The Lost Codex (26 page)

42

V
ail ducked at the last second and avoided the blow.

She followed with a backhanded chop to Ryan’s throat. He stumbled sideways toward a pay bicycle rack and fell, both hands gripping the front of his neck. It would do no good, of course, but it was a reflex.

Vail pulled a flexcuff from her pocket and strapped it around Ryan’s wrists. She pulled them tight, then yanked him onto his back to face her. Her jacket got stuck on the handle of the Glock, and she quickly freed the coat, pulling it around and zipping it, covering the weapon.

“So, Ryan, you and I are gonna have a little chat. I’m Xena the Warrior Princess. Who are you?”

He shook his head, trying to regain his voice. “None of your business,” he said, clearly finding it.

“It is my business. Because I think you and your buddies just released osmium tetroxide gas inside the Home Office.”

His eyes narrowed: a look of genuine surprise. And he clearly knew what the toxin was. “Who are you?”

“I told you. But the question was, ‘Who are you?’”

He did not respond.

“Is Ryan your real name?”

He snorted. “About as real as Xena.”

“Didn’t think so. What is it?”

“If you know it’s not my real name, you know I’m not gonna tell you shit. To use an American idiom.”

His speech was clear, his English neutral: not multicultural London English. In fact, not a British accent at all. Not practiced. Natural.

A siren groaned in the near distance: it was only a couple of blocks away.
Crap. Please don’t come near here
.

Two bobbies appeared ahead, along the traffic circle, wearing their traditional navy top hats with the prominent silver badge. The scene must have looked odd, with a woman hassling a handcuffed man—and Vail not looking the part of a British police officer.

“What’s the problem here?” one of the cops asked.

Normally she would laugh and tell them to go away, since the bobbies famously were not armed. What could they do, yell at her? Scold her? Ask her nicely to stand down?

“She’s yampy,” Ryan yelled—with a perfect British accent. “And she’s got a gun!”

The bobbies pulled side arms—which looked like X-26 Tasers.

Oh, shit. When did they start carrying those?

As if that was not a bad enough development, a white BMW sedan with orange and blue striping screeched around the corner to her right, a block away.

CO19, the armed response vehicle that Reid called in. Lovely. That plan certainly backfired.

Ryan seemed to grasp its significance. But Vail was at a loss of what to do. If the unit stopped, she would not be going up against a Taser. They’d be locked and loaded. With lead projectiles.

And then the worst case scenario presented itself: the BMW pulled to a stop and three men jumped out.

Vail pulled Ryan upright and stood slightly behind him. “Stop right there!”

The CO19 officers did as instructed. But they also had Glock17 pistols pointed at her.

“Help me,” Ryan said again. “She tied me up, she’s demanding money. I’m just a software developer for the Home Office, border division.”

Fuck. What do I do? I can’t tell them my name or why I’m here or why I have this guy in cuffs. Or that it was actually
my
idea to call in CO19.

Or why I’m carrying a gun and a lethal knife. Shit, shit, shit.

“Back away from your hostage,” one of the Kevlar-vested CO19 officers said, his weapon trained squarely on Vail, a black tactical helmet obscuring part of his face.

How the hell did this happen?
“I’m the good guy,” she wanted to shout.

That was only partially true. She was on foreign soil on an unsanctioned mission, with a rap sheet in the UK that included the murder of a government official. If they figured that part out, her finch was cooked.

Hector … Uzi … where are you when I need you?

The cops were still a half block away, a long line of blue bike rentals between her and Ryan and the officers.

“Uh, this man is a terrorist,” she stammered. “He just launched an attack on the Home Office. Osmium tetroxide. Check it out, you’ll see I’m telling you the truth.”

“And how would you know that?” one of the officers asked.

If I told you that, buddy, I’d have to kill you. Crap, I’m starting to think like Hector.
“Check with MI5,” she said. “Agent Clive Reid.”

One of the bobbies cocked his head, then looked at his partner.

Oh, shit. I just blew Reid’s cover. My god, can this get any worse?

Reid was an MI5 agent embedded with Scotland Yard—that is, until now.

Vail started sweating. Her face was slick, her underarms hemorrhaging perspiration.

“I’m Officer Manning,” the lead CO19 man said. “What’s your name?”

Xena the Warrior Princess.
“You can call me Al.”

“Al,” Manning repeated.

Thank god he didn’t get the Paul Simon reference.

“Are you armed, Al?”

Only with wit and wisdom. But, apparently, sometimes not both.

“Answer me, Al. Weapons? And I’m not talking about diamonds on the bottoms of your shoes.”

Ooops, guess he did get it.

“One more time. Are you armed?”

Well, there’s my Glock. And my Tanto.
“You’re focusing on the wrong problem. This man here’s a liar and a terrorist.”
Will diversion work?

“We’ll sort it out, no worries,
Al
.” Manning took a step toward her.

“That’s far enough.”

She immediately realized that was a stupid statement. She had no weapon trained on them—or her “hostage.” Why shouldn’t they advance on her?

Vail could not continue holding them off. Stalling was not going to work with these highly trained officers. And they were clearly more concerned with her than with Ryan. She would be asked to provide identification any moment now, and then they would approach and pat her down, and, well, that would not be a good thing.

“This man is a terrorist with al Humat. He’s responsible for the attacks in the US and just now on the Home Office and Thames House.”

“And how do yeh know that?” Manning asked, his tone firmer, angrier. “Who are yeh?”

This is the point where I turn and run. What happens to Ryan, or whatever the hell his name is, is no longer my main concern
. She would do no one any good by getting arrested in the UK. Now associated in some capacity with terrorism, she would be handled differently and interrogated more vigorously. They would eventually discover her true identity, despite the covert nature of the op.

So Vail did the only thing she could. She spun and took off, back the way she had come, pulling out her Samsung as she went.

Behind her: Yelling. Running footsteps. Cursing.

She pushed the countermeasure glasses up on her sweaty nose and waited for the call to connect.
C’mon, Hector, answer the damn—

“Being pursued by CO19, get the car, meet me in front of Caffè Ne—”

“But you’ve got the keys.”

Are you kidding me?
“Hotwire the car, call Uzi. Do something. If they catch me—” She realized DeSantos had clicked off.

Vail ran back into Bennett’s Yard and saw the parking garage she had passed earlier. She unwound her muffler as she approached and tossed it to her right, just past the entrance. If they followed her into the alley, they’d see her article of clothing and—hopefully—think she had turned in.

Because the alley was hooked, they would not get a clear view of her, so at least one or more of them would have to pursue the scarf lead in case she had a vehicle inside and was attempting to escape by car.

Vail ran through the curved lane, emerging on Marsham. Metropolitan Police cars lined the curb space in front of the Home Office and bobbies were milling about the entrances. Fire trucks and ambulances were onsite as well, blocking portions of the narrow road.

The commotion would only help her. Regardless, she did not have much time before the officers who continued pursuit down Bennett would be upon her.

She turned and headed back toward Caffè Nero, looking for a recessed doorway—or some other crevice where she could hide.

As she approached the coffee shop, Uzi came speeding up to the curb ahead of her, at the far corner—Romney Street—going against the one-way traffic.

Vail sprinted toward the vehicle and he popped open the door as she heard, “Stop!” along with several footsteps behind her. She jumped into the passenger seat, slamming the top of her head against the window frame. She grabbed the armrest as Uzi hung a hard left and burned rubber, leaving the pursuing officers behind.

He made another quick turn onto Horseferry and then again onto Regency, where he pulled abruptly to the side of the road. He wiped down the wheel, gearshift, and door with a handkerchief, then handed it to Vail, who did the same. Just as she finished, DeSantos and Fahad drove up.

Vail and Uzi swung their duffels out of the trunk and then got into DeSantos’s car. He drove away and put as much distance as he could between them and the crime scenes in the shortest amount of time without running traffic lights or drawing undue attention.

“Keep your head down,” Fahad said to Vail.

She leaned forward and dropped her face between her knees and wondered how long it would take before she could feel confident that they were in the clear.

Vail dug out her phone and, keeping low, dialed Reid. He did not answer on the first attempt, but he picked up on the second.

“Things are a little busy, can I ring yeh back?”

“Would love to stick around but—well, you know how it goes. Before we leave, there are things you should know.”

“Get on with it then.”

“First—what happened? Did we call it right?”

“Give yourselves a pat on the rump. At Thames there was a sniper but he never got the chance to take a shot. One of our own had him in his sights and almost took him down.”

“Who was it?”

“Don’t rightly know. He got away.”

Are you serious?

“Yeah, go ahead and say it: it was an arse fucking screw-up on our part.”

“Surveillance video?”

“Being reviewed from multiple cameras. Don’t have anything on the roof but they’re checking to see if we got a few frames of him on his way up or on the street on the way to the job. If he’s a professional, we won’t be so lucky.”

“And the Home Office?”

“Not looking as good. Took longer to convince them osmium tetroxide was a viable threat. I got it done but not everyone got out in time. Not sure yet how many were infected. But I got preliminary confirmation from our onsite hazardous materials people. You were right.”

“A case where I wish we were wrong.”

There was shouting in the background, then Reid’s voice, muffled slightly by a finger over the microphone: “Deploy the robot and check it out. I’ll be right there.” To Vail, he said, “You said there are things I need to know?”

“You may have an infiltrator at MI5.” When she explained her reasoning, there was silence. “Reid, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. We’ll look into it. Take a while to do it right, but I’ll let you know if we find anything. What else?”

Vail closed her eyes. She did not want to have to tell him this, but she had no choice. “I, uh, I may’ve blown your cover.”

“I’m up to my arse in a major investigation. No offense, but this is not the time for a joke.”

I wish I were joking.

“You are joking, right?”

“I’m really, really sorry. I—I can’t go into it on the phone but just know that if I could take it back I would.”

“Are yeh sure? I need to know the specifics.”

She explained it as best she could without implicating herself as being the woman at Smith’s Square who had escaped from CO19.

“I’ll see what I can find out. Damage control.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s the saying? Shite happens?”

“It’s an American thing. And it’s just plain old shit. Shit happens.”

“You Americans want to take credit for everything, eh?”

“Take care of yourself, Reid. And give Carter my regards.”

MINUTES AFTER VAIL HUNG UP WITH REID, when they had gotten outside the city limits and entered the motorway, she sat up and stretched out the kinks in her neck.

“Where are we headed?”

DeSantos, who was driving, looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Right now, back to RAF Mildenhall. Then we’ll reassess, connect with Knox, and figure out a plan of action.”

Uzi was seated to her left in the backseat, working his laptop keyboard, for the most part silent, clearly intent on decrypting the remaining documents. “Uh—holy shit.”

DeSantos glanced in the rearview mirror. “That’s a bit vague, Boychick. Can you be more specific? Find something?”

Uzi continued to stare at the screen. “Get Knox on the phone.”

Vail pulled out her cell and started dialing. A moment later, she had the director on the line. “On speaker, Uzi.”

“Sir, I’ve found something you need to act on immediately. I’ve got a captured document that outlines a small-scale repeat of the 9/11 attacks. A single jet.”

Vail watched as his eyes moved across, and down, the screen. It was in Arabic, so all she could do was wait.

“Go on,” Knox said.

“I’m translating the Arabic,” Uzi said. “Looks like it’s going down today—tonight—wait, New York is how many hours behind us? Five? Shit, it’s going down—” Uzi’s head whipped up. “Now.”

“Details,” Knox said, urgency in his voice. “Give me something. A jet? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Freedom Tower, commercial airliner,” Uzi said, skimming the document. “Refers to someone by name of Haydar. That’s it. If we’ve lost contact with any flight, or if anything out of the ordinary is—”

“You’re sure of this intel?” Knox asked, the rapid clacking sound of a keyboard apparent over the phone’s speaker.

“We’re not on a secure line, sir.”

“No time. Give me what you’ve got.”

“I’m reading encrypted documents we stole from a PC in the Greenwich cell’s flat. Yes, I believe it’s reliable intel.”