No Way Out (4 page)

And that he was not going to get what he came for.

The door to the room blasted open and four MPs poured in. Two grabbed DeSantos, wrestled him to the ground, and cuffed him.

Knox and McNamara crowded into the small room as the remaining MPs took control of Scarponi.

“Lock him up,” Knox said. “Scarponi, I want him in full restraints. He and I are gonna have a little chat.” He gave DeSantos an angry scowl and then walked out of the room.

DOUGLAS KNOX WALKED into the holding cell where DeSantos was seated. Twenty minutes had passed, yet DeSantos’s pulse was still galloping at an unhealthy pace. He was perspiring and on the verge of hyperventilating.

DeSantos opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment Richard McNamara pushed into the room, shoving Knox aside. Dr. Poola was barely visible in the entryway.

DeSantos struggled to read Knox’s face. He was not pleased, that much was evident—but had DeSantos gone too far? Was Knox going to dismiss him?

His eyes shifted to McNamara, whose expression reeked of disgust.

“What the hell was that in there?” McNamara asked. “You’re one of my best operatives, but I’ve got good reason to send your insubordinate ass packing. You were under direct orders to keep yourself under control. The director and I put our reputations on the line for you. Why, I’m not really sure, given how you just fucked us over.”

They were all looking at DeSantos, who sat back, incredulous. “Did I miss something? With all due respect, sir—sirs—did you see what happened in that room?” No one answered. “Dr. Poola—you saw it, didn’t you? Your patient’s been gaming you. He’s not
progressing
with your retraining. He’s playing you. Hell, he’s the same person you brought in here—”

“Hector,” Knox said. “Don’t deflect attention off yourself. What you did—”

“Probably saved a lot of lives.
Sir
. Because the good doc here was convinced his patient was safe to release into the field with a handgun and a US passport.”

“You’ve bought yourself some time off,” McNamara said. “You need to cool down.
I
need some time to cool down.” He held out an open palm. “Your creds and clearance.”

DeSantos made no move to his pocket. “For how long?”

The two men stared at one another. McNamara did not provide an answer—or even a facial twitch.

Finally DeSantos turned to Knox—who DeSantos felt would always have his back. The man frowned, then looked away.

DeSantos stood up, pulled out his credentials case, and handed it to McNamara.

“Leave your gun in the locker. There’s a driver out front who’ll take you to your car. Someone will be in touch.”

DeSantos made eye contact with each of the men, trying one last time to ascertain if they did, in fact, see the important role he had played in exposing Scarponi. None of them reacted.

DeSantos walked out of the room, where he was joined by two MPs who escorted him off the complex.

As the bright sun struck his eyes, he wondered if he would ever step through those doors again.

5

Present Day

The Horatio Nelson at

Charing Cross Hotel

London

V
ail had been in her hotel room ten minutes when she heard a knock at the door.
Nice to be welcomed, but no one knows I’m here.
She reached for her Glock—and found nothing: no holster, no gun.
This is going to take some getting used to
.

She stepped up to the door to peer out the peephole, but there was none.
No wonder Jack the Ripper liked staying at this hotel.

“Who is it?”

“I’m looking for Karen Vail.”

So are a bunch of serial killers back in the States.
“And who exactly is looking for her?”

“Clive Reid. I’m with the Met—New Scotland Yard. I was sent to escort Agent Vail to the crime scene.”

Vail pulled open the door—and found a man a few inches taller than she, late thirties, dressed in a dark gray suit.

“Madam. Am I to assume you’re Karen Vail?”

“What was your first clue?”

“First one would have to be the hotel registry. Second would be the description the guv’nor gave me. Pretty redhead.”

“Pretty. Really. Were those his words?”

Reid grinned. “Yes, Madam, they were.”

“Okay, let’s get one thing clear. I don’t go by ‘madam.’ Sounds like a grandmother wrapped in a shawl.”

“Very well, Madam. I—I mean…what is it I should call you?”

Vail flashed on a number of different terms the guys in her unit used, but didn’t want to poison the water she’d be drinking from. “Karen would be fine. Vail works too. Just don’t call me Karen Vail every time.”

Reid squinted. “Right.”

“I hope you have a sense of humor, Reid.”

“I have a
sense
of it, yes.”

Vail nodded. “Very good.” She glanced around her room. “I’m ready to go. Your car or mine?”

“Oh—I didn’t…I didn’t realize you had a car.”

“I don’t. So I guess that answers that question.” Vail grabbed her purse and walked out, past a perturbed Reid.

AS REID NAVIGATED THE CLOGGED streets of London, Vail noticed a photo of a teenager that was taped to the dashboard.

She gestured to it and said, “Is this guy wanted?”

“Wanted?” Reid snickered. “No, no. That’s my son.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want my son, either. He was an accident.”

Reid hesitated, then got the joke and gave a belated, pity-laden chuckle.

“No photo of the wife,” Vail said. “Divorced?”

“Passed on.”

Oops
. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We didn’t much fancy each other. Well, we did for about ten years, and then she stepped out on me. It’s complicated.”

“Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

“My son is really my nephew.”

Vail nodded slowly. “Okay, I see what you mean. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“His parents were killed a year apart when he was a kid. My brother’s helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan about ten years ago. My sister-in-law died in childbirth with their second son a few months later.” He shook his head. “Tragic, really.”

“More like devastating.”

“Devastating, quite.” Reid twisted his lips, then said, “Anyway, that brought things to a head with my wife. She didn’t like the late nights when I was trying to make detective. So she had a fling with a bloke from Brighton. I chose the right profession, I guess, because I knew something was up. Around the same time, my brother and sister-in-law passed. I wanted to adopt my nephew and she said no. I didn’t even have time for
her
, so if we adopted a kid it’d be her burden. That’s how she phrased it. Her ‘burden.’ I did it anyway and she left me for the arsehole from Brighton.”

“Is that why you offed her? For cheating on you?”

“Offed?”

“Yeah, you know, killed her.”

Reid took his eyes off the road, apparently to see if Vail was serious. Satisfied that she was not, but still not quite sure, he chuckled nervously.

“Just kidding,” she said with a dismissive wave of a hand. “It was me, I’d have cut my husband’s balls off. Kind of hard to do with a woman, though.”

Reid laughed again, this time more genuinely. “Are we talking off the record here?”

Vail twisted her head in both directions. “There
is
no record here.”

“Fine. Then I poisoned her. Much cleaner, harder to trace than gunshots or knife wounds.” Reid looked at her, hard.

Vail turned to him, examined his face, and then they both burst out laughing.

“I had you there. For a minute—”

“No, you didn’t. Give me a break.”

“No, I did. I insist.”

Vail smirked. “Fine, you did. For a couple of
seconds
.”

“I knew it. I saw it on your face.” He grinned at her again, then asked, “So how old’s your son?”

“Jonathan’s fifteen.”

“Brant’s sixteen. Birthday’s today, actually.”

“Today. Too bad you didn’t get the day off.”

“I did. Until the guv’nor called and said I had to take you round, so, well, that’s that. But I don’t want you to feel bad. I mean, can’t be too upset about spending the day with a pretty woman.”

“Pretty” again. I could get used to this
. “I’m a big girl, Reid. I can look after myself. I’ll rent a car. You go spend the rest of the day with your son.”

“Ever driven on the right side of the road?”

Vail looked out at the street. “Don’t you have it backward? You’re driving on the left.”

“It may be the left, but it’s the
right
side. You Americans drive on the wrong side.”

Oh. He’s trying to be funny.
“Got it. Not bad.”

“Can’t take credit for it. It’s an old one in these parts. I got it from a coach driver.”

“No,” Vail said, “I’ve never driven on the left side of the road. How hard can it be?”

“Judging from some family members who’ve visited from the US, quite. It’s harder than you think. No worries, though. I’ve got the assignment.”

So now I’m an “assignment.” Liked it better when I was the pretty redhead.
“Can you tell your…guv’nor I don’t need a babysitter?”

“Let’s get this squared away and we can re-evaluate the situation at that time. What do you say to that?”

“Just thinking of your son.”

Reid made a number of turns, navigating among the dozens of black taxis and those blanketed from bumper to bumper with corporate advertising graphics.

“He’ll be fine. Not the first birthday he spent alone. Besides, he’s going out with some friends for fish and chips after school. He won’t be missing his old man, I can tell you that.”

Reid pulled down a swanky street lined with expensive-looking shops.

“Whoa,” Vail said. “Where are we?”

“Someplace the likes of you and me visit but don’t have any business shopping at. Bond Street. Heard of it?”

Vail snapped her fingers. “Where that guy James lives. Bond. James Bond.”

“More like where Daniel Craig
shops
. And lots of other celebrities. Just last week I ran into Robert Downey Jr. and his wife in that shoe store on the corner. Bond Street’s famous for its luxury shopping, exclusive brands, designer fashion, one of a kind jewelry pieces, fine art, and...rare manuscripts. I reckon it’s probably one of the most expensive strips of real estate in the world.”

Just ahead, a police cruiser was parked at the curb, yellow crime scene tape stretched across and around the sidewalk. A news truck with its corkscrew antenna rose from the van’s center, and a suited reporter and his cameraman stood off to the side, framing their shot.

Reid pulled over to the curb behind the police car and set the brake. “C’mon now. This is it.”

Vail got out and looked up, where blown out windows and charred studs were visible on the second floor. She was about to duck beneath the police boundary when she was met by a reporter.

“Anything more you can tell us?” the man said, shoving his mike in her face.

Vail, straight-faced, said, “Yes. I can tell you that you’re standing on my foot and that it hurts.”

The reporter jumped back and Vail fell in behind Reid, who was entering the office building through the modern storefront.

Reid acknowledged the bobby who was stationed at the entrance maintaining the integrity of the scene. He and Vail signed the logbook and continued up the staircase.

“Have you worked many bombings?”

“You probably heard about an assassination attempt on our president-elect?”

Reid laughed. “Heard about it? It was all over the bloody news, even here.”

“I worked that case. Among others. So yeah, no worries, I can handle this threat assessment.” Out of the corner of her eye, Vail caught the names of the businesses listed on the directory placards as they ascended the steps. “Turner Gallery. That the place?”

“That’s the place.”

“An art gallery?”

“The owner’s an art, antique, and rare manuscript dealer. Half his gallery was destroyed by a potent firebomb. Fairly well-defined in its ignition source, which makes me think the target was the item or items contained in the safe.”

Vail stopped at the top of the second flight. “What explosive was used?”

“Flash powder, set to go on a timer.”

Aluminized perchlorate. Whoa
. “Where was the evidence taken?”

“Military lab, a couple hours away. Why?”

“With flash powder, we should be able to determine the supply source of the explosive material. We’d want to know if it’s commercial, if it’s factory-made, if it’s been obtained through legitimate means, if it’s been stolen, if it’s military ordnance or if it’s been improvised. It’d tell us about who we’re dealing with, what his skill-sets are, and what limitations he has on his ability to come up with the materials he needs to make a bomb.”

“I imagine all that’s being looked at. Our lab’s very thorough. You know a lot about this stuff.”

“Picked it up from one of my mentors. He’s an ATF profiler—Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms—our agency that handles arsons and bombings, that kind of thing. There’s not a whole lot of research on bombers, so I’ve made it a point of picking his brain.”

“Obviously,” Reid said, “you’ve picked him clean on the subject of flash powder.”

Vail chuckled. “Not really. But I do know a few things. Combined with what your experts know, it should help figure out how serious this offender is, and how likely it is that he’ll strike again. First thing—flash powder’s aluminized perchlorate. Almost always an improvised mixture and very dangerous to work with. It’s sensitive to pressure, heat, shock, and static—it’s basically one of the most dangerous explosives you can get. Dangerous for the offender, as well.”

Reid tilted his head back. “You’re talking like it’s a lone bomber, an individual. I wouldn’t make that assumption. We don’t have lone bombers in the UK. It’s very, very unusual. Our bombers tend to be organized groups. And they tend to know what they’re doing.”

“I was speaking generally, but let’s test your theory. I take it there was an arming switch.”

Reid squinted. “Yes. How—”

“Groups use arming switches as a personal safety measure to keep the device from exploding on them while they’re setting it. These guys want to stick around to further their cause. So they take precautions. Like an arming switch.”

Reid removed the crime scene tape that was strung across the entryway.

“Another thing to keep in mind,” Vail said, “is that if we’re dealing with a situation where access is an issue—like if the flash powder’s military in origin—then that might make your job a hell of a lot easier because it should help narrow your search.”

“Because only a limited number of people have access to that stuff.”

“Theoretically,” Vail said. “Yeah.”

Reid jiggled the key a bit as he unlocked the door. He turned back to her and said, “There was also a separate fire ignited across the room, where other artwork and manuscripts were on display.”

“Casualties?”

“None.” He pushed the door open and led the way inside. “There are three rooms to this place. Two were untouched, and one—this one—was destroyed.”

A pungent chemical smell hung in the air, despite the fresh air leaking through the damaged wall at the far end of the gallery, which had been demolished by the blast. A clear plastic tarp covered the opening, flapping gently in the wind. The interior—and everything inside—was singed beyond recognition.

“Looks like whatever they were going for was in this room.” She ran an index finger through the black soot that had accumulated on the counter. “This was one hot fire.”

“Extremely. According to the Fire Brigade, these people knew what they were doing.”

I’m starting to get that impression.

“What’s Islamic terrorist activity like in the UK these days?”

“We’ve got our share of problems, but we do a decent enough job of staying on top of it. Sleeper cells, yeah. Threats on a regular basis, yeah. Affiliates, we’ve got those too. But al-Qaeda specifically, they’ve claimed for three years to be planning a ‘spectacular attack’ in Britain. Hasn’t happened. And we haven’t had another 7/7, so that’s all we can hope for. Why? You think they, or some group like them, is involved?”

“Don’t know enough yet.”

“Let’s see if we can remedy that. I’ve asked the owner to join us here in case you had any questions. He should arrive momentarily.”

“I assume you haven’t released details to the media.”

“Almost nothing. Hasn’t stopped them, though. They’re good at speculating, filling in the blanks with talking heads.”

Vail strolled around the flat, assessing the layout and orienting herself: what was located where, what areas were most damaged, and taking in the view of Bond Street from the destroyed windows.

The sound of crunching footsteps snagged Vail’s attention. Reid unlocked the door leading to the undamaged room and pulled it open, revealing a lithe man in a cream-colored suit with graying temples and a tan complexion.

“Idris Turner,” Reid said, “this is Karen Vail, from the FBI. She’s here to help us assess what’s happened and determine whether or not substantial threat exists for further bombings.”