by Lee Swift
The man stood, dusting himself off before offering a hand to the drunk. “You need to be more careful, sir, especially when you are drinking.”
Austin detected a slight Slavic tone in the man’s British accent.
A security guard noticed the altercation and walked over. “Problem?”
Dark Suit frowned. “No. Everything is fine.”
“My fault,” the fat drunk said, struggling to his feet.
“You two need to come with me,” the guard said firmly.
Seeing Dark Suit reach into his overcoat, Austin prepared to bring out his weapon.
When he saw him pass some identification over to the guard, he loosened his hold on his pistol, but didn’t let go of it completely.
The guard looked shocked by what he saw. “Is this for real?”
“Yes.” Dark Suit smiled, taking back his credentials.
“I’m so sorry for the trouble, Commissioner Poole.” The guard stepped back. “What brings the head of the City of London’s Police Service to The Hippodrome today?”
“Commissioner Poole?” Angelique whispered, her shock mirroring his own. “What kind of trouble are you in, Austin?”
He shrugged, thinking he could ask her the same question.
“Just thought I might try my hand at one of your tables.” The lie came off the commissioner’s lips like silk. “It’s my day off.”
“I thought so. This is outside your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. I’m happy to let the Met handle the rest of London.”
The fat man smiled; his eyes heavy with drink. “Guard, this gentleman has done nothing wrong,” he said, slurring his words. “I swear.”
“I know he hasn’t, sir.” The guard was visibly irritated with the drunk. “You have.”
“Do you need anything else from me?” The commissioner scanned the casino.
“No, sir. I need to escort this gentleman out.”
“But I would like another drink.”
“Not happening, sir,” the guard said.
Without another word, the man who had followed them from Angelique’s home turned opposite their direction, heading deeper into The Hippodrome.
When the coast was clear, he and Angelique ran back to the arch, past the guard and fat man, and back out onto the street.
A couple was getting out of a black cab. He and Angelique jumped in.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Angelique brought out her cell. “Coach and Horses Yard. Fast.”
As the driver pulled away, Austin saw the Commissioner step out of the casino talking on his cell. He seemed unaware that they were in the taxi.
CHAPTER 20
10:58 AM
Dr. Thomas Wilson relit his pipe, enjoying the aroma of his favorite tobacco. Being in his home surrounded by his possessions gave him little comfort. Trying to quiet his fears of the current situation, he ran his hand over the arm of his chair, which he’d acquired long ago during a trip to Scotland. The large wingback had spoken to him with its new, dark leather. Now, its fabric had years of wear, like him.
He looked down at the notes he’d been preparing for his interview with the BBC.
“Special delivery for you, Dr. Wilson.” Gita came in carrying a small box.
“It’s likely something for the lab.”
She shook her head. “It’s addressed directly to you, but there’s no return address.”
A shiver ran up and down his spine as he thought about the horrific letter he had received from the killer Monday. It, too, had no return address. “Hand it here.”
Trembling slightly, partially from his disease and partially from his anxiety, he placed the little box on top of his stack of newspapers.
Gita peered over his shoulder. “Do you think it could be from The Ripper?”
“I hope not.” Thankfully, his medications were keeping his Parkinson’s under control. He could not imagine having to ask Gita to open the package. Even with his disease, he had always managed to be independent.
Using his letter opener, he sliced the tape that sealed the box. Inside, sat an envelope and a smaller carton. On the envelope were the words: “A gift for you, Dear Boss.”
He recognized the handwriting. It matched The Ripper’s initial letter to him.
Wilson took a deep drag on his pipe, as the final words of the killer’s first note vibrated silently on his lips.
I admire your work, Wilson. More to come, dear Boss. More to Come.
He had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach on just what kind of present the bastard might have sent him. “Let’s go to the lab.”
“You’re not going to open it?”
“Not until I have gloves on. And all of them are in the laboratory, my dear.”
“Very smart, sir. We don’t want to disturb any fingerprints.”
“Care to join me in this endeavor, Gita?”
“Absolutely.” As frightened as she appeared, her curiosity seemed to propel her forward. Like him, she wanted to know if this package had really come from The Ripper, or was just something innocuous from one of Wilson’s distant relatives or admiring students.
He held the box and took Gita’s hand. They stepped into the lift and went down to the floor below. Walking through the double doors, he entered the most sacred space in the world to him—his beloved laboratory. Quite the opposite of his quarters above, which were reminiscent of an earlier age, this massive room was modern in every way with its bright lights, computers, and stainless steel surfaces.
“Dr. Wilson, how are you doing?” The man who spoke was perched on a stool in front of some slides, pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves. He was the only person Wilson didn’t recognize.
“Mr. Reeves, I assume.”
“Yes, sir. John.”
“May I have everyone’s attention?” He appreciated their hard work, but he didn’t want to expose them to whatever gift the monster had sent. There would be too many questions and not enough answers. “Today is a holiday. Everyone go home.”
“Sir, are you sure?” Reeves seemed to have a fire and eagerness for his research.
He admired that greatly in anyone. There are so few. “I’m certain. Bring me a pair of gloves and then go. All of you.”
One bolted out the door. The other three, including Reeves, seemed confused.
Sharpening his tone, he said, “I do not want to repeat myself.”
The rest left, save Reeves. The lad brought him the gloves as requested.
Reeves’s eyes fell to the package. “Anything I can help you with, sir? I’d be happy to assist.”
“Thank you, but I will be fine.” Will I? Really? “Just want to inspect the lab and make sure everyone is following my protocols.”
“I think you’ll be happy with what you find, sir. I know I was when your team gave me the tour this morning. Thank you again for this amazing opportunity.”
“Go enjoy the day, young man.”
Reeves walked out, leaving him and Gita alone in the space.
Wilson placed the box on the nearest table, donning the gloves. He carefully brought out the note, unfolding the paper. The script he saw matched that of the previous letter, though the message was more succinct and had no grammatical errors. Perhaps the killer wasn’t as illiterate as previously believed. Was the man trying to present a more educated version of himself in this note?
A gift for you, Boss. I know you will like it. Want to help you with your work.
Jack
Wilson tried to digest the full meaning of the letter. If his first inclination was right, he needed to act cautiously.
“It’s obvious to me that you already have an idea what’s inside the smaller package.” Gita’s voice sounded meek, something he had never heard before. “Would you care to share your thoughts, Thomas?”
It was rare for her to use his first name, another sign at how nervous she was.
“I believe this may contain blood samples of The Ripper’s victims,
Gita.” He sighed and opened the second carton. His stomach lurched at what he found.
Not blood samples.
Gita shrieked, seeing the two severed fingers packed in dry ice.
“Calm yourself.” The words were for him as well as her.
Peering into the package, he could see the digits were not from a male—too slight. One of the fingernails was painted a bright red; the other was clear. “I’m fairly certain these came from Nancy Black and Gail Simmons.”
In a shaky voice, she asked, “Would you like me to cancel your interview with Ms. White and your appointment with Dr. Vickers?”
“No. I have plenty of time to make that interview and the appointment.”
“Surely, you won’t be telling Ms. White at the BBC about these?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Shall I ring Commissioner Poole?”
The commissioner had been very accommodating to him since he had turned over the killer’s letter to the police. Poole was personally handling the copycat Ripper case and had given him his direct line should the killer contact him again.
His mind was spinning. “Not just yet, Gita.”
“Sir?”
“I’m going to test these first.” Too bad he had sent the young technician home. He could have used Reeves’s help. But how would he have explained the bloody digits to him? “You’re going to assist me.”
“Just like the old days when it was just you and me in this lab.”
He nodded, recalling how quickly she’d learned the technicalities of running genetic tests.
She smiled. “You won’t have time to wait for the results, Dr. Wilson, because of your appointments.”
“Right you are. You’ll have to finish the test for me.”
She nodded. “You will need to change after we set up these tests. I selected a green tie for the camera. It will bring out your eyes.”
“Gita, imagine if we can match the DNA of these fingers to Dr. Vickers’ mummies.”
“If she allows you to get a sample.”
“As you know, I can be quite charming when necessary.”
“Yes, you can.” She looked back at the box. “Do you really think these will have the DNA you’ve been searching for?”
Under other circumstances, he would have been thrilled at the possibility. Now, not only was he excited, but he was also terrified. “Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER 21
11:00 AM
As the taxi driver turned left off of Regent onto Conduit, Angelique’s heart fluttered fast in her chest. Trying to get her bearings, she glanced out the side window as they passed the East India Company, while Austin continued to peer out the back.
She kept her tone low so as not to alarm the driver. “Any sign of the commissioner, Austin?”
“No. I think we lost him.”
She pointed to one of the several thousands of cameras around the city. “It’s virtually impossible to remain invisible in London these days.”
“I’ve seen them. Let’s pull our coats up high when we exit.” He leaned forward. “Driver, let us out here.”
“At the West End Central Police Headquarters, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Austin, the meeting place is just a block behind the station,” Angelique whispered.
She had never dreamed she would be on the run from the authorities, but there were many things happening right now she’d never imagined. Her dead brother had shown up at her door. The Commissioner of the London City Police had chased them out of her flat. The commissioner had lied to the casino worker. Whatever the man wanted with her and Austin didn’t appear to be related to his official duty, though she could not be certain about anything at this point. All she wanted was to get to Michael. He would know what to do. He always did. He was her rock and she needed him right now.
“Driver, stop right before the headquarters, please, where that city street sweeper is standing.” Austin put his arm around her.
She typed a quick text to Michael, letting him know they were getting close.
“Sis, how much money do you have?”
She opened her purse and counted. “Seventy-five pounds and some change.”
The taxi stopped on the corner opposite the station.
She felt her stomach flip-flop. “What are we going to do to avoid detection?”
“There’s a blind spot here.” Austin motioned to the cameras in the area. Oddly, none of them were pointed in their direction.
“That will be twelve pounds.”
She handed the driver fifteen. “Keep the change.”
Austin grabbed the shopping bag and got out of the taxi, offering her his hand. She pulled her coat up high as she exited.
“What now?” So many other questions whirled in her head.
“Give me your money,” Austin said.
Without pausing, she gave him every pound she had. He was her brother. She trusted him no matter what.
He walked over to the street sweeper and began talking with him.
The guilt she’d carried thinking Austin was dead had colored her life. She’d been so angry with him when he’d left her after their parents’ deaths. Most of her current friends believed her to be an only child, not a twin. She hoped to repair the relationship between her and Austin. Could they rekindle what they once had when they were younger?
The moment she’d opened her door and found him standing there she felt instant relief and joy. Now, all that mattered to her was that he was alive. Her brother was with her. Finally. She had Austin back. But she still had a million questions. Where had he been all these years? Had he faked his death or had someone else? Why was the commissioner chasing him?
Her phone beeped. A text from Michael.
I’m here. Where are you?
She typed back. A minute away. What is this meeting place?
A safe house.
She was a little surprised to learn the U.S. Embassy needed such a place in London.
Austin walked over, wearing the street sweeper’s yellow vest and hat. “Expensive, but worth it. Sis, I want you to walk in front of me a few steps so it doesn’t look like we’re together when we come into the camera’s view. I’ll follow you. Everything is going to be okay.”
She nodded, feeling a little better.
Another text from her husband popped up on her screen. You okay?
Austin’s hand remained inside his jacket, undoubtedly wrapped around the gun. “Another message from your husband?”
“Yes. Michael is waiting for us at the meeting location.”
“Lead the way.”
Quickly, she sent a three-word text back to her husband. Yes, I am.
CHAPTER 22
11:15 AM
Austin made sure to keep his face away from the camera’s view. There were three on this block, four on the block up ahead. The vigilance of the world’s governments seemed to be even more heightened than it had been when he’d been shot in Iraq.
That was just yesterday to me.
He was beginning to wrap his head around the fact that he’d lost so much time.
Angelique walked ahead of him.
They passed a couple of parked police cars, but no officers. Coach and Horses was a dead end street adorned with no cameras.
Where is Remington sending us?
A man on the steps to the right of the intersection was reading a newspaper. To the casual onlooker, the guy would seem completely suited to the surroundings—just an average Joe taking a break from his desk job. But Austin knew better, spotting the tiny wire in his ear. The bulge in the man’s coat was likely an automatic weapon of some sort. Not a corporate paper pusher, but an operative from an agency, likely MI6, Interpol, or even CIA.
Out of the corner of his eye, Austin saw another man on the roof.
Remington is definitely much more than Angelique knows. No way would a typical state department staffer working for the embassy have access to such assets, or be able to coordinate them so q
uickly.
He and Angelique spotted Remington at the same time. She ran to Michael—her husband. There were so many things Austin was going to have to get caught up on.
Remington wrapped his arms around Angelique, kissing her.
She’s safe now that she’s with him. Commissioner Poole, or whoever Dark Suit is, he can’t hurt her now.
He noticed the gray around his friend’s temples, but other than that Remington looked very much the same, though he’d exchanged his military uniform for a dark suit and tie.
“I was so worried.” Remington stepped back, taking full stock of Angelique.
I can leave now, knowing she’s in good hands.
“Honey, you can see I’m fine.” The years had given an impressive strength of will to his sister. “My brother took very good care of me.”
Remington glanced back at him, his eyes full of disbelief. “You look a lot like Austin McCord.” His old buddy pulled out a pistol, aiming it directly at him. “But I know that it can’t be true.”
Angelique’s eyes went wide in shock.
Austin dropped the bag and raised his hands over his head.
“What are you doing, Michael?” she asked. “And where did you get that gun?”
“Let me handle this, sweetheart.”
“You think I would have brought her to you if I wasn’t Austin?”
“This is my brother. I was shocked to see him, too, but I know this is Austin. He’s my twin. I have no doubt about it. Put that damn gun away right now.”
Remington didn’t budge an inch. “What’s in the bag?”
He shrugged, seeing his old friend’s skills from the battlefield had translated quite well into his new job. “Sis, he’s doing exactly what he should be doing. He’s checking out the evidence.”
Remington’s eyes narrowed. “Careful. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“I don’t expect you to believe me. Angelique is your priority. You definitely need to make sure I am who I say I am, Professor.”
“Oh, you’re good, mister.” Remington glared at him. “You’re really good. But many men I served with knew McCord called me ‘Professor.’ ”