From Russia Without Love (11 page)

_______

T
he day after Evelina’s death, Animus sat alone with Xander in the older man’s hotel room.

“How are you holding up?” Xander asked.

“I don’t understand how those Americans slipped out of our hands,” Animus said. “How are
you
holding up, sir?”

Xander breathed deeply. “When I was with Evelina, nothing else seemed to matter.”

Animus nodded.

“Now I am angry,” Xander said. “I cannot shed another tear for her. I am all cried out. I wish I could cry more, but I cannot.”

Animus understood that feeling all too well. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Xander patted him on the leg and straightened his spine, determination steeling his features. “We will continue with our plans to bomb UKP headquarters. After the bomb goes off, we will sweep through St. James Square and shoot everyone on sight. Then we will make our escape and contact the media and tell them 21D will continue its attacks until UKP stops construction of TAP. The West must stop its meddling in Greek affairs. For Greece and everyone, it is time to de-Westernize the world.”

“Yes, sir,” Animus said.

“First we need to build the bomb. Do you have the cannon fuse, diesel fuel, mixing buckets, and the thirteen barrels I told you to acquire?”

Animus nodded. “And the duct tape, plastic pipe, screws, power drill, and scale you asked for, too. We spread out the purchases with different men at different locations—just like you explained.”

“You called earlier and said Boris has the nitromethane?”

“Yes, sir,” Animus said. “He used his fake ID to pose as an FIA drag racing crew chief and paid cash for it.” Using the cover of a member of the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile was his idea, and he was quite proud of it.

Xander rubbed his chin in silence for a moment as if reviewing a mental checklist. “And you already acquired the blasting caps, shock tube, and Tovex.”

The Tovex was a highly stable water-gel explosive, and it wasn’t easy to get. But they’d managed.

“Ivan snuck into British Seismic Exploration and took it. They’ve been gathering the materials and storing them in the safe house for weeks before you and I arrived.”

Xander nodded. “I know you already told me, but I had to hear it again. I am not in my normal state of mind. I just need reassurance that something in the world around me is stable when so much has gone wrong.”

“Well, all we need is fertilizer to shape the charge and oxidize the nitromethane,” Animus said.

The corners of Xander’s lips rose, creating more of a sneer than a smile. “Yes, we need fertilizer, and the UK is the ammonium nitrate fertilizer capitol of the world. You know what to do.”

Animus nodded. Then he stood, walked to the door, and opened it. Before he left, he stopped and turned to look at Xander. “I’m sorry about Evelina.”

“Me, too.”

“Her killer was Chris Johnson, the American legal attaché who came to your party.”

The muscles in Xander’s jaw worked. “Ivan told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Animus said again.

He waved a hand, dismissing Animus. “I want to be alone now.”

Animus nodded and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. The sound of something heavy hitting the wall sounded inside Xander’s room, like a chair that had been thrown. Xander had always seemed in control, but Animus had never seen or heard him like this.

Animus walked down the hall, stopped at Ivan’s room, and picked him up. The two exited the hotel and found their van in the parking lot. Ivan pulled a magnetic sign out of the trunk that read,
Wellington Farms.
He affixed it to the side door of the van before driving them northeast out of London.

“Xander said you told him Evelina’s murderer was Chris Johnson,” Animus said.

“I hope you’re not angry,” Ivan said. “I know you wanted to tell him yourself but couldn’t.”

Animus bowed his head. “Thanks.”

They rode a little over an hour and a half in silence until they arrived at the importer’s warehouse in Essex. Ivan dropped Animus off out front.

He was anxious about the whole transaction, but he hid his nervousness as he strolled through the front door and approached the clerk. “I’m Edward Wellington, and I ordered some ammonium nitrate fertilizer.” Animus handed the clerk his business card.

The clerk shook his hand and read the card. “Oh, yes, Wellington Farms.” He sounded bored, just going through the motions of his job as he put the card in his shirt pocket. “Will this be credit card or cash?”

“Cash,” Animus said.

“If you’ll fill out your company information on this form, please…” The clerk handed him a pen and a clipboard. “Once we input you into our computer, you won’t have to fill this out again—just sign for it.”

Animus filled out the form and signed at the bottom before returning it to the clerk.

The clerk took it and briefly glanced at the paper. “Can I see some ID, Mr. Wellington?”

Animus presented his UK driving license and showed his face boldly to make it clear he wasn’t hiding anything.

The clerk took a cursory look at the license then Animus’s face before returning his gaze to the paperwork on his counter. “Okay.” His tone became apologetic. “We have to do this to protect against terrorists making homemade explosives.”

Animus grinned and paid the man. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” The clerk turned and called out to one of the warehouse workers. “Fertilizer pickup!” Then he turned to Animus. “Just bring your vehicle around to the side and park next to the first pallet.”

Animus walked out of the warehouse with a feeling of celebration, but it wasn’t over until it was over, so he kept his emotions in check. He hopped into the van and directed Ivan to pull around to the side, where the warehouse worker began loading the bags of fertilizer. Animus remained seated in the passenger seat to avoid small talk with the worker.

But when the young worker finished loading the van, he tried anyway. “What you going to grow with all this fertilizer?”

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Animus said. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good day.”

The worker walked away and headed back into the warehouse, and Animus and Ivan smiled as they drove off the lot.

_______

Y
oung had hacked into the CCTVs of various private companies, including UKP, giving Chris and his crew views of Duke of York Street, St. James Square, and Charles II Street. The video was then digitally recorded, so they could analyze it. They’d stocked up on microwavable dinners, and while working on his meal of chicken curried rice, Chris peered out the window. Outside, the uniformed bobby and plainclothes security officer were gone. New men had replaced them, and the same white van with tinted windows was still parked outside UKP.

“Those poor bastards in the van must be hating life about now,” Sonny said with a chuckle. “Eating cold food and pissing in a bucket.”

Chris shrugged and stabbed his food with his disposable fork. He looked over at Hannah and she yawned. “Let’s make shifts for the evening surveillance, so all of us can get some sleep,” he said. “One on and two off.”

Hannah and Sonny both nodded, and soon one person was pulling surveillance watch while the other two slept.

The next morning, they microwaved their breakfasts and ate together. Chris took a drink of orange juice. “Today,” he said, “one or two of us can go out and look for Xander while one or two stay here on surveillance in case he shows here near UKP.”

“We don’t need two people on surveillance here,” Hannah said.

“Yeah, I don’t want to sit around here on my ass all day,” Sonny said.

“I can stay here, if you like,” Chris offered.

Hannah tilted her head and met his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Chris said. “We don’t all need to be here. If I were Xander, I’d wait ’til the police get bored and leave before hitting UKP. If they don’t leave, he’ll probably call in some false alarms to make them leave—send them to the other side of London. If I see the police move out of the target area, I’ll let you know. Or if I spot Xander or big trouble, I’ll give a call, too.”

“We’ll do the same,” Hannah said.

Chris shifted his weight from one side of his chair to the other, feeling uncomfortable. He had something on his mind and while he didn’t want to bring it up, he had to. “Without the assistance of the police and the local Agency officers, there’s a strong possibility we’ll find ourselves in over our heads on this mission. What’s our E & E going to be?”

“We can make our way through the city to the nearest taxi or hot-wire a car, and after we’re sure we’ve lost any tails, rendezvous in the Gulfstream at Luton Airport,” Sonny said. “The plane is still there, right?”

Hannah nodded. “It’s still there, waiting for us.”

“If I’m with one or both of you,” Chris said, “I’ll be happy to E & E with you through the city, but if I end up alone for whatever reason, I’ll be safest escaping through the water before trying to make it back to the plane.”

“The water?” Sonny asked.

“The River Thames,” Chris said.

Sonny shrugged and started to gather his things. “Whatever floats your boat.”

When Hannah and Sonny were both properly geared up, they headed out into the city to search for clues as to Xander’s whereabouts.

Chris settled into his surveillance routine. He used binoculars to take a closer look and kept a notebook to record anything unusual, mostly vehicles and people, and a video time stamp, including as much detail as possible. As he watched, he got a feel for the flow of the area. At 0845, people on foot, riding bicycles, and driving cars seemed in a hurry to get to work. All pretty standard, but he watched for anyone or anything that didn’t seem to fit the flow of the financial district.

One businessman stood out from the others on Duke of York Street. Although he wore a dark, conservative business suit similar to those around him, his pace was slower than the other businessmen, and instead of a tired, bored look on his face, he took in his surroundings like a tourist. In Chris’s notebook, he nicknamed the man
Business Tourist
. The man walked along St. James Square, passing UKP before turning left on Charles II Street.

Later, the flow of traffic slowed, and the number of people on the streets thinned out significantly. In the afternoon, they became busy again as people went out for lunch and then calmed down again. Tourists, dressed in casual clothes and snapping photos, came and went at a leisurely pace. Chris compared morning and afternoon video, noting which vehicles and people stayed and which didn’t.

Near 1700 hours, pedestrians, bicycles, and cars clogged up the streets with their movement. Hannah and Sonny returned, and over dinner they each reported their findings for the day. Neither of them had seen any sign of Xander or his goons. Likewise, Chris briefed them on his day. The trio also watched BBC News together, so they knew what was going on in the world around them.

The next morning, Hannah and Sonny were out beating the streets again as Chris stayed behind on surveillance, and then Business Tourist appeared again. He had his hand in his pocket today, but it wasn’t just resting there. It was moving. Business Tourist could be concealing a piece of paper and a golf pencil, so he could write notes in his pocket, a tactic Chris had learned in training but hadn’t put to use. Or the movement in his pocket could be some kind of remote signaling device. Or it could be a nervous tic, fumbling with his keys. Once again, Business Tourist passed in front of UKP.

Chris’s gut told him the man was up to no good. Was he working for Xander? He could call Hannah and Sonny to tail him, but by the time they arrived, Business Tourist would be gone. Chris had to find out more, but he couldn’t do that sitting in the office. The surveillance video on his monitor was being recorded, and that would have to do until he returned.

Chris quickly put on a tie and grabbed a suit jacket. He bolted downstairs, struggling to put the jacket on. Each step caused his shoulder and ankle discomfort. When he reached the bottom, he proceeded out of the building at a businessman’s pace, ignoring the pain.

Blend with your surroundings. I am a businessman.

As he walked, he took a deep breath to calm himself.
Breathe
. He took another. He wanted to call Hannah and tell her what he was doing, but he didn’t want to risk drawing Business Tourist’s attention.

Business Tourist wasn’t in front of UKP anymore, and Chris had to restrain himself from cursing out loud. But then the man appeared, strolling northwest on Charles II Street. Chris followed, on the opposite side of the street, keeping at least two people between himself and his target. The bustling crowds that worked to Business Tourist’s advantage for blending in and moving also worked to Chris’s advantage. Even so, tailing a moving subject on the street would be more challenging than sitting in an office observing the area round UKP. Now, not only did Chris have to keep up with his target, he also had to avoid being detected by him.

At the corner, Business Tourist looked both ways before crossing. It was possible he was just an average citizen trying to be safe, but if he was trained in countersurveillance, he’d use the technique to discreetly check for a tail. The subject crossed the street—if Chris crossed the street at that moment, he would mark himself as possible surveillance. However, the man had traversed over to the same side of the street as Chris.

So far, so good
.

Even though Chris’s thought process was calm, his heart raced and his skin became warm.

After passing Regent Street, more people were dressed casually, mixing with those in business attire. Business Tourist stopped at a bus stop and stood in line for a red double-decker bus. Chris’s pulse kicked into hyper drive. It would be too much of a coincidence for him to stand in the same line, and walking past would give his subject a close-up view of him. But crossing the street, away from the target, would be marked movement.

Chris chose the lesser of the tactical evils and walked past Business Tourist, managing to keep one person between them. Now Business Tourist was behind him. He would be able to see Chris, but Chris couldn’t see him. Chris faced straight ahead, but his eyes frantically searched the environment for something that would allow him to avoid the appearance of loitering, but not so far away as to lose the opportunity to resume tailing the man.

The Royal Opera Arcade appeared to his right, and Chris turned and entered. Both sides of the walkway were lined with upscale shops, and he spotted people around a sandwich shop so he joined them. Feigning indecision about what to order, he let others pass in front of him, managing to keep one person between himself and Charles II Street at all times. Chris waited for the man or a red bus to pass.

Maybe the dude is just a regular guy, and I’m on a wild-goose chase, here.

What seemed like half an hour was only a few minutes. Business Tourist turned into the arcade.

He never got on the bus. He was just getting in line in order to detect surveillance.

Chris wanted to move deeper into the store and hide, but the sudden movement would attract more attention than if he stood still. With each closing step Business Tourist took, Chris’s pulse pounded harder. There was a guy with a thick white moustache between Chris and Business Tourist. He hoped the cover of Mr. Moustache was enough. Then Business Tourist passed, and Chris was certain he was up to no good. He exited the opposite end of the arcade, and Chris followed. Then the subject went southeast for a couple of blocks. Again, he looked both ways before crossing each street. Soon, he arrived at St. James Park, east of Buckingham Palace.

Chris’s heart sank. At this early hour, there were few people in the park for Chris to blend in with and conceal himself behind. And the park paths branched out in multiple directions, allowing his target myriad escape routes. Chris could either follow close and stick out as surveillance or he could follow from a distance and risk losing his mark. There was the option of doing a snatch-and-grab in broad daylight, but transporting a prisoner the distance to Chris’s office without the assistance of teammates or the use of a vehicle was impractical. There was also the possibility his subject didn’t work for Xander at all. Maybe Business Tourist was simply a thief, casing the area.

Chris chose to follow from a distance and was able to monitor his subject until he turned into Green Park, where the paths were more numerous and the trees denser
.
He had to close the gap soon, or he was going to lose him.

Business Tourist shifted into a faster walk, and Chris picked up his pace just before his target disappeared behind some trees.
Aw, hell!

When he reached the point where Business Tourist disappeared, all he could see were trees and paths. Chris chose one of the diverging paths and followed it, but his target was nowhere to be found. He abandoned it and chose another, but that path was dry, too. If the guy was watching, Chris’s actions would definitely appear suspicious. He searched until he came to the edge of the city.

Maybe I’m being paranoid.

As he turned down a gloomy alley to find a shortcut back to his crew’s rented office, two white men in their early twenties approached from the opposite direction, smiling and joking with each other. They looked like twins, except one had a fuller face and smoked a cigarette and the other wore glasses. Both wore suits with their necktie knots loosened. They talked loudly about having stayed up all night and teased as to whether they should get some sleep or stay up all day, too.

They seemed comfortable in the shadowed alley, and from what Chris could tell of their ages, they should be in college or working their first jobs. The twins stared at Chris like they were looking through him—a way evil men had stared through him before—and he contemplated turning around and leaving the alley. But if these two were indeed bad men, Chris didn’t want to flee like a wounded fish flapping around in the presence of sharks. There were no CCTVs in the alley, and it would be inconspicuous enough to resolve any problems here.

Chris greeted them with a nod, and they nodded back, but when he tried to pass him, they blocked him.

“Could you help us, sir?” the one wearing glasses asked.

Chris raised his eyebrows at the kid. “What do you need help with?”

“We need some money,” the one smoking a cigarette said.

Glasses laughed.

Chris shoved past them and walked briskly forward.

“Hey!” one of them called out, and the sound of their footsteps rushed after him.

He didn’t want this to spill out into the open, so he stopped and turned around. “I have some important business to take care of, so I’d appreciate it if you could get to the point.”

Cigarette removed the tobacco from his mouth and mocked Chris’s American accent. Then Glasses pulled out a switchblade and flicked the blade open. “This is the point. Give us all your money. Now!”

They both smiled.

“No,
this
is the point,” Chris said, and he fast-drew his pistol and aimed it at the chest of Glasses.

Their smiles dropped. Glasses took a step back and said, “Hang on, now. I was just playing.”

“How do we know that’s a real gun?” Cigarette asked.

“I don’t want to make noise, but if you insist…” Chris aimed his Glock at Cigarette’s crotch.