Thank God for tiny favors. At least he wouldn't have to deal with these bloody idiots again. "Quite all right."
"I'll ring off now. Thank you for your cooperation."
After the disconnect, Peel looked in his rearview mirror to make certain he had not lost Ruzhyo. He had not.
Well, where to now, Peel, old man? Our rogue scientist seems to have flown the coop. He's not at his digs or usual haunts, and surely that only confirms it. He's lied to you, tried to have you offed, and cheated you out of a million EUs as well. Best you find him and take care of the problem before it gets worse.
Easier said, however, than done.
It was a warm and sunny day, and Howard, in civilian clothes, strolled along the sidewalks a few blocks from MI-6's HQ, enjoying the weather and city. London was quite a cosmopolitan place. People walked past in strange outfits, speaking foreign languages, looking very much at home in the English city.
Next to him, also dressed in civvies, Julio smiled at a pair of teenage girls wearing microskirts and platform shoes with soles as thick as a Washington, D.C., phone book. The girls smiled back at Julio and gave Howard a long and appraising look. Christ, both men were old enough to be their fathers. And if they fell off those monster shoes, they'd surely break an ankle or worse. Howard raised an eyebrow at his sergeant.
"Hey, you know what they say, a thing of beauty is a joy forever."
"And jailbait is jailbait no matter where you go. Aren't you getting a son and a wife soon?"
"You need to loosen up, John. Looking isn't the same as doing."
"You've been a bachelor for a long time, Julio. You sure you are going to be able to make the transition?"
"To be absolutely honest, I don't know. I think so. I'm gonna give it my best shot. But you know as well as I do that no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy."
"You looking at marriage like a war, Sergeant?"
"Not exactly a war, but certainly unfamiliar territory. I mean, I love Jo, I want to wake up next to her every morning, and she's gonna be the mother of my child, but I'm not some eighteen-year-old recruit fresh off the farm and never been to town."
"That's for sure." He let that sit for a while, then said, "So what do you think about this business?"
He shrugged. "This Goswell guy being part of the old boy network and above reproach and all that doesn't sound all that different from home. Maybe he doesn't have anything to do with anything. But every rich and famous businessman or politician I ever heard of who got a bright light shined into his closet showed some skeletons hanging in the back. And it seems real odd to me that our ice man Ruzhyo is hooked up with this major who works for Mr. High and Mighty."
"That's how I see it, too."
A gorgeous, cafe-au-lait woman in a black and red silk dress strode along the sidewalk toward them. With the heels she was wearing, she was a couple of inches over six feet, easy. A model, maybe. She went past them in a subtle cloud of expensive perfume. Julio turned to watch her, and Howard glanced over his shoulder, trying to be unobtrusive about it.
"Looks good from the back," Julio said. "Wouldn't you say, Colonel?"
He'd noticed Howard's quick glance.
He smiled, caught. "I have to admit she does."
"Married as you are and all?"
Howard just grinned.
"So, what now, John?"
"We let British Intelligence gather everything they think we ought to know, and then we see what's what. Then we take care of it and go home. All these women make me miss my wife."
Fernandez laughed. "I hear that."
36
Thursday, April 14th
MI-6, London, England
When Toni came back from the loo into the conference room, Alex and Cooper stood at the end of the conference table, talking. They almost literally had their heads together, close enough to be breathing each other's air.
Toni felt a pang of jealousy. They looked up, saw her, but didn't move. That was good. If they had jumped apart when they saw her, that would have been something to worry about. Still, she didn't have any reason to be uneasy. She knew Alex.
"Anything new?" she asked.
"We've got the intel on Goswell and Peel," Alex said. "And some interesting developments. Colonel Howard and Sergeant Fernandez are on their way here."
Even as he said it, the two men arrived.
"Angela, if you would?"
Cooper stood as the others took their seats. She touched her flatscreen and a projection lit over the conference table.
"Lord Geoffrey Goswell's estate in Sussex," she began. "It's called The Yews. He spends most of his time there. The place sits on several hundred acres that include the main house, smaller cottages, and various out-buildings."
More images flashed into view.
"Except for staff, his lordship--he's a widower--lives there alone. He has places in London, Brighton, Manchester, a villa in the south of France, and various houses or condominiums in Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Spain, Portugal, India, and the United States. Here is a list of the companies he owns all or part of. His personal fortune is estimated at just under two billion."
"Must be hard," Fernandez allowed.
Cooper continued: "Peel, whom we've discussed at some length before, heads Goswell's personal security. He's got anywhere from half a dozen to ten men, all ex-military, all heavily armed, patrolling the estate at any given time."
"I thought guns were more or less illegal here," Howard said.
Cooper said, "For ordinary citizens, yes. No handguns, and all rifles and shotguns must be locked up except when actually in use for target shooting or hunting. No military-style assault weapons allowed in any case."
Fernandez said, "Let me guess: When you have a couple billion in the old piggy bank, the rules are different, right?"
Cooper gave him a tight smile. "Just so."
"Please continue," Alex said. "Let's keep the editorial comments down, shall we?"
"We've put a couple of teams on the roads leading to the estate, and less than an hour ago, a rental car arrived there. A check of the car agency records indicate it was rented yesterday in Southampton by Peter Bascomb-Coombs. Our operatives managed to get a blurry picture of the driver, and it appears to be the computer scientist."
That got a nice reaction.
"Major Peel, also under surveillance, is currently en route to Sussex on his way from London. It will take him another hour or so to get there."
"No sign of Ruzhyo?" Howard asked.
"No."
"Could he be at the estate?" "It is possible," Cooper allowed. "We won't have any spysats in position to footprint the area for another ninety minutes. Even so, and even if he is strolling on the grounds, we would be hard-pressed to identify him from that alone. We have, under the aegis of national security, tapped the landlines into the estate, as well as having scanners recording wireless activity."
"Must be nice to be able to get a wiretap that easy," Alex said.
"It was not exactly easy," Cooper said. "But so far, nothing of importance has been forthcoming. And essentially, that is the situation as we now know it."
"Sounds like most of the eggs are in the basket to me. We need to take a little run out there and have a chat with some folks," Fernandez said.
Cooper stared at the holoproj image, then down at the table. She looked uncomfortable, a thing that didn't bother Toni much. Cooper said, "Well, yes, that would be the logical next step."
"But ... ?" Howard said.
"This is a bit awkward," she said. "We can't just pop out and do that."
"Why not?" Toni asked. "We have a suspect in the computer crime that has rattled half the planet, and we know where he is. I can't believe you don't want to have a few words with him. And with the guy who he works for, too."
Toni saw Julio and John Howard nod in agreement, and Alex also looked ready to hear her answer.
Cooper said, "This is true. However, things aren't done that way here. What if y
ou were in the States and you suddenly had to question a billionaire who was also a powerful political figure? A senator or even the President? You couldn't just knock on his door and demand to come in, could you?"
"No," Alex said. "But if we had enough reason to suspect he was involved in a major crime, in which hundreds of people were killed as a result of something he did or had done, we could get a judge to issue a search or an arrest warrant. We've had our President testify when he didn't want to. Even impeached."
"After weeks of consultation with his lawyers," Cooper said. "And the impeachment was a wrist slap--he wasn't tried and found guilty, was he?"
"The effort was made," Alex said. "No man is above the law."
"Men are not above the law here, either, Alex, but this is a small country, and despite our attempts to bring it into the twenty-first century, still very caste-conscious. Lord Goswell is at the acme of power here. He went to school with the senior members of the House of Lords. He knows the blue blood wealthy, he knows the most powerful barristers and solicitors, and he knows the judges, the high police officials. Every couple of weeks he has tea with the head of the Conservative government. He can get more done with a wave of his hand than Parliament can do in a week. He plays bridge with the king. Getting the wire- and wavetaps were small miracles and were managed only because Goswell didn't know about them. This is not a man upon whose door you knock and demand anything. If you want to go and beard this lion in his den, you need to enter into negotiations with a delicate touch, your hat in hand. It's one thing to call up and tell his head of security you are going to drop round for a chat; it is quite another to demand the same of one of the richest and most powerful men in the country."
Nobody had anything to say about that for a moment.
"Bullshit," Julio said.
Toni suppressed her smile. She had to agree with that one.
"That may be, Sergeant, but I am here to say that His Majesty's government will not be approaching Lord Goswell, save through his attorneys, and cautiously, at that."
"Even if we suspect he's involved in the computer assaults?" Toni said.
Cooper turned to face Toni. "Even if we knew for sure he was responsible and could prove it, Ms. Fiorella. Which we do not. We have no real evidence other than some very thin circumstantial material: Bascomb-Coombs, who might or might not be involved himself, works for Lord Goswell and is there visiting him. That doesn't prove much of anything, now does it?"
Toni knew that Cooper was right. But she also knew in her gut that Bascomb-Coombs was tied into this, and Peel and Ruzhyo were somehow connected to it. But what could they do if the local authorities wouldn't let them even talk to the parties?
Alex said, "We can't barge into his lordship's house without an engraved invitation. All right. Can we short-stop Peel?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Can you have your field ops pull Peel over and keep him from getting back to the safety of Goswell's estate?"
Cooper stared at him. "Why would we want to do that?"
Alex said, "Okay, follow my logic here. Let's suppose that Bascomb-Coombs is responsible for the computer disruptions."
"All right, for the moment let's assume that."
"If he is, he has to be doing it with help. According to Jay Gridley, this isn't something you can do cheaply, so somebody substantial has to be backing him."
"Yes. So?"
"Occam's razor. He's working for Goswell. He's at Goswell's house. How many people can fund a multimillion-dollar project and keep it secret? Wouldn't that have to be somebody with a lot of clout? Like somebody who owns lock, stock, and barrel a high-end computer company? That gives us Goswell. And wouldn't Goswell's chief of personal security have to have some idea who Bascomb-Coombs was? Any op worth his pay-check would surely run background checks on people who cozied up to his boss. If it was me watching over a rich man's health, I'd want to know everything about everybody who walked in the door. I'd make it my business to know what visitors had for breakfast, where they ate it, and how big a tip they left."
"You're saying that Bascomb-Coombs is the mad hacker, that Goswell knows about it, and that Peel also knows. Your logical chain is weak, even assuming the first link in it is as solid as steel."
"Stands to reason if they are all sitting around having tea together, doesn't it?"
Cooper gave him a small smile. "Come now, Alex, people who have tea together don't share all their secrets, do they?"
Alex flushed. John Howard turned and suddenly found a fascinating spot on the empty wall to stare at. Cooper's smile grew bigger and warmer. These actions didn't prove anything, but taken together, on a sudden, deeply intuitional level, an icicle of solid nitrogen formed and stabbed Toni in the heart:
My God. Had Alex slept with this bitch?
How? When?
God in heaven--why?
Alex cleared his throat and said, "Look, we know Peel is connected to Ruzhyo and the death of a suspected ice man."
"The fellow in the bookstore was, according to the coroner, a suicide."
"After Ruzhyo or Peel shot him! Peel knows something about all this. You know I'm right. Pull him in and let's sweat him before more people die and millions of lives are disrupted."
There was a long pause. Toni stared at Cooper with the new suspicion still piercing her to her soul. All of the rest of this was nothing. It didn't matter about Peel or Goswell or Ruzhyo. None of that was important.
Had Alex betrayed her? Surely not. He couldn't have. Could he?
She felt sick.
Cooper said, "All right. I'll have to get DG Hamilton to sign off on it, but I suspect we can do that much in the interests of national security."
37
Thursday, April 14th
M23, South of Gatwick
Ruzhyo took a couple of deep breaths and blew them out, trying to relax. He had been growing more tight as he drove, gripping the wheel harder, hunching forward, and that wouldn't do, to be tense when he needed to be loose. A tight man could not move properly. Even knowing that, it always happened. You had to work to overcome it, despite all the years and bodies.
Ahead of him and one lane over, the gray Neon with the two men in it who had been following Peel since London cruised fifty meters behind the major's car, using traffic as cover. So intent on tailing Peel had they been, they had not noticed Ruzhyo.
As soon as he had spotted them, Ruzhyo had made the call and had spoken but one word: "Company." That had been enough to alert Peel.
He'd replied. "Got it. I'll call back later."
They had passed Gatwick Airport a few miles back, still heading south on the big motorway as if going to the Sussex estate. The mobile phone on the car seat next to him rang. Ruzhyo picked it up. "Go ahead."
"Have they made you?"
"No."
"Good. We're getting off at the next exit, about two miles ahead, heading east. Down that road three miles, there is a large oak tree at an intersection with a narrow road to the right. Two miles down that road, on the left is a big sheering barn. We'll have a chat with our company there. Why don't you go on ahead and get set up?"
"Yes."
Ruzhyo thumbed the connection off. He accelerated and pulled smoothly ahead of the surveillance car, passed Peel, and was half a mile ahead of them when he turned off the highway at the next exit. The shadowers paid him no attention.
The oak tree was where it was supposed to be--Ruzhyo measured the distance with his odometer--and the barn, in front of a field of grazing sheep, sat alone and quiet in the middle of a long stretch of nowhere. A perfect place to have a chat you didn't want anyone to overhear.
Ruzhyo pulled his car into the barn and shut the door behind it. The place was dusty and smelled of dry hay, wool, and something like hot candle wax. Farm smells, bringing with them quick lances of memory from his days with Anna. He checked out the exits. There were two more at ground level besides the one he'd pulled the car into, and two openings on the upper level, with ho
ists and ropes and pulleys dangling from them. Peel was a professional; he would pull his car in and get out in such a way as to allow somebody hiding in the barn a clear shot at his followers when they left their car. Probably in front of the smaller door on the building's southeast side, he figured.
Ruzhyo checked the magazine in the Firestar, making certain that a round was chambered. He cocked the hammer and put the safety back on. There might not be any shooting at all; if it became necessary, he had eight shots, and seven more rounds in a second magazine, if he had to reload. No semi auto was jam-proof, but he had adjusted the magazines and polished the feed ramp, and the bullet ogive was clean and rounded enough so there shouldn't be a problem. After firing a few rounds when he'd gotten the piece, he had hand-cycled a hundred cartridges through the action without a misfeed. At this range, if he had to shoot, he'd only need a few to work, and the first one was already there.
He heard the sound of an approaching engine, easily discerned in the quiet pastures. He took another deep breath and let it out, stretched his neck, and rolled his shoulders. He was ready. He would follow Peel's lead.
Peel pulled his car onto the hard-packed dirt next to the barn and circled to his left to force the following car to pull in between him and the building. He stopped, loosened his pistol in its holster, and alighted from his car. He kept the door open and stood partially covered by it. He didn't see Ruzhyo, but he had noticed the fresh tire prints leading to the barn, so he knew the man was in there. If it was him, Peel would set up behind that door right across from his car, and he bet that the ex-Spetsnaz shooter was already there. He felt a lot better having an old pro watching his arse.
The Neon pulled off the road and right into perfect position. The car stopped in a light cloud of dust, and as the reddish gray powder settled, two men got out. They wore windbreakers, and they had the moves of somebody carrying firearms, which they certainly had hidden under their jackets. But they didn't look like coppers, at least not civilian ones. One was a medium-tall brunette, the other a shorter, stockier man with mouse-brown hair cropped short. Were they military? Or Intelligence? What the bloody hell?
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