Raymond dutifully poured three fingers into a tumbler and placed it on a paper napkin embossed with the stadium logo and practically clicked his heels together as he bowed slightly, as deferential as a seasoned manservant. The man tossed a five-pound tip at him and moved into the crowd, and Raymond, without moving a muscle, murmured to Abreeq. “That sort likes to show the working folks he’s all that. Fine with me. I’ll give it a twist and spit on it twice, if you catch my drift. All the same to me as long as he tips.”
Abreeq made a mental note not to underestimate his new friend – who, judging by his performance, could have played poker in Monte Carlo for a living. He chuckled and grappled with something appropriate to say. “I think he liked you.”
“Of course he did. I made him feel better about being him. That’s the trick, see? Can’t let on you think they’re stupid gits. They want to see service staff who are obviously inferior; otherwise they have to go to the loo and stare at their willies to make sure they still have one. Pity we didn’t have a revolution like the French.”
Abreeq didn’t understand half of what the bartender said, but decided it didn’t matter. For some reason Raymond liked his new glass cleaner, and that made the hours pass easily. Abreeq looked away for a moment and imagined Raymond clutching at his throat, gasping for breath as he burbled blood from his radiation-burned mouth, and smiled to himself.
“You there. Another gin martini, and be quick about it,” Mortimer barked at Abreeq from his right.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” Abreeq said, and turned to Raymond. “The gentleman would like another drink.”
“Of course. Thirsty business, isn’t it? Like they’re never going to start the game.”
Raymond prepared another martini and presented it with a flourish. Mortimer didn’t so much as look at him, grabbing the glass with fattened fingers and spilling a decent portion of the drink on the bar as he moved away. Raymond swabbed up the liquor with a towel and tossed it back into the sink behind the bar. “See, that kind, the new money, is so self-involved it doesn’t even imagine anything existing besides its needs and wants. A man who wears a suit and orders Scotch? That’s old money, and knows how to behave. The clown with a rug and a hooker? Probably made his fortune on Internet porn or something.”
Abreeq watched the pageant as he finished his task, and was almost relieved to retreat into the kitchen, where things were more straightforward. Raymond’s commentary had been fascinating, but what it amounted to was that most of the VIPs were little more than adult spoilt children jockeying for position, using money and status to prop up their fragile egos.
Four and a half hours later, when the night was over, he was glad to be rid of the place. He punched out and accompanied two other workers to the gates and then walked to the bus stop. He wouldn’t bring the stolen car onto the grounds until the day of the match, when he’d need a quick getaway. For now he was one of the laborers, relegated to public transportation and late nights in the rain.
Fine by him.
Soon everyone’s reality would change for good, and he would be the engineer of the transformation. Until then he would play his part, bow and scrape, pretend not to understand the insults and the dark looks from the native working staff that made a point of despising him because of the color of his skin and his accent. And of course, his religion. Because he was a throwback to the Stone Age, and they were the enlightened, blessed by divinity.
Until the unthinkable happened.
Then, it would be a far different matter.
Chapter 28
Maya sat across from Jeff as they waited for instructions to be phoned in from his superior. She’d submitted a report about Nazari’s suspicious behavior and his final errand before she’d lost him for the day, and Jeff had agreed that, given the circumstances, it warranted further investigation. While Nazari was a relatively minor player, his proximity to Manchester combined with the fact that they had no other real leads made his actions of more interest than she would have thought. And apparently the picture she’d taken of his companion had been the catalyst – Jeff had seemed uninterested in the account until she’d shown him the photograph, at which point he’d had her send a copy to his email and had disappeared for ten minutes while he called London.
“Care to share what the big deal is?” she asked.
“The man Nazari met with is considerably higher on our watch list than he is. That makes Nazari’s actions more intriguing, or at least potentially so.”
“Who is he?”
“Name’s Mehran Sadr. He’s connected to a group that’s suspected of fundraising for terrorist organizations through a network of UK mosques. Based out of London, so he’s also a bit out of his usual stomping grounds.”
“Why would a terrorist financier be meeting with a relative nobody in Birmingham?”
“Now you understand the sudden interest?”
Maya nodded. “Of course, it could be nothing.”
Jeff studied his nails. “Yes, but that’s the nature of the beast. We pull on threads, see where they lead, and occasionally, we get lucky.”
Jeff’s cell warbled and he rose as he answered it. Maya busied herself with going to the kitchen to pour more tea, and by the time she made it back, Jeff had finished his discussion and hung up. She looked at him expectantly, and he studied her face as though seeing her for the first time.
“Headquarters wants us to find out what he was doing in the paint store,” Jeff said.
“How?”
“We’re to go in tonight and scan their computer’s sales records. We know the time, so any transaction effected during that period had to have been him. They’re afraid he might be purchasing materials to build an explosive device. It wouldn’t be the first time – they’ll go to several suppliers and buy items that individually wouldn’t raise eyebrows, but collectively can point to a bomb.”
“What if he knows the shop owners, and it was an under the table deal? No record?”
“That would be more problematic. But if that were the case, then why go in at all? After considering it, London feels that it’s likely what it looks like – Nazari made a purchase or ordered something from a shop far enough removed from his usual haunts that he wouldn’t arouse suspicion or be easily recognized after the fact.” Jeff sighed. “So we’ve been given the green light. How much experience do you have with forced entry? Alarm systems, that sort of thing?”
“I’ve received all the usual training.”
“Yes, well, fortunately I’m considered a bit of a wiz. Which means the two of us won’t be getting much sleep tonight.” Jeff paused. “I presume you have dark clothing?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He checked the time and walked to the door. “I have a few things to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour to get you.”
“You have everything we’ll need? I don’t have picks or anything…”
“Have no fear. Just put on your ninja suit and be ready when I return. I’ll take care of the rest.”
True to his word, Jeff was back at the door in exactly an hour. Maya was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved top with a medium-weight navy blue windbreaker – a near mirror image of his outfit. Jeff eyed her without comment and they made their way to the car. Minutes later they were on the highway south to Birmingham, Jeff driving the speed limit, to the consternation of the traffic around him, judging by the headlights passing him as though he were standing still.
They stopped on the outskirts of Birmingham and had dinner. Their conversation remained innocuous, Jeff divulging no information about himself to Maya’s occasional questions. Once they were in the neighborhood of the paint store, they both fell silent as they sat a block away. A light rain had begun en route, driving any pedestrians off the streets and into the shelter of their homes.
They waited an hour, until the district was dark, and then made their way down the slick street to an alley that ran behind the shops. Jeff led the w
ay, and soon they were at the steel service entrance, a pile of soggy empty boxes beside it providing cover from any casual observation from the alley mouth.
Jeff examined the door while Maya kept watch, and then he moved to the windows, taking his time, his movements measured and calm. When he finished, he leaned into Maya and whispered, “There’s a contact sensor system on all the ground-floor openings. I could try to bypass them, but depending on the setup, there’s a chance they could trigger a silent alarm.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“I’ll give you a boost. See if you can work the ventilation grill on the second floor loose and get in that way. Here,” he said, slipping her a multi-tool. “But watch for sensors. It’s unlikely they’ll have them on a vent, but you never know. Do you know how to spot them?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m not completely without chops, Jeff.”
“That’s good to know. Let’s see what you can do, then. It looks too small for me to get through; otherwise I’d tackle it.”
She was up on the slim second-story brick ledge in seconds, the rim barely deep enough to accommodate the soles of her shoes, and she teetered as she inspected the iron grid. Seeing no hint of it being wired, she unscrewed the bolts and peered into the ventilation shaft, which smelled like solvent and dust. After a glance down at Jeff, who was hugging the shadows by the boxes, she leaned the grid against the brick façade and crawled headfirst into the duct. The darkness engulfed her as she squirmed forward, hoping there would be a reasonable egress at the other end.
An outraged squeak sounded from the shaft ahead of her, and rat claws scrambled away in alarm. Maya tried not to think about what she was heading toward and focused on moving forward, ignoring the pungent odor of rodent droppings that greeted her as she moved deeper into the narrow passage.
Her efforts were rewarded when she reached a larger junction and the steel shaft material wobbled where it connected. She flicked on a penlight and removed two screws using the pliers on the combination tool, pushing their points loose once she’d unscrewed them until she heard them fall against wood. The shaft came loose and she was soon in the dusty confines of an attic, with crates stacked around her and cobwebs hanging from the overhead rafters.
She found the wooden stairs that led to the shop below and extinguished her light, taking a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the near-complete gloom before cautiously stepping down to the main floor.
The computer system was still on, and Maya was able to quickly negotiate the menus and find the day’s sales. She peered at the screen, committed the order in question to memory, and then, after a quick look at the light seeping around the steel-shuttered main display window, retraced her steps and went back through the duct. There was no way to reconnect the junction properly, but she did the best she could to wedge it in place, hoping that whenever it was discovered the contractor would be blamed.
Five minutes later, she had the exterior grid back on and was standing in the alley with Jeff. Neither of them spoke as a pair of headlights approached the alley mouth from the street and turned toward them. Jeff stiffened as the silhouette of a police cruiser approached, and Maya instantly pulled him toward her and tiptoed to kiss him.
The car drew even with them and an amused voice called out, “Go on, you two, get a room somewhere. Isn’t safe to be out and about at this hour.”
Maya pretended surprise and looked at the car, where two officers were chuckling. Jeff recovered quickly and gave them a wave. “I’m working on it, officers. Good evening to you both.”
The car inched forward, and Jeff put his arm around Maya protectively and led her away from the pile of boxes. They ambled to the alley mouth and disappeared around the corner, leaving the police to continue their patrol as they hurried back to Jeff’s car.
Once back on the road, Jeff handed Maya his cell phone. “Enter the information you gathered before you forget the digits.”
“I won’t forget.”
He glanced at her. “Humor me.”
She did as he instructed, checked the display, and set the phone in the center console. “There. But the question is, what does it mean? Fifteen liters of red paint, delivered to a Birmingham address? Do they make bombs out of paint?”
“We’ll send the data to London and see what they come back with.”
“Why don’t we just head over to the address, since we’re in Birmingham, and see what’s there?”
“Because we haven’t been authorized to.”
“How long will it take for London to get back to us?”
“Depends on how busy the analysts are.”
Maya glanced at her watch. “What would be the harm of just driving by?”
Jeff frowned. “That’s not how we work. I play by the book, which means you do too. No cowboy antics.”
“Cowboy? Come on. Let’s take a peek.”
“No.”
“You know you’re going to wish we had when we’re all the way back in Manchester and London orders us to look into it.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“For the record, I think we should go.”
“Yes, quite. I got that. But as your superior, I’m saying I don’t want to do anything that hasn’t been okayed by London, which is the appropriate way to treat the situation. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m afraid that’s the last word until they get back to us with instructions.” He retrieved the phone, thumbed in a number, and transmitted the information.
“I climbed through rat droppings to get that address, Jeff.”
“If you’re trying to sweet-talk me, it won’t work.” His tone softened. “Quick thinking on the kiss, by the way.”
“I’ve been trying to think of some reason to throw myself into your arms. It seemed like the perfect opportunity.”
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and darted to her face, which was expressionless. She held the blank stare for a moment and then they both laughed, the tension instantly vanishing as Jeff swung the car onto the highway for the long drive back to Manchester.
Chapter 29
Reims, France
Vladimir watched as Vahid put the final touches on the bomb using the robotic mechanism in the shielded chamber. After the precision-machined top slid into place and the mechanical arm screwed it shut, the Iranian leaned over to the Geiger counter readout and smiled.
“There. No trace of radiation. It is done,” he said, his voice tired.
“Excellent work, my friend,” Vladimir said. “I presume it’s now safe to enter the vault and remove it, so we can mount it into the casing?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And it is sealed against the effects of moisture?”
“Airtight, as you can see. The timer and trigger are inside the protective sheath, so they will remain dry. And the antenna is built into the sheath, so you will be able to activate it with the remote with a hundred percent confidence.”
“The one aspect of this that troubled me was immersing it in liquid for the journey to England. If something were to go wrong…”
“It’s foolproof, I assure you,” Vahid said confidently.
“Very well.” Vladimir barked instructions to the two waiting men, who exchanged nervous glances before moving to the heavy steel vault door and spinning the latch wheel so they could enter. The Russian moved to the exit and motioned for Vahid to follow him. The physicist rose and accompanied the arms dealer into the warehouse, where a metal beer keg sat beside a work bench, a welding torch and mask by its side. “We will insert the device into the keg and weld it closed, and then fill it with beer. Anyone inspecting it will see one of hundreds of kegs of German pilsner bound for the UK. Even if they tapped it, they would get beer.”
“It’s a good solution. Do you really think it’s likely they’ll inspect it that closely?”
“Of course not. But I believe in overkill, and in the event there’s a zealous custo
ms inspector who’s trying to earn points, I don’t want the plan to unravel.”
“A sensible measure,” Vahid agreed.
The Russian studied Vahid’s face, lined with stress and fatigue, dark circles beneath his eyes lending him the appearance of a raccoon. “And now, you’ve earned a day’s rest, I should think.”
“Yes, I’ll sleep for a long time. Dreaming of my new island home.”
Vladimir had promised the Iranian that he’d be transported to a tropical paradise in Malaysia, where he’d spend his days on white sand beaches, away from the troubles of modern society. Now that the bomb was armed and Vahid’s role was over, Vladimir would have to break the news to him that none of that would come to pass.
“Ah, yes, well, there’s been a change of plans. The islands are no longer an option, due to the local government’s aggressive security measures.”
Vahid looked confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Not to worry. You’ll be transported to St. Petersburg, where we have several homes available for your enjoyment.”
“St. Petersburg?”
“Yes. Don’t look so glum, my friend. I shall ensure your every wish is attended to. Women, a private chef, whatever you like. You are a valuable contributor, and we will have more battles to fight.”
“I was hoping to go somewhere warm, Vladimir. That was the deal.”
“Nobody is more regretful over this new state of affairs than I am. But we are swimming in treacherous waters and must adapt.” Vladimir slapped Vahid on the back. “I can promise you that your time in Russia will be most enjoyable. I have a young lady I will introduce you to who’s enchanting. A member of the ballet company there. Extraordinarily beautiful and charming. You are a lucky man.”
Vahid was obviously not sold, and his face betrayed his conflicted emotions. Vladimir gave him a moment to absorb the new change in their arrangements and then extracted a passport from his breast pocket and held it out to the Iranian.
Vahid took it, opened it, and then looked to Vladimir.
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