeley Square just to get a feel for it, and hoping to eyeball the target. It would not be a good place to make a hit, not with a surveillance team camped out thirty yards away. “The good news is that his tail is supposed to be a rookie. If I can ID the guy, then, when I get ready, you just bump into him and—hell, I’ll ask directions to something or other. You’ll only need a second to make the pop. Then we both keep on going like nothing happened. Even if people yell for an ambulance, nothing more than a casual turn, and you keep on going.”
Brian thought his way through that. “We have to check out the neighborhood first.”
“Agreed.” They finished breakfast without another word.
SAM GRANGER was already in his office. It was 3:15 A.M. when he got in and lit up his own computer. The twins had gotten to London at about 1:00 A.M. his time, and something in the back of his head told him that they would not dally on their mission. This first mission would validate—or not—The Campus’s idea of a virtual office. If things went according to plan, he’d get notification of the operation’s progress even faster than Rick Bell’s news over the intelligence network’s wire service. Now came the part he always knew he’d hate: waiting for others to effect the mission he’d drawn up in his own mind, here at his own desk. Coffee helped. A cigar would have helped even better, but he didn’t have a cigar. That’s when his door opened.
It was Gerry Hendley.
“You, too?” Sam asked, with both surprise and amusement.
Hendley smiled. “Well, first time, right? I couldn’t sleep at home.”
“I hear you. Got a deck of cards?” he wondered aloud.
“I wish.” Hendley was actually pretty good with a deck of cards. “Any word from the twins?”
“Not a peep. They got in on time, probably at the hotel by now. I imagine they got in, freshened up, and went out for a look-see. The hotel is only a block or so from Uda’s house. Hell, for all I know they might have popped him in the ass already. The timing’s about right. He’d be going to work about now, if the locals have his routine figured out, and I think we can depend on that.”