Among those so extended were Alice, who had begun her duty shift at two pm; and the two surveillance teams assigned to the Robert Northwood residence on Ashburnham Road, London. A detail that was left out of Alice’s briefing due to the flurry of activity was that the surveillance pair known as the Blue team had come on duty at noon for their twelve-hour shift, two hours earlier than originally planned due to their presence now being required at eight am the next day in the vicinity of Number 10 Downing Street, when the President would visit the Prime Minister. In order to reinforce presence at the scene, several groups had been shifted with little notice. With the tightened rules, the two agents of the Blue team would find it necessary to leave their post at approximately eleven-thirty. This minor detail would be communicated to Alice via departmental email at approximately 7:40 PM. Due to events, Alice would not return to her desk after 7:15 PM.
The second team, the Green team, which was scheduled on at eight pm, would be available until sometime around seven-thirty the next morning. Alice’s two team criteria would, therefore, only be in place for approximately thirty minutes after the meeting with Robert Northwood began.
Highgate
17:05 Greenwich Mean Time
Alice called back just after five. She apologized for the delay, saying that she had been very busy.
“I have reservations for all of you at a restaurant in Piccadilly Circus. Seven-thirty, at Criterion. It’s one of the oldest and most beautiful restaurants in London. I think you’ll truly enjoy it, especially Sue.”
“Fantastic,” I said, and meant it.
“If possible, I truly do recommend the duck,” she said.
“Could you join us?”
After the slightest pause, she said, “Oh, no. I do have things to do.”
“You know, Alice, it’d make your cover as solicitor work really well,” I said. I’m at my best with broader hints. I thought she’d certainly earned it, and she was very good company.
I heard faint noises as she covered the phone. Then she said, “I’d be delighted, thank you.”
I left Highgate to hightail it to our hotel, in order to put on the best stuff I’d packed. This turned out to be a shirt, slacks and a sport coat that Sue had insisted on as I packed in a hurry. I’d forgotten a tie, so stopped off at a men’s store just outside the tube station. Five minutes later, and lighter by fifteen pounds sterling, I had a tie.
Just a couple of minutes after I got to the room, the phone rang. It was Sarah Mitchell, asking if meeting Professor Northwood at his place at eleven was all right with me. Good old Alice. I told Sarah Mitchell I was certain I’d be able to make it then, and was sorry about tomorrow not working for me. She said that was just fine, and we left it at that. She never asked about Jane, and why someone ambulatory would need more medical attention.
“I shall confirm with him, and be back with you.”
“Okay, hey, I probably won’t be here . . . but to make sure you can get me . . .” and I gave her my cell phone number.
She hustled me off the line, and I changed clothes. We all tend to forget little details when we get excited or in a hurry, or both. Like Sarah Mitchell not asking about why Jane needed to go to the doc. I thought Alice had taken that into account. I was really beginning to like our MI5 agent.
Everyone but Alice met at Piccadilly Circus at seven. We spent a few minutes watching Jane go through Tower Records. In fifteen minutes, she’d bought three CD’s by groups I’d never heard of, and had stumped a clerk regarding another one.
We entered Criterion at about seven-twenty, and were greeted by Alice who was seated at a small table near the entrance.
“This way,” she said, and we trooped toward the rear and were seated at our table.
The place was, as Sue said, “Truly gorgeous.” Gold leaf on the ceiling, for example. Marble walls. Paintings and hangings. Real stuff. It was kind of like being wined and dined in a small, elegant museum.
“Established in 1870,” said Alice.
“What style is this?” asked Sue.
“I have a friend who calls it a mixture of Imperial Persian and Glorious Victorian Pub,” said Alice. “Before I forget, this is on our tab, so enjoy.”
“Oh, no,” said Sue. “Let us, really.”
Sometimes. . . .
“I insist,” said Alice. “It’s already done.”
I had a chance to check the prices on the menu as we ordered, and my quick math put the bill at about two-hundred forty pounds. That was around $430.00. I made a mental note to tell Sue that. That was without wine, which I seem to remember was about 45 pounds per bottle.
After we ordered, Alice asked me if Sarah Mitchell had gotten me at the hotel.
“You bet. Wanted to make sure eleven was good for me. She’ll call me on my cell phone to confirm.”
Alice smiled. “Brilliant. You know,” she said, to Sue, “the pork is nearly as good as the duck. . . .”
The food was absolutely delicious, and I had a fine time, even though we had a job to do after supper.
Sarah Mitchell called at about nine. We were good to go.
Alice and I excused ourselves at about nine forty-five. Sue looked a little strained, and Jane really wanted to go along. Wiser heads prevailed. Mostly Sue’s.
“You’ve done more than enough,” she said to Jane. “As your father says, you won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead.”
Much as I hate to be quoted, I wasn’t about to disagree.
“Oh, Mom, it’s not going to involve any danger at all, is it, Dad?”
“Probably not,” I said. “But that’s what I thought last time.” I smiled at her. “I agree with Sue completely. You sit this one out.”
While we had that conversation, Alice was on the phone. “Our car’s outside,” she said. “I do hate to rush off like this.”
“Thank you so much for the lovely dinner,” said Sue. “We’re ready to leave, too, I think. This has just been so nice.”
Alice and I were standing by this time. I glanced down at Carson. “Sure you don’t want to come along?”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll escort the women safely home.”
Outside, it was raining. I couldn’t believe it, and said as much as we hurried to the car.
“It rains in London,” said Alice, “much of the time.”
“Only the second time since I’ve been here,” I said. I held the door for her. It’s just a habit, and she was gracious enough to duck in and not make me look silly.
Once inside, we turned immediately right onto Haymarket, one of the few street names in London that I recognized. After that I was lost.
“Now,” said Alice. “Carl Houseman, this is Mark. You’ve met, I believe.”
“You bet. Are you Blyth’s Chuck or Dave?” I asked.
“He won’t tell,” said Mark. “Although I secretly yearn to be Dave.”
“I just hope I’m Vera,” said Alice. “Regardless of my hopes . . . we shall meet Sarah Mitchell around the corner from his place, on Burnaby Street. Just so you have some idea where you are.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. She could have given me the GPS coordinates, for all the good it would do me.
She opened her purse, and took out a map. “The three of us go to his flat about five before eleven. Here. There are two surveillance teams, with eyes on, here and here. Blue is parked on the street with a view to the rear of the place, where Burnaby ends. And Green is in a small room across the street from his flat, here. Both can hear everything that is said in his apartment. They will call me if anything is amiss.”
“Okay . . .”
“Your role . . . you are simply trying to find out about anything Emma might have said to him, any sort of hint of someone after her. Remember that you don’t know she’s dead. But, then, he truly doesn’t know that, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Sarah Mitchell will try to pry all sorts of salacious information from him, and we just let her do that.” She looked directly at me. “Does that work?”
“You bet.”
“We let Sarah Mitchell play him out. For at least a bit. Would hearing anything about Emma be likely to make you angry?”
“Not that he’ll be saying.”
“Brilliant. Now, then, at some point we shall come clean with him.” That brought a huge smile to her face. “Ought to be worth the admission fee. At that point, I would like you to keep Sarah Mitchell out of my way, if you would.”
“Sure.”
“We can’t very well have him toddling off down the street. If she does anything foolish or unwise, you can legally assist me by, say, gently but forcibly restraining her.”
“No marks?”
“Precisely. But do be firm. Blue and Green teams will be responding. They are Special Branch, and will be taking him into formal custody.”
“Good.”
“We truly do want to avoid uniformed involvement. The less fuss the better.”
“Sounds good to me. If you’d happen to need a little help with Northwood, should I . . . ?”
“I consider that highly unlikely,” said Alice.
“Well, I do, too,” I said. “But just in case?”
“If I develop a migraine,” she said, “you can hold him. That’s fair.”
“Cool.”
“You are the main reason he has agreed to talk with us tonight. Sarah Mitchell has told him, quite truthfully, as much as she knows about you.”
“Really?”
“Trust me. From the sound of his voice, I do believe he thinks this is a fine opportunity to reinforce his alibi.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “You certainly are resourceful.”
“We hate to waste tax monies,” she said.
Before we pulled up where we would be parking, we went by Professor Robert Northwood’s apartment. It was a white building, three stories. Large windows that looked to be nearly floor to ceiling on the front face, with black framing. Two doors, separated by a window, with a short flight of steps leading up to them. That was about all I could see out the rain spattered window of the car.
“His is the top right. There seems to be a light on . . .”
“Yep.” The curtains were opened, but all I could see was a white ceiling.
Alice looked at her watch as we went what I thought was north a long block, and then doubled back toward the apartment. It was just after ten.
“We’ll sit at this point,” said Alice, pointing to her map again. “We want to see if Sarah Mitchell brings anyone with her. She ought to be coming down this street,” she said, as we turned left onto Burnaby again, pulled to the left curb, and stopped. I just couldn’t get used to doing that. The left curb I mean. It felt really weird.
A more familiar feeling started in my stomach and diaphragm. It was the kind of tension that’ll come when you’re about to go on a warranted search kind of thing. Not fear, but excitement. It all comes from not wanting to screw up.
Unfortunately, adrenaline tends to slow down your perception of time passing. That was one hell of a long wait.
I’m pretty sure we all felt about the same, because we started one of those cop type conversations to kill time.
“You guys got any idea why they’re doing this?” I asked.
“As in . . . ?” asked Mark.
“Taking Emma in the first place,” I said. “Killing her. Why in the hell did they kill her, especially when they did?”
“I’m not certain,” said Alice. “It was quite stupid, so I suspect it was a miscue or an outright mistake. That would explain why Northwood doesn’t know of it.”
“Okay. Sure. But what about their motives?”
“At least some of them are radical Islamists. From the files you gave us, you’ve dealt with the type before, I see.”
“Entertaining file,” said Mark. “I never would have guessed something like that could happen in rural . . . Iowa, isn’t it?”
Bless him. “Yes, Iowa. I tell ya, nobody was more surprised than we were.”
“You weren’t working them prior to the incident, were you?” asked Alice.
“No. Hell, we didn’t even know they were there.”
“Let me give you some idea of what at least some of these participants are like. We think we may have a working ID on the one they call Imad. You’ve never heard of him. He’s a friend of Northwood’s. We think that this Imad has actually attended one of the terrorist training camps in the Middle East. It may have been bin Laden sponsored, but that isn’t really essential. He’s indoctrinated.”
“And?”
“Basically he believes that killing anybody who gets in the way of jihad, or who’s death will further the purpose of jihad, is absolutely respectable.”
I’d never heard respectable used to describe a fanatic before. It sounded good.
“He believes,” said Mark, “that the westerners have no right to exist. If you see one, you can take him or her captive. You can take their property. You can kill them. Non-Muslims have no stature.”
“How’s that go over with the Muslim community in general?”
“Here, in the UK? Not at all well,” said Alice. “At least, not as far as I know. The Muslims I know think its radical foolishness, and that it has us painting them all with the same brush.”
“That’s about what we hear in the US,” I said.
“On the other hand, we, here,” she said, “are having a bit of a rough time with those members of the public who think that, because they are such intelligent, tasteful, highly motivated, and generally wonderful people, no terrorist would ever want to harm them. Especially after they find out how thoroughly nice they are.”
“Come, let us reason together,” I said, with a grin. “Yeah. That’s always the case though, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve gotten the same stuff regarding dope dealers, motorcycle gangs, street gangs . . . way before terrorism was a problem for us.”
“I think you’re probably right,” said Alice, “although I must admit I’ve never had the pleasure of working as a street copper myself.”
“Then trust me,” I said. “Most people are like that. I knew a guy once, had a coin collection valued at more than a million dollars. He didn’t think a burglar would ever harm him, because he intended to meet them, face to face, and talk with them.”
“I suppose he was killed by a burglar,” said Mark.
“Nope. His house burned down one night, though. Melted lots of the coins. He’d added a wood furnace to save money, and the chimney caught.”
There was a silence. Then Alice started to laugh, deep and low. “You bastard,” she said.
“Couldn’t help it,” I said, with a grin. “So, anyway, what are the reasonable Muslims doing about this?” I really was curious.
“As much as you or I would,” she said. “If we weren’t officials.”
“Ah. Well, you really can’t blame them. Like the shop owners in Chicago in the twenties and thirties? Pay the mob protection, because the cops can’t protect you all that well most of the time. But you don’t have to like it.”
“That’s adequate,” she said.
“So how did our professor here get into this shit? He isn’t even a Muslim.”
“For a start, you have to realize that Northwood most likely didn’t know he was dealing with someone quite as committed as this Imad. I think that’s where things got away from him. I’m not at all sure he knows himself just how far this has gone.”
“And Imad got the explosives?”
“From someone,” said Alice. “I have no idea who.”
“And Emma was grabbed off for . . . why? A stunt?”
“Frankly,” said Alice, “there seems to be only one purpose, in the final analysis. She was taken to be killed, in order to establish their credentials. It’s just that I tend to think that Northwood didn’t quite realize that.”
“Why did they let him in?”
“He’s a non-Muslim Englishman,” said Mark. “That’s to broaden our focus, and dilute our concentration.”
&nbs
p; “You really think these guys are that smart?”
“No,” said Alice. “Not in the least. But someone is. Somewhere.”
Chapter 25
Ashburnham Road, London
22:50 Greenwich Mean Time
About ten minutes to eleven, a car drove past us, turned the corner, and the brake lights came on just before we lost sight of it.
“I believe that was our Sarah Mitchell,” said Mark.
“It was,” said Alice. “Let’s just give her a bit, and then we’ll walk in from here.”
Mark’s mobile phone rang.
“She’s out . . . and standing by her car . . .” he chuckled. “Blue team says she’s looking impatient. And . . . they think she’s got someone else in her car.”
“Good enough for us,” said Alice, as she opened her door. “Let’s go meet our man.”
It was still kind of raining, but it had turned into more of a drizzle. Everything was nice and shiny, and the street lights were that yellowish kind they had in Highgate. Everything seemed to be okay until you looked at something that was supposed to be red and it had turned grey. Neat stuff.
Sarah Mitchell saw us as we rounded the corner. Alice, consummate actress she was, waived and said, in an excited voice, “Oh, here it is! We parked on the wrong street!”
Sarah Mitchell apparently had just low enough of an opinion of Alice to accept that without a second thought.
“So sorry about the horrible hour,” she said.
“Fine with me,” I said.
“It would be this door,” said Sarah Mitchell. She turned and started up the steps.
Alice leaned over to me and whispered, “There’s a cameraman in her car,” as she passed. I didn’t turn, but followed the two women into the building.
The stairs were varnished wood, and the light was provided by a chandelier that hung down into the stairwell from the third floor ceiling. It was more effective than I’d have thought, though the light wasn’t hotel quality bright.
The stairs creaked just a little, and the dark wood banister was just a tad bit unsteady. A little glue, I thought, would fix that.
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