parasites to a bunch of wealthy doctors. I don’t buy it. He must know that we’re keeping an eye on him. She’d have warned him of that. Why would he compromise himself? He’s there for another reason.”
“I checked with the conference organizers,” said Erskine. “Ransom was invited three months ago. They’re paying his plane fare and his hotel expenses.”
“No,” said Connor, crossing his arms over his barrel chest and glaring at his deputy. “It’s her.”
There was no need to mention a name. “Her” was Emma Ransom.
Connor walked to the window. Division’s offices had been moved to a nondescript office building in Tysons Corner, an “edge city” complex 15 miles southeast of Washington. It shared the building with the IRS and the Bureau of Weights and Measures. From his perch on the second floor, he looked across a forlorn stretch of Virginian asphalt and an auto repair shop. It wasn’t exactly the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool.
“She’s there, Pete. It wasn’t his idea to go to some highfalutin conference in London. He hates that kind of thing. It was Emma’s doing.”
“With all due respect, sir, I can understand her wanting to see her husband, but why would she choose London? It’s the most heavily watched city on earth. They have over fifty thousand closed-circuit television cameras set up around the city, and those are just the ones belonging to the government. The average Joe gets his picture taken fifty times just walking along Oxford Street. It’d be like going into a shark tank with a bloody nose.”
“Sounds just like her,” said Connor.
It was Emma Ransom who’d blown the operation in Switzerland and all but brought down Division. She figured number one on Connor’s list of VIPs. There would be no going forward for Division or for Frank Connor until she was taken care of.
“What about Ransom’s phone?” he asked.
“His cell? The number we have on file is registered to Vodafone.”
Vodafone was the largest cellular phone carrier in Europe.
“We know anybody in their London office?”
“Not anymore.”
Connor barely managed to suppress an expletive. He was Irish and Catholic and still went to mass twice a week. If he no longer quite believed, he still prayed with the fervor of a new convert. He was a man who believed in covering his bets. “When’s Ransom’s return flight?”
“Three days from now.”
“Three days? So he’s keeping a day free.”
“Technically, yes, but…”
“But nothing. She’s contacted him. She wants a meet.”
“But why?” persisted Erskine. “She’d never risk a meet. Not there. Not now. Not after what happened in Italy in April. She knows we’ll spot her husband coming into the country. She’s better than that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Connor placed his elbows on the table and cradled his meaty chin in his hands. His bloodshot brown eyes stared out the window, and when he spoke, it was as if he had forgotten that Erskine was in the room and was talking to himself. Rousing himself for the job to come. “We had a chance to take her out in Rome. We set the bait, we reeled her in, and then we muffed the job. Now, by the grace of God, we’ve been given another opportunity. She’s in London. She’s come to see her husband. I know it. And this time we’re going to get her.”
Connor placed two calls before going. The first went to an unsleeping suite of offices on the first floor of the Pentagon called the Defense Logistics Agency.
“I need a jet.”
“Sorry, Frank. No can do. You’re not on the list anymore.”
“Forget about the list. This one’s off the books.” Connor tucked the phone under his chin while he rummaged through his desk for a passport. Canada. Australia. Belgium. He scooped up a Namibian passport under his work name of Standish and checked that the visas were intact. “So?”
“Is this about her?”
“One-way to London,” Connor went on, as if he hadn’t
“I checked with the conference organizers,” said Erskine. “Ransom was invited three months ago. They’re paying his plane fare and his hotel expenses.”
“No,” said Connor, crossing his arms over his barrel chest and glaring at his deputy. “It’s her.”
There was no need to mention a name. “Her” was Emma Ransom.
Connor walked to the window. Division’s offices had been moved to a nondescript office building in Tysons Corner, an “edge city” complex 15 miles southeast of Washington. It shared the building with the IRS and the Bureau of Weights and Measures. From his perch on the second floor, he looked across a forlorn stretch of Virginian asphalt and an auto repair shop. It wasn’t exactly the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool.
“She’s there, Pete. It wasn’t his idea to go to some highfalutin conference in London. He hates that kind of thing. It was Emma’s doing.”
“With all due respect, sir, I can understand her wanting to see her husband, but why would she choose London? It’s the most heavily watched city on earth. They have over fifty thousand closed-circuit television cameras set up around the city, and those are just the ones belonging to the government. The average Joe gets his picture taken fifty times just walking along Oxford Street. It’d be like going into a shark tank with a bloody nose.”
“Sounds just like her,” said Connor.
It was Emma Ransom who’d blown the operation in Switzerland and all but brought down Division. She figured number one on Connor’s list of VIPs. There would be no going forward for Division or for Frank Connor until she was taken care of.
“What about Ransom’s phone?” he asked.
“His cell? The number we have on file is registered to Vodafone.”
Vodafone was the largest cellular phone carrier in Europe.
“We know anybody in their London office?”
“Not anymore.”
Connor barely managed to suppress an expletive. He was Irish and Catholic and still went to mass twice a week. If he no longer quite believed, he still prayed with the fervor of a new convert. He was a man who believed in covering his bets. “When’s Ransom’s return flight?”
“Three days from now.”
“Three days? So he’s keeping a day free.”
“Technically, yes, but…”
“But nothing. She’s contacted him. She wants a meet.”
“But why?” persisted Erskine. “She’d never risk a meet. Not there. Not now. Not after what happened in Italy in April. She knows we’ll spot her husband coming into the country. She’s better than that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Connor placed his elbows on the table and cradled his meaty chin in his hands. His bloodshot brown eyes stared out the window, and when he spoke, it was as if he had forgotten that Erskine was in the room and was talking to himself. Rousing himself for the job to come. “We had a chance to take her out in Rome. We set the bait, we reeled her in, and then we muffed the job. Now, by the grace of God, we’ve been given another opportunity. She’s in London. She’s come to see her husband. I know it. And this time we’re going to get her.”
Connor placed two calls before going. The first went to an unsleeping suite of offices on the first floor of the Pentagon called the Defense Logistics Agency.
“I need a jet.”
“Sorry, Frank. No can do. You’re not on the list anymore.”
“Forget about the list. This one’s off the books.” Connor tucked the phone under his chin while he rummaged through his desk for a passport. Canada. Australia. Belgium. He scooped up a Namibian passport under his work name of Standish and checked that the visas were intact. “So?”
“Is this about her?”
“One-way to London,” Connor went on, as if he hadn’t
Similar Books
