Collateral Damage (13 page)

When she was back in her seat, the flight attendant came back to brief her. “There’s fog in London,” she said, “but the pilot says the ceiling is eight hundred feet, so we shouldn’t have a problem landing. The approach is steeper than at most airports and the runway shorter, so be prepared for that. An embassy car will be waiting on the ramp for you.” She went back to the front of the airplane and buckled in.

“Excuse me,” Stone said, rising from his seat. “I want to watch this approach from the jump seat.” He went forward.

Holly could see nothing but gray outside the windows. As the flight attendant had warned, the approach was steep, and they broke out of the clouds in time to get a good look at the Thames. On touchdown, the reverse thrusters came on, and the pilot braked hard. A moment later they were turning off the runway and onto a ramp.

Stone came out of the cockpit grinning. “That was exciting,” he said.

The attendant opened the door, and they descended to the ramp, where a car was waiting that looked much like the presidential limousine.

“They’ve sent the ambassador’s car,” Holly said, when they were inside. “This is embarrassing.” The door shut with a soft clunk, and they could barely hear the sound of an aircraft taking off from the runway.

“I could get used to this,” Stone said, stretching his legs.

“I can’t believe they sent this car,” Holly said.

“In the circumstances,” Stone said, “I think they wanted you transported in something bombproof.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

She dropped off Stone and her luggage at the Connaught, then the car continued the short distance to the embassy. She was met by two Marine guards at a side entrance on Upper Brook Street, and whisked to the top floor.

“The ambassador wants to see you,” one of the guards said as the elevator stopped. A moment later she was in a large office being greeted by a gray-haired, well-tailored gentleman.

“Ms. Barker,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Ambassador Walters. I just wanted to say hello before you go down to the Agency floor, and extend my condolences for the death of Tom Riley. He was a good man, and I relied on him completely.”

“Thank you, Ambassador,” Holly replied. “I’m grateful for your condolences, and I’ll pass them on to the director when we speak.”

She was escorted back to the elevator by the two Marines, then down a couple of floors. They emerged from the elevator into a small lobby. A receptionist stood and indicated a steel door, which was electronically opened. After that it was just offices, like everywhere else.

She was escorted to a large conference room, where Ann Tinney, a tall, handsome woman in her fifties, introduced her to a dozen men and women around the table, then offered her the chair at the head.

“Good morning,” Holly said. “I’m glad to meet you all, and I want to tell you how sorry I am for your terrible loss of Tom Riley. I knew him pretty well and admired him.

“The director has appointed me acting station chief until things become more . . . regular. I understand that I’m not Tom Riley, and I’m going to need the help of each of you to get through this.”

Holly turned to Ann. “Now, I’d like to be briefed on exactly what happened, the casualties, and the damage. I’ll have to report to the director shortly, and I want to be prepared.”

Ann Tinney operated the video equipment from the seat next to Holly. “We’ve put together clips from a dozen surveillance cameras to give you a graphic idea of what happened.” She brought up the first video.

“Here we have the DSL van, stolen, of course, pulling up to the barrier at the Upper Grosvenor Street end of Burnes Street. You’ll hear the police constable call in the driver’s request to deliver a large box, addressed to Tom Riley, with a return address of Langley.” The audio played, and the barrier was removed so that the crate could be wheeled to the back door.

“Stop,” Holly said.

Ann stopped the footage.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Holly said. “Why would Tom leave his office and go downstairs to receive a shipment, even if it was from Langley?”

“We’re embarrassed by that,” Ann replied, “but as you heard, the delivery required his signature, and since it was from Langley, Tom thought it important enough to go downstairs himself. There is nothing in our security protocol that would prevent him from signing personally.”

“Let’s get the protocol amended immediately to cover that situation.”

“Certainly. Shall I continue?”

“Yes, please.”

The view from a camera inside the rear door. “As you see, the steel security doors are opened to admit the shipment. The driver is now in a room built of reinforced concrete with steel doors that we consider bombproof.”

“Unless the bomb is inside the room,” Holly said. “Amend the protocol to check with the shipping company and the putative sender before admitting any package to the building.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Holly will do, for all of you. Continue, please.”

“Here’s a view of Tom entering the room, looking curious. He takes the clipboard from the driver and examines it.” The audio came on.

“Get this crate out of here and secure the room!” Tom shouted.

“The dog had not signaled, but apparently something about the clipboard aroused Tom’s suspicions, and he acted without delay. We see the rear doors opening, and then . . .”

The video went to one frame at a time: Tom turned and shouted at the Marines, the crate exploded, and both video and audio ended.

“Tom was seconds away from having the crate outside and the room secured when the bomb detonated. There was no action on the part of the deliveryman, so it would have been detonated by cell phone or radio,” Ann said. “Now we see the explosion from outside, from a camera on the State Department building across Upper Grosvenor Street, in slow motion.”

The force of the blast blew a police constable out of the building and across Burnes Street, where his body collided with a neighboring building. A Metropolitan Police car parked in Burnes Street was blown into that building, as well.

“Now we switch to another camera in Upper Grosvenor three minutes and twelve seconds later,” Ann said.

The DSL van exploded with a ferocity as great as the first bomb. Cars and pedestrians were blown about and shattered.

“Jesus Christ,” Holly said involuntarily. “What was the death toll?”

“In the downstairs room, Tom, the police constable, two Marines who were there to examine the crate, plus another Marine at the desk, and the Labrador retriever sniffer dog were killed instantly. The room contained the blast, as it was designed to do, but the doors were open, so there was residual damage outside. A police constable in the patrol car was killed, and four people in the building across Burnes Street were seriously injured. Thirty-two other people were killed when the second bomb detonated—pedestrians, people in passing cars. The van partially blocked Upper Grosvenor, so traffic was bumper to bumper. Four of the dead were in the State Department personnel office across Upper Grosvenor. Eighteen other people either in the street, in cars, or in that building were injured, four of them seriously. The rest was from flying glass and shrapnel. That’s it.”

Holly heaved a deep sigh. “All right. I have to report to the director now, and after that I’ll see the desk chiefs, one at a time, please, in Tom’s office, to get an overview of current operations in your various purviews.”

Ann Tinney stood up. “I’ll show you to Tom’s office.” They left the conference room and started down the hall. “All of Tom’s personal effects have been cleared from the room, so you needn’t worry about disturbing anything there. It will be your office while you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Holly said. She was shown into a large corner office with unremarkable furniture, including a round conference table in a corner. Opaque window shades prevented photographing from outside. “Please excuse me, Ann, while I phone the director.”

“Of course.” Ann left the room and closed the door behind her.

Holly picked up the phone, then put it down again. She had never seen anything so horrific, and she needed a minute or two and some deep breaths to get control of herself. She looked at her watch, which displayed the two relevant time zones: it was four
A.M.
in Washington. She dialed Kate Lee’s cell number.

Kate answered on the second ring. “Holly? I’ve been expecting your call.”

“I’m sorry to wake you. I’ve just had a full briefing on the two bombs, with both video and audio.” She recounted what she had seen.

“Have them transfer that presentation to both the White House situation room and to my office at Langley,” Kate said calmly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can you explain to me why Tom went down to sign for the crate?”

“He thought it was from you. The security protocol doesn’t cover such an incident, and I’ve instructed that it be amended immediately.”

“It was a stupid mistake,” Kate said.

“From what I’ve seen, it was the only mistake anyone made, and even that wasn’t against protocol. The room where the bomb went off performed as designed.”

“It’s a very great disaster,” Kate said.

“How long do you think it’s going to take to get a new station chief in place?” Holly asked.

“I spoke to Lance last night. He’s on his way home now, and he’ll have a list of candidates when he gets to Langley later this morning. Have you been briefed by the desk chiefs yet?”

“No, that’s next on my schedule.”

“One or two of them may be on Lance’s list of candidates, so I’ll be especially interested in your assessment of them as individuals.”

“I’ll try and have that for you by the end of the day here,” Holly said.

“The president made a brief appearance in the press room last night to announce the bare bones of what happened. After he’s viewed the security camera footage, he’ll have a press conference to outline what happened.”

“I’ll get the footage transmitted as quickly as possible,” Holly said.

“Good-bye, then. We’ll talk later today.” Kate hung up.

Holly called in Ann Tinney and gave her instructions on transmitting the footage, along with her commentary. “I’ll start seeing the desk chiefs now,” Holly said.

Holly got to the Connaught just after nine
P.M.
and was shown to the suite. She had called Stone when she was on her way, and he took her in his arms.

“It must have been a very bad day,” he said.

“I just cannot explain to you how bad,” she replied. “Before this is over we’ll have forty dead—more than half of them collateral damage, complete innocents.”

He put her down in a comfortable chair, gave her a drink, then sat on the ottoman and rubbed her feet.

“That’s the first good thing to happen today,” she said, tugging at the drink.

“I’ve ordered dinner,” Stone said. “It will be here in a few minutes.”

“Oh, thank you. I had half a cup of soup early this afternoon. It was back-to-back briefings, and I hope I can retain half of what I learned. I certainly have a new respect for what the London station chief does. He has all of Europe under his purview. The only good thing is that everything is being smartly handled and operated. It’s a tribute to Tom Riley and Ed Marvin.”

“Who’s Marvin?”

“Deputy station chief. Had bypass surgery two days ago, out for a couple of months, probably.”

The doorbell rang, and Stone let in the waiter with his tray table. He opened the wine and tasted it while the table was being set up. The waiter carved the roast chicken Stone had ordered and served the vegetables, then retreated.

“God, this looks wonderful,” Holly said. “I’m glad you ordered something simple.”

“Did you talk to the director?”

“This morning. I owe her a call, but I’ll wait until she wakes up tomorrow. I woke her at four
A.M
. this morning.”

“The papers are over there,” Stone said, nodding toward the coffee table. “The bombing is wall-to-wall—on TV, too. Did you speak with Felicity?”

“Not yet. I’ve just been trying to absorb what the staff here told me. I think it’s unlikely that she knows anything I don’t.”

“You never know,” Stone said. “It’s her ‘patch,’ as the Brits like to say.”