From Russia Without Love (10 page)

_______

I
t was late in the evening when Animus and four of his men walked into the Sofitel London St. James Hotel. While Evelina’s father was the reason he’d started dating her in the first place, he truly had come to care for her, even if she regarded their relationship as more of a business deal than true love. And now that she was gone, he missed her.

He and his men filled the elevator, but the elevator felt empty. And as they rode up, he felt as if his soul were going down. Although Animus didn’t want to face the news himself, he had to give the news to Xander.

Animus stepped out of the elevator. “What the hell am I going to tell him?” He said it more to himself than to his posse. “I failed…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” his albino buddy, Ivan, said as they walked slowly down the hall. Animus didn’t know why Ivan was such a loyal friend to him; he just was.

“I was responsible for her well-being,” Animus said. “I failed to protect her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ivan repeated.

“I should’ve stayed by her side.”

“You have to be careful how you word it to him,” Ivan said.

“There’s no careful way to word it. She’s gone. If Xander kills me for it, at least I won’t have to think about it anymore.”

“He won’t kill you,” Ivan said. “He cares too much about you.”

“We can’t let him leave,” Animus said. “There are police everywhere, and if he tries to go to her body, they’ll try to apprehend him.”

Animus took a deep breath before he knocked on Xander’s door. The peephole went dark for a moment, and then light shone through. Gravity seemed to pull him down as he waited for someone to answer the door, heaviness pooling in his belly. Soon the peephole went dark again. The door opened, and a Russian named Sergey with smooth skin and hard eyes invited them in.

Inside the room, Xander stood and seemed to read Animus’s expression. Xander’s eyes widened, his face somehow burning with anger and pale with fear at the same time. “Where is she?!” he yelled, as if he already knew the answer. He rushed to the door and Ivan tried to grab hold of him, but Xander’s hands swept him off to the side. Animus and his men picked up where Ivan had failed and pushed Xander back into the room, where they held on to him.

Xander struggled, trying to break free. “You sons of bitches. Where is she? Where is she?”

They dragged him back into the room and to the carpet where they dog-piled him. Animus strained to hold Xander down.

“Stop fighting!” Ivan yelled.

“Keep still!” Animus’s men shouted.

Xander caught a piece of Animus’s shirt pocket and tore it. Then he attempted to move both horizontally and laterally from under the heap. Animus battled to keep Xander from escaping, but seeing his grief made Animus’s strength crumble.

Sergey pulled men off the dog pile in an attempt to free Xander, but Animus’s men piled on faster than Sergey could tear them off. At the bottom of the dog pile, Ivan threw a punch, and Animus feared it was directed at Xander.

“Don’t hurt him,” Animus warned his men.

“Where is she?” Xander demanded, his voice becoming high pitched and frantic, his body twisting and turning. “Where is she?” Animus’s men held him. “Where is she? Animus!”

Animus slipped to the side of the pile, and Sergey tore him away. He didn’t have the steel in his muscles to return to the mass of men, and he didn’t know what to say to Xander.

Xander’s body trembled, and his eyes caught Animus’s. “Don’t try to avoid this.”

Animus stood there speechless, unable to deliver the tragic news.

“Take me to her!” Xander said.

Sergey stopped resisting Animus’s crew, knelt down, and patted his boss on the shoulder.

“Take me to her, damn you all!” Xander cried, his voice quaking.

For Xander’s sake, Animus wanted to believe she wasn’t dead, but he’d seen her corpse himself, and he was grasping at nothing.

“Bring my Evelina!” Xander yelled. “Bring her to me!”

His body became unsteady, as did the will of the men holding him, but Xander’s emotions were still raw. Tears ran down his face as he now seemed to fight inward, trying to embrace his denial but unable to hold on. Animus’s men continued to hold him, and Xander’s voice became garbled as if he were drowning in anguish, drowning in reality.

Only one word was discernible.
“Niet!”
No!

The rest was the gibberish of a man whose spirit was dying.

Animus could no longer distinguish between Xander’s agony and his own. He shrank in on himself, feeling smaller as the room stretched wider and a wave of wretchedness swept over him, drowning his cries.

_______

W
illiam’s men must’ve been working hard even after Chris, Hannah, and Sonny went to bed, because when the SOG team awoke, they found their luggage sitting in the living room. Chris put antiseptic on his shoulder and bandaged it carefully. The evening’s rest seemed to have helped, because he could move it more freely. Even his strained ankle didn’t torment him to stand on.

While Sonny showered, Hannah sat next to Chris on the sofa. “The last time I was in London,” she said, “I chased a man I thought was a terrorist for the Taliban. I bagged him on British soil before I flew him to a black site run by the Agency in the Czech Republic. The interrogation got a little rough, and it was discovered that the prisoner didn’t work for the Taliban,” she said, dipping her head. “He was a British citizen. Later, when the British government found out… well, they were livid.”

“You’re lucky your career survived,” Chris said.

“After the British got their citizen back, they figured out he was a key recruiter for al Qaeda. Officially I was forgiven, but unofficially, I wasn’t.”

“Sounds like you did the right thing.”

“I was younger and less experienced,” she confessed, “but my instincts were good. Instinct is something that can’t be taught. I see it in you, too. I’ve never told anyone that story. The only other people who know are those who were directly involved or heard it from the rumor mill.”

He met her eyes and smiled. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

She pressed her lips into a firm line and nodded.

Before they could say anything more, Sonny came out in his business attire. They’d be doing recon around United Kingdom Petroleum Headquarters this morning and needed to blend in with the other business people in the financial district.

“Let’s get some grub,” Sonny said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them.

They approached the dining room, and William’s cook invited them to sit down for breakfast and excused William for being late. The cook served cold smoked herring, eggs, toast, grilled tomatoes, and sautéed mushrooms with orange juice and coffee. Because caffeine would adversely affect his shooting, Chris avoided the latter but helped himself to the rest of the meal.

“What’ll our cover be today?” Hannah asked before she took a bite of her eggs.

“Strip club owners,” Sonny said, his mouth full.

Hannah grimaced. “You have a one-track mind. But I’ve never been in one, and I wouldn’t know how to own and operate it.”

“We could do some research,” Sonny said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Chris swallowed a bite of tomato and mushroom. “How about something to do with the outdoors? We all know about that.”

Hannah nodded. “Outdoor clothing.”

“We could call it Outdoor Mountain Clothing,” Chris suggested. “OMC.”

Sonny rolled his eyes. He didn’t outwardly support the idea, but he didn’t oppose it, either.

Hannah took a sip of her coffee. “We’ll say we’re based in the US and are expanding operations abroad to the UK.”

“If Xander plans to attack UKP Headquarters,” Chris said, “he’ll probably check the place out before he hits it. Maybe we can catch him or his men while they’re scoping the place.”

“And maybe one of his goons will lead us to him,” Hannah hoped aloud.

Chris nodded. “We could try to find an office space to rent nearby, too, so we can put UKP under surveillance.”

“Who’s going to pay for that?” Sonny asked. “We don’t have an account for Outdoor Mountain Clothing.”

“The Agency has given me a nondescript account I can use for payment,” Hannah said.

“It won’t take all three of us to put UKP under surveillance” Sonny said. “At least one of us could inspect nearby hotels and other places to figure out where Xander might be staying.”

The others agreed, all seemingly pleased with their plan, and then focused on their meals. Breakfast was nearly over when William finally arrived.

“We’re going to try to rent out an office space near where we think Xander will try to conduct surveillance and then wait for Xander or one of his thugs to show up,” Hannah told him as she stood up, setting her napkin back on the table. “Can you hold on to our luggage until we’re ready for it?”

William nodded, his gaze shifting from Hannah to Chris to Sonny and back again as they prepared to leave. “Of course.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said. “We’ll be back.” She patted him on the shoulder as she headed for the exit, Sonny and Chris hot on her heels.

They walked to Kensington Station where they hopped the Tube to Piccadilly Circus. They got off and weaved around several blocks to Duke of York Street. There, the presence of CCTV cameras permeated the city. Duke of York Street fed into St. James Square, a road surrounding a lush park facing the Naval and Military Club, the Buchanan House, and UKP on the corner.

Across from the UKP building and next to the park stood a uniformed police officer, wearing a checkered sleeve and helmet band. Armed only with a radio and baton, his mission seemed more of a hopeful deterrent than defense. Standing at the corner, there was a man dressed in a suit and tie, like any other businessman except for the white cord that ran from his ear down into his shirt. The City of London Police would surely do a better job of going undercover, so Chris guessed he was security hired by UKP. Nearby, he noticed a white van with tinted windows—possibly police, and hopefully not Xander’s crew. It seemed the London Agency chief of station had really informed the British authorities as he said he would, and they were taking the threat with some seriousness.

“If Xander plans a kidnapping, assault, or explosives, he’ll need large-sized vehicles like an SUV or van,” Chris said. “If they follow the one-way streets, they’ll come down from Duke of York Street before traveling clockwise around St. James Square to hit UKP.”

Sonny’s eyes focused on the building adjacent to UKP. “What the hell is that building?”

Chris shifted his gaze to look. “I don’t know, but if it’s office space, maybe we can rent it out and post surveillance.”

Hannah headed toward the entrance. “I’ll find out,” she said.

Soon, she returned and said two companies occupied the building, with no available space to rent.

Chris shrugged, and they resumed their clockwise recce around Saint James Square. Across the street from UKP was another office building with a sign reading,
Offices and Suites to Let
.

“Hot damn!” Sonny said. “That’s convenient.”

They went inside and spoke to a receptionist, who connected them with their letting agent. The agent appeared and gave them a tour of available office spaces, all fully furnished and complete with a kitchen, lobby, receptionist, cleaning, and maintenance services. “We also have shower rooms and dry cleaning,” the agent said.

The trio smiled at one another. They chose an office on the second floor, right on the corner of St. James Center and Charles II Street, giving them a view of the side of UKP’s building and its main entrance.

“You also have a view of the St. James Gardens,” the agent told them happily.

Chris smiled at her. He didn’t give a damn about the garden view.

“Could we have a moment to discuss it, please?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, of course.” The agent stepped out of the office and closed the door behind her.

“The trees in the square are blocking our view of the road around the square,” Chris said. “We won’t see the tangos until they’re almost to UKP, and then it will be too late.”

“We could set up surveillance cameras,” Sonny said.

“We could,” Hannah said. “I can ask Langley to fly out the equipment and a tech to install it. That would give us a view of the entire stretch of road.”

“Or maybe Young can hack into the CCTV camera feeds,” Chris said. “That might be faster.”

Sonny grinned. “I like that even better.”

“I’ll give him a call,” Hannah said, as she walked out of the room.

“Don’t you hate it when I’m right, Sonny?” Chris smirked.

Sonny shrugged, then winked. “It’s bound to happen once or twice.”

When Hannah returned, she brought the agent with her, and they finalized much of the rental agreement for the office space. Once that was settled, they rented a vehicle, which they used to pick up their luggage from William’s place, as well as to go shopping for sleeping bags, computer equipment, extra monitors, and food so they could live in the office while keeping UKP Headquarters under surveillance.

They were on their way back to the office when Hannah received a phone call; their Gulfstream jet had landed at Luton Airport, north of London, and was standing by.

“One more stop,” Chris said, swinging the car around to head for the base.

They were going to need their rifles.

They were nearly finished setting up when darkness settled on the city. Young gave them a call and said he was able to hack into some CCTV feeds. He explained how to hook up their computer to begin surveillance. An image appeared on their screen, but it wasn’t an image Chris was expecting.

“Something’s wrong with the feed,” Hannah said into the speakerphone.

“What’s wrong with it?” Young asked.

The monitor was showing the interior of a club where a topless dancer gyrated around a pole.

Sonny was glued to the monitor. “Nothing’s wrong with the feed,” he said.

Chris gave Sonny’s shoulder a good smack.

“I think you know what’s wrong with the feed,” Hannah said.

Sonny’s brow creased in deep folds as he pleaded his case. “There’s nothing wrong with that feed. We just need more feeds.”

“This feed is coming from Duke of York Street,” Young said.

“We need a view of the street,” Hannah said, “not the inside of a strip club.”

“I was just messing with you all,” Young said, clearly trying to bring a little levity to the situation. “That was the Gaslight Club.”

The screen went blank and a view of Duke of York Street replaced the image of the stripper.

Sonny slammed his fist down on his desk. “What the hell is wrong with you, Young?”

Young just chuckled quietly from across the Atlantic.