The hotel porter offered him a tourist map, which colorfully detailed the finer parts of the city center but not the outskirts, so he walked across to the kiosk and purchased a guidebook entitled Everything You Need to Know About Bucharest. There wasn’t a single paragraph devoted to the Berceni district where Anna’s mother lived, although they were considerate enough to include Piazza Resitei on the larger foldout map at the back. With the aid of a matchstick placed against the scale at the bottom left-hand corner of the page, Jack worked out that Anna’s birthplace must be about six miles north of the hotel.
He decided he would walk the first three miles, not least because he needed the exercise, but also it would give him a better chance to discover if he was the target of an SDR.
Jack left the International at 7:30 A.M. and set off at a brisk pace.
Anna also had a restless night, finding it hard to sleep while the red box was under her bed. She was beginning to have doubts about Anton taking on such an unnecessary risk to assist her in her plan, even if it was only for a few days. They’d agreed to meet at the academy at eight o’clock, an hour no self-respecting student would admit existed.
When she stepped out of the hotel, the first thing she saw was Sergei in his old Mercedes parked by the entrance. She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her. Sergei jumped out of the car.
“Good morning, madam,” he said, as he loaded the red box back into the trunk.
“Good morning, Sergei,” Anna replied. “I would like to go back to the academy, where I’ll be leaving the crate.” Sergei nodded, and opened the back door for her.
On the journey over to the Piata Universitatii, Anna learnt that Sergei had a wife, that they had been married for over thirty years, and had a son who was serving in the army. Anna was about to ask if he’d ever met her father, when she spotted Anton, standing on the bottom step of the academy, looking anxious and fidgeting.
Sergei brought the car to a halt, jumped out, and unloaded the crate from the trunk.
“Is that it?” asked Anton, viewing the red box suspiciously. Anna nodded. Anton joined Sergei as he carried the crate up the steps. Anton opened the front door for him, and they both disappeared inside the building.
Anna kept checking her watch every few moments and looking back up the steps toward the entrance. They were only away for a few minutes, but she never felt alone. Was Fenston’s stalker watching her even now? Had he worked out where the Van Gogh was? The two men finally reappeared carrying another wooden box. Although it was exactly the same size, the plain slats of timber were unmarked in any way. Sergei placed the new crate in the trunk of the Mercedes, slammed the lid down, and climbed back behind the wheel.
“Thank you,” said Anna, before kissing Anton on both cheeks.
“I won’t be getting much sleep while you’re away,” Anton mumbled.
“I’ll be back, three, four days at the most,” Anna promised, “when I’ll happily take the painting off your hands and no one will be any the wiser.” She climbed into the back of the car.
As Sergei drove away, she stared through the rear window at the forlorn figure of Anton, who was standing on the bottom step of the academy, looking worried. Was he up to the job? she wondered.
Jack didn’t look back, but once he’d covered the first mile, he slipped into a large supermarket and disappeared behind a pillar. He waited for her to walk by. She didn’t. An amateur would have strolled past and been unable to resist glancing in, and might even have been tempted to enter the building. He didn’t hang around for too long, knowing it would make her suspicious. He bought a bacon and egg baguette and walked back onto the road. As he munched his breakfast, he tried to work out why he was being followed. Who did she represent? What was her brief? Was she hoping he would lead her to Anna, was he a selected target for countersurveillance—the unspoken fear of every FBI agent—or was he just paranoid?
Once he was out of the city center, Jack stopped to study the map. He decided to grab a taxi, as he doubted he’d be able to pick one up in the Berceni district, when he might need to make a speedy exit. Jumping into a taxi might also make it easier for him to lose his tail, as a yellow cab would be more conspicuous once they were no longer in the city center. He rechecked his map, turned left at the next corner, and didn’t look back or even glance into the shop window with its large plate-glass pane. If she was a pro, it would be a dead giveaway. He hailed a cab.
Anna asked her driver—as she now thought of Sergei—to take her back to the same block of flats they’d visited the previous day. Anna would have liked to call and warn her mother what time to expect her, but it wasn’t possible because Elsa Petrescu didn’t approve of phones. They were like elevators, she’d once told her daughter: when they break down, no one comes to repair them, and in any case they create unnecessary bills. Anna knew her mother would have risen by six to be sure everything in her already spotless flat had been dusted and polished for a third time.
When Sergei parked at the end of the weed-strewn path of the Piazza Resitei, Anna told him that she expected to be about an hour, and then wanted to go to Otopeni airport. Sergei nodded.
A taxi drew up beside him. Jack strolled round to the driver’s side and motioned for him to wind down the window.
“Do you speak English?”
“A little,” said the driver hesitantly.
Jack opened his map and pointed to Piazza Resitei, before taking a seat behind the driver. The taxi driver grimaced in disbelief and looked up at Jack to double-check. Jack nodded. The driver shrugged his shoulders and set out on a journey no tourist had ever requested before.
The taxi slipped out into the middle lane and both of them checked the rearview mirror. Another taxi was following them. There was no sign of any passenger, but then she wouldn’t have sat in the front. Had he lost her, or was she in one of three taxis he could now see in the rearview mirror? She was a pro; she’d be in one of those taxis, and he had the feeling she knew exactly where he was going.
Jack knew that every major city has its run-down districts, but he had never experienced anything quite like Berceni, with its grim, high-rise concrete blocks that littered every corner of what could only be described as a desolate slum. Even the graffiti would have been frowned on in Harlem.
The taxi was already slowing down when Jack spotted another yellow Mercedes parked by the curb a few yards ahead of them, in a street that hadn’t seen two taxis in the same year.
“Drive on,” he said sharply, but the taxi continued to slow. Jack tapped the driver firmly on the shoulder and waved frantically forward to suggest he should keep going.
“But this is place you ask for,” insisted the driver.
“Keep moving,” shouted Jack.
The puzzled driver shrugged his shoulders and accelerated past the stationary taxi.
“Turn at the next corner,” said Jack, pointing left. The driver nodded, now looking even more perplexed. He awaited his next instruction. “Turn back around,” Jack said slowly, “and stop at the end of the road.”
The driver carried out his new instruction, continually glancing back at Jack, the perplexed expression never leaving his face.
Once he’d parked, Jack got out of the car and walked slowly to the corner, cursing his unforced error. He wondered where the woman was, because she clearly hadn’t made the same mistake. He should have anticipated that Anna might already be there, and her only form of transport was likely to be a taxi.
Jack stared up at the gray concrete block where Anna was visiting her mother, and swore he’d never complain about his cramped one-bedroom apartment on the West Side ever again. He had to wait another forty minutes before Anna emerged from the building. He remained still as she walked back down the path to her taxi.
Jack jumped back into his own cab and, pointing frantically, said, “Follow them, but keep your distance until the traffic is heavier.” He wasn’t even sure that the driver understood what he said. The taxi drove out of the side road,
and although Jack kept tapping the driver’s shoulder and repeating, “Hold back,” the two yellow cabs must have looked like camels in a desert as they drove through the empty streets. Jack cursed again, knowing he was burned. Even an amateur would have spotted him by now.
“You do realize that someone is following you?” Sergei said, as he drove off.
“No, but I’m not surprised,” Anna replied, but she still felt cold and sick now that Sergei had confirmed her worst fear. “Did you get a look at them?” she asked.
“Only a glimpse,” Sergei replied. “A man, around thirty, thirty-five, slim, dark hair; not much else, I’m afraid.” So Tina was wrong when she thought the stalker was a woman was Anna’s first reaction. “And he’s a professional,” added Sergei.
“What makes you say that?” asked Anna anxiously.
“When the taxi passed me, he didn’t look back,” said Sergei. “Mind you, I can’t tell you which side of the law he’s on.”
Anna shivered as Sergei checked his rearview mirror. “And I’m pretty sure he’s following us now, but don’t look around,” said Sergei sharply, “because then he’ll know you’ve spotted him.”
“Thank you,” said Anna.
“Do you still want me to take you to the airport?”
“I don’t have any choice,” Anna replied.
“I could lose him,” said Sergei, “but then he would know that you were on to him.”
“Not much point,” said Anna. “He already knows where I’m going.”
Jack always carried his passport, wallet, and credit card with him in case of just such an emergency. “Damn,” he said, when he saw the sign for the airport and remembered his unpacked suitcase sitting in the hotel room.
Three or four other taxis were also heading in the direction of Otopeni airport, and Jack wondered which one the woman was in, or whether she was already at the airport and booked on the same flight as Anna Petrescu.
Anna handed Sergei a twenty-dollar bill long before they’d reached Otopeni and told him which flight she was booked to return on.
“Would you be able to pick me up?” she asked.
“Of course,” promised Sergei, as he came to a halt outside the international terminal.
“Is he still following us?” Anna asked.
“Yes,” Sergei replied, as he jumped out of the car.
A porter appeared and helped load the crate and her suitcase onto a trolley.
“I’ll be here when you return,” Sergei assured Anna, before she disappeared into the terminal.
Jack’s cab screeched to a halt behind the yellow Mercedes. He leaped out and ran toward the driver’s window, waving a ten-dollar bill. Sergei wound the window down slowly and took the proffered money. Jack smiled.
“The lady in your cab, do you know where she’s going?”
“Yes,” replied Sergei, stroking his thick moustache.
Jack peeled off another ten-dollar bill, which Sergei happily pocketed.
“Well, where?” demanded Jack.
“Abroad,” replied Sergei, put the car into first gear, and drove off.
Jack cursed, ran back to his own cab, paid the fare—three dollars—and walked quickly into the airport. He stood still while checking in every direction. Moments later he spotted Anna leaving the check-in counter and heading toward the escalator. He didn’t move again until she was out of sight. By the time he had reached the top of the escalator, Anna was already in the café. She’d taken a seat in the far corner from where she could observe everything and, more important, everybody. Not only was he being followed, but now the person he was following was also looking out for him. She had already mastered being a tool so she could identify her target. Jack feared that this could end up as a case study at Quantico on how not to trail a suspect.
He retraced his steps back down to the ground floor and checked the departure board. There were only five international flights out of Bucharest that day: Moscow, Hong Kong, New Delhi, London, and Berlin.
Jack dismissed Moscow, as it was due to depart in forty minutes and Anna was still in the café. New Delhi and Berlin weren’t scheduled to leave until the early evening, and he also considered Hong Kong unlikely, although it departed in just under two hours, while the London flight was fifteen minutes later. It had to be London, he decided, but he still couldn’t take the risk. He would purchase two tickets, one for Hong Kong, and a second for London. If she didn’t appear at the departure gate for Hong Kong, he would board the flight to Heathrow. He wondered if her other pursuer was considering the same options, although he had a feeling she already knew which flight Anna was on.
Once Jack had purchased both tickets and explained twice that he had no luggage, he headed straight for Gate 33 to carry out a point surveillance. When he arrived, he took a seat among those passengers who were waiting at Gate 31 for the departure of their flight to Moscow. Jack even gave a moment’s thought to going back to the hotel, packing his bags, paying the bill, and then returning to the airport, but only a moment’s thought, because if the choice was between losing his bags or losing his quarry, it wasn’t much of a choice.
Jack called the hotel manager at the Bucharesti International on his cell phone and, without going into any detail, explained what he needed doing. He could imagine the puzzled expression on the manager’s face when he asked for his bags to be packed and left in reception. However, his suggestion that they add twenty dollars to his bill elicited the response, “I’ll deal with it personally, sir.”
Jack began to wonder if Anna was simply using the airport as a decoy while actually planning to return to Bucharest and pick up the red crate. He certainly couldn’t have acted in a more unprofessional manner when he chased after her driver. But if she had worked out that someone was following her, as an amateur her first reaction would have been to try and lose her pursuer as quickly as possible. Only a professional would consider such a devious ploy when trying to shake someone off. Was it possible that Anna was a professional and still working for Fenston? In which case, was he the one being pursued?
Flight 3211 to Moscow was already boarding when Anna strolled by. She looked relaxed as she took her place among those waiting to board Cathay Pacific Flight 017 to Hong Kong. Once she was seated in the lounge, Jack slipped back down to the concourse and kept out of sight while he waited for the final call of Flight 017. Forty minutes later, he ascended the escalator a third time.
All three of them boarded the Boeing 747 bound for Hong Kong at different times. One in first class, one in business, and one in economy.
9/17
30
“I’M SORRY TO interrupt you, m’lady, but a large box of documents has been delivered by Simpson and Simpson, and I wondered where you wished me to put it.”
Arabella put down her pen and looked up from the writing desk. “Andrews, do you remember when I was a child and you were second butler?”
“I do, m’lady,” said Andrews, sounding somewhat puzzled.
“And every Christmas we used to play a game called Hunt the Parcel?”
“We did indeed, m’lady.”
“And one Christmas you hid a box of chocolates. Victoria and I spent an entire afternoon trying to find them—but we never did.”
“Yes, m’lady. Lady Victoria accused me of eating them and burst into tears.”
“But you still refused to tell her where they were.”
“That is correct, m’lady, but I must confess your father promised me sixpence if I didn’t reveal where they were hidden.”
“Why did he do that?” asked Arabella.
“His lordship hoped to spend a peaceful Christmas afternoon, enjoying a glass of port and a leisurely cigar, happy in the knowledge that you were both fully occupied.”
“But we never found them,” said Arabella.
“And I was never paid my sixpence,” said Andrews.
“Can you still recall where you hid them?”
Andrews considered the question for a few moments, be
fore a smile appeared on his face.
“Yes, m’lady,” he said, “and for all I know, they are still there.”
“Good, because I should like you to put the box that Simpson and Simpson have just delivered in the same place.”
“As you wish, m’lady,” said Andrews, trying to look as if he had some idea what his mistress was talking about.
“And next Christmas, Andrews, should I attempt to find them, you must be sure not to let me know where they are hidden.”
“And will I receive sixpence on this occasion, m’lady?”
“A shilling,” promised Arabella, “but only if no one else finds out where they are.”
Anna settled herself into a window seat at the back of economy. If the man Fenston had sent to track her down was on the plane, as she suspected he was, at least Anna now knew what she was up against. She began to think about him and how he’d discovered that she would be in Bucharest. How did he know her mother’s address, and was he already aware that her next stop was Tokyo?
The man she had watched from the check-in counter as he ran up to Sergei’s taxi and tapped on the window wasn’t hoping for a ride, although Sergei had clearly taken him for one. Anna wondered if it had been her phone calls to Tina that had given her away. She felt confident her close friend would never have betrayed her, so she must have become an unwitting accomplice. Leapman was well capable of tapping her phone and far worse.
Anna had purposely dropped clues in her last two conversations to find out if there was an eavesdropper, and they must have been picked up: going home and there will be a lot of people like that where I’m going. Next time she would plant a clue that would send Fenston’s man in completely the wrong direction.
Jack sat in business class sipping a Diet Coke and trying to make some sense of the past two days. If you’re out there on your own, always prepare for the worst-case scenario, his SSA used to repeat ad nauseam to each new recruit.
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