The Black List (34 page)

“Not a place I hope to visit again soon. We did, however, find pages in a book used to document the buying and selling of fake identification. Turns out that A
.
D
.
E. knew some of the refugees coming in had no ID and facilitated the purchase of said documents to supplement their program. How about you? Heard from Trip since we left?”

“Not a peep.”

“It’d be nice to round him up, too. He’s involved in this more than he’s letting on.”

Sheila, having lost interest in the former prime minister’s residence, stopped at the next corner to consult her guidebook, while Carillo and Tex talked about what time to meet later that afternoon. She waved at Carillo to catch his attention. “The London Eye. It’s like a big Ferris wheel, and you can see the entire city.”

“You did notice the patchy fog?” he said, covering up the phone.

“Maybe it’s not foggy all over.”

“Lotta money to pay to only see part of the city.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Tony? It’s our last day.”

He heard Tex laughing on the other end. “Not at all funny, Tex. But yeah,” Carillo said into the phone. “I’m in.”

“I’ll call you when we get it set. Maybe try to be back around two.”

“Perfect.” Saved him from hours of shopping, and he looked over at Sheila as he pocketed his phone, saying, “How about we just walk? Maybe take in a museum. You ever see the Rosetta Stone?”

“Museums are so stuffy, with paintings and dusty relics no one but collectors want to look at.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to waste your time on that.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. Spending their last day in England on a giant Ferris wheel, looking at the fog, was fine by him, now that he actually had something better to do before they left tomorrow. “Lead away, Sheila. You want to go up in the London Eye, I’ll go with you. But I get to pick lunch. Pub food. Shepherd’s pie, stew, fish and chips, and peas.”

For someone who had spent the last couple days eating at fancy tourist establishments that served things like “high tea,” she agreed surprisingly easily, and even asked for a recommendation from a local about where to eat not too far from the London Eye.

The food was more than decent, and Carillo finished the last few peas on his plate, then looked at his watch. “Time to hit your Ferris wheel, Sheila.”

She sighed as she pushed her plate away. “You’ve been very sweet to follow me around the city.”

Not that he had a choice. “That’s what friends are for.”

“It’s nice to hear you say that.”

“Up and at ’em, Sheila. Sights to see, before we head back for the day. I promised Tex I’d meet up with him by two.”

They walked along the River Thames, then crossed the Golden Jubilee Bridge, where vendors had small arts and crafts for sale.

The line for the London Eye was long, even with the low clouds, and Sheila changed her mind. With only an hour left before they had to head back, she decided she’d rather visit Big Ben and Westminster Abbey, now that they were here.

Sheila went inside the adjacent County Hall building to use the restroom. He stood outside, not taking any chances that she might walk away on her own and get into more trouble, even though she hadn’t given him any signs that she was trying to take off.

Now that he thought about it, when all was said and done, the last couple days hadn’t been that much of a strain. By tomorrow they’d be on the plane, en route to San Francisco, and he hoped that once they got there, they could put this whole business with Trip behind them. In fact, surprisingly, Sheila hadn’t mentioned him once. Knock on wood, he thought. Maybe that meant she’d finally grown up, realized that Trip was trouble.

Carillo strolled across to the wall opposite the ladies’ room, where he could watch the doorway. She exited a few minutes later, phone in hand, her face pale, her blue eyes looking frantic as she searched for him.

“Sheila? Over here.”

When she located him, the relief he expected to see wasn’t there. Great. He knew exactly what it meant. Goddamned Trip. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

“What the hell?”

“Trip. He told them we had it.”

Carillo was getting a very bad feeling about this. “Had
what
?”

“Whatever this thing is they were looking for.”

“The book on the DVD? Tex already found it.”

“But they don’t know that. Neither does Trip. They still think it’s out there.”

“Jesus. What the hell are you saying?”

“That Trip was trying to save his sister and his niece, so he told them that we had it.”

“We, as in you and I?”

She nodded.

Carillo stared in disbelief. “Why the hell would he do that? His sister and niece are at a safe house!”

“He doesn’t know that!”

“Didn’t you tell him?”

Sheila started crying. “I—I only just talked to him this morning. You told me not to.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me he called?”

“Because I knew you’d be mad. I didn’t know he’d . . . He was so nice to me, and—and I thought he was good . . .” She handed Carillo her cell phone, opened her purse and started digging through it, pausing to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. “I never thought he’d do something like this. I swear, Tony.”

Carillo looked around them. Suddenly every man and woman in the vicinity became suspect as he wondered if they’d been followed.

“First off, I’m not mad. I’m . . . worried. Okay? Call him back.”

She tried. “He’s not answering.”

Carillo ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath as he scanned the area once again, trying to think what to do. First thing, get them the hell out of anyplace they might become a target. Trip’s brother-in-law had been shot out in the open like this, back when they thought
he
had the thing.

Carillo grabbed her hand, pulling her toward Westminster Bridge, crowded with far more tourists and cars than the pedestrian bridge they’d crossed—the better to get lost in. If they were surrounded by a lot of people, they were harder targets. “Tell me exactly what you told him,” he said, taking out his cell phone to call Tex.

“I can’t walk this fast and talk.”

“You remember the woman at Trip’s house in San Mateo?” he said, not stopping. “She killed your maid and stole her cleaning supplies so that she could kill Trip. That’s the kind of people who are after us. So start talking. Everything you told Trip about where we are, what we’re doing.”

“I—I told him what hotel we were at, and that we were leaving tomorrow morning.”

“When?”

“This morning. That’s when he told me I should visit the London Eye. But if he meant for us to be killed, he wouldn’t have called me just now, right? And it is his sister and niece. And he knows you’re an FBI agent and you can protect us.”

“Give him a goddamned Brownie point for effort,” he said, leading her up the steps to the street, “and pray to God I don’t see him. Ever.” Carillo called Tex. No answer. He looked left, then right, deciding they’d start across Westminster Bridge. Carillo stopped next to a cart that sold chestnuts, looking around for signs of a tail as he dug out a couple bills to pay for some.

“Why are we buying chestnuts?” Sheila asked as he drew her to the far side of the cart.

“Because I need a moment to think,” he said. And to see if they were being followed. No sense in scaring her any more than she was already scared.

If they were going to get out of this, he was going to have to be extremely careful.
If
they were being followed, these men were armed and had already killed. Unlike back home, he had no weapon. And neither did the police, so he wasn’t about to flag one down, thereby endangering a law officer in the mix, never mind any citizen who got in the way of a stray bullet.

Then again, he wasn’t about to sacrifice himself as a target. He handed the paper cone filled with chestnuts to Sheila, then called Tex again as he took in their surroundings, trying to come up with anything that resembled a plan.

“I don’t like these,” Sheila said.

“You’ve never had them, so how do you know?”

“I have, too, at the Dickens festival.”

“I just spent two pounds on the things. Pretend to like them, okay?”

“Okay, don’t be so crabby.”

Carillo eyed the walkway they’d just left, saw two men, one in a black leather coat, the other a gray jacket, rushing up the steps toward Westminster Bridge. They seemed to be walking with a purpose, and every instinct told Carillo these were the men.

Answer the phone, Tex.
But as before, the call went straight to Tex’s voice mail. Carillo turned away so Sheila couldn’t hear. “We’ve got a problem. Trip told Barclay that Sheila and I have the DVD. Possibly two on our tail. On the east side of Westminster Bridge.”

As he disconnected, he noticed a group of camera-wielding tourists approaching from the parkway, climbing the steps in front of the two men, then turning right onto Westminster Bridge. Just as they reached the chestnut cart, Carillo drew Sheila into the mix, staying close to the front of the group. They were about halfway across the bridge when everyone stopped to look out across the water as the London Eye started turning. Out came the cameras. Carillo stopped with them, had Sheila stand against the guardrail, posing for a picture with the London Eye in the background. The two men stopped suddenly, leaned over the water, watching the current as though they found it extremely fascinating. Carillo pretended to aim his cell phone at Sheila, but snapped a photo of the men, and sent it to Tex.

“Time to go,” he said, taking her hand, then continuing in the direction of Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. A lot of sightseers on that side to get lost in, but unfortunately both were on the opposite bank
and
across the street. He was just hoping to make it to the other side of the bridge, and made a show of looking at his watch, then quickening his pace as though they were late for an appointment, not worried about someone following them.

“Do we really need to walk this fast?” Sheila asked. “One minute you’re all, hurry up, the next it’s, let’s stop to take a picture.”

“I just want to get to the other side.”

“There’s ice cream up there,” she said, pointing to a concession stand at the end of the bridge, just beyond the stairs that led down to the riverbank. “I’d rather have that than chestnuts.”

Tex finally called back. “You okay?”

“So far.”

“Still on you?”

“Yeah. Just crossing Westminster Bridge.”

“We’re at the safe house,” Tex said. “Too far to get to you in time. There’s a subway entrance on the corner. Turn right. Take the Circle Line to Edgeware or the Jubilee to Baker. Text me with which train you get on.”

“Will do.”

Carillo let Sheila lead him in the direction of the concession stands on the corner, where a tall sculpture of some women in a horse chariot towered over a souvenir stand. The perfect place to survey the area, and he told Sheila he wanted to look at postcards, pulling one out, noticing the two men were still on the bridge but approaching fast.

He replaced the postcard, stepped around the corner, saw the Westminster Station Underground sign.

“Sheila, look at this,” he said, making a point to hold up a large picture from one of the racks, hoping their tail had no clue they’d been made.

She came closer, and he shoved the photo back in the rack, then pulled her around the corner, out of view. Time to clue her in. “We’re being followed.”

She didn’t argue as he led her to the Underground entrance, down the stairs into the subway tunnel. He dug out his wallet, hit it against the reader, and pushed her through the gate. Tex said something about the Jubilee line, but he wasn’t about to risk the insanely long escalator ride into the deep subway. An announcement sounded throughout the platform that a train was leaving. He didn’t care which one it was. He guided Sheila on board, stepped on after her, and prayed the doors closed in time.

When he looked back, he saw the two men running across the platform as the final announcement was made. The men split up, each running to a different door, and in a split second as the portals slid shut, they hopped on board.

59

It was the longest
nine minutes of Carillo’s life. The two men pushed their way through the crowded cars of the Tube, working their way toward him, only to be stopped at the door that separated them. The man put his hand on the door, watched Carillo, then pointed up as he lifted his jacket slightly. Posted above the secured door was a sign that read
DANGER OF DEATH,
warning passengers that if they forced the door open, they might die.

Great. A smartass thug.

If there was a saving grace, it was that the thugs weren’t making any further moves toward them, even when the train stopped. They stayed in their car, Carillo in his. Maybe that meant they thought he and Sheila were going to lead them to this DVD. He hoped.

He texted a message to Tex, hoping it would get through:
Circle Line, still being followed.

And then he scanned the posted chart of the stops. He knew that if the pair managed to get close to him and Sheila, she would be a liability, since she’d have no clue how to handle herself in this situation. He studied the chart, trying to decide if he wanted to chance riding to Edgeware where Tex was hopefully waiting. Paddington was the stop just prior to Edgeware, likely to take longer, since it was a major terminal. Good crowd to get lost in, but maybe too big to navigate.

He glanced over, saw the thugs watching him, probably trying to anticipate his move. “Take the seat by the door, Sheila. And don’t get up until I tell you.”

The men moved by their door. Carillo realized it didn’t matter. Whether he and Sheila stayed on or got off, they’d do the same.

Carillo kept his attention focused on the thugs as a pleasant but impersonal computerized voice announced, “Bayswater.”

“What’s going on, Tony?”

“We’ll be fine, Sheila. Just do as I say.”

As the train slowed, about a couple of dozen people began crowding toward the door, early commuters on their way home. Maybe he wouldn’t wait. When the elderly woman next to Sheila got up, Carillo sat on the edge of the seat, holding tight to Sheila’s hand. He glanced over, realized the crowd shielded the two of them from view, and he leaned toward his wife. “When that door opens, we’re going to stay low and slip into the middle of the crowd. When I tell you to run, run.”