by David Archer
She made a confused face at him. “Why would anyone remember me?”
“Because it's always possible we may have to burn the vehicle before we're done with it, and things like that tend to make people remember who they dealt with last. If they remember a big guy who looks like a football player, no one will be terribly surprised. We're going to use it in a kidnap operation, so it could end up bloody or with bullet holes in it, and we want to eliminate any clues that might lead back to us. Try to get a white one, or beige. That'll make it easier to disguise it as a utility vehicle or something.”
She shrugged and nodded. “You got it, Boss.” She nodded toward the dining room entrance. “Here come the slow pokes.”
Noah glanced that direction and saw Moose and Decker coming toward them together. He waited until they had taken seats and placed their orders before he addressed them.
“Stan, you're coming with me this morning, after Neil gets us some recon intel on Pendergrast's apartment building. I'm hoping we might be able to spot and tail him for a bit, get an idea of his daily routine. Moose, you're going with Sarah. The two of you are going to get us a van to use when we snatch him. Get one without any markings, preferably white or light colored.”
“So you want us to avoid U-Haul, right?” Moose asked. “That shouldn't be too hard.”
“Right, and I want you to rent the vehicle with your ID. Roll your sleeves up and muss your hair a bit. If we end up having to destroy the van I want them to remember that they rented it to a tough-looking outlaw type, okay?”
Moose nodded. “No problem. Want me to use an Italian accent?”
“Whatever works,” Noah said. “Keep Sarah out of sight, I don't want them to remember her at all.”
“Noah,” Decker said, “what about weapons? Should any of us be carrying today? The Metropolitan Police go unarmed, for the most part, but since handguns are essentially banned in the UK, they have special officers ready at a moment's notice to deal with anyone who is carrying one.”
“Good point, there's really no reason for any of us to be carrying a weapon today. Of course, we're not looking to get into any kind of conflict with the local police, anyway, but let's not give them a reason to worry about us if we happen to get pulled over. Moose, if you get pulled over in the van, say you're planning on doing some shopping for antiques over the next few days. Sarah, if you get pulled over, just smile and look as confused as possible, then ask directions back to the hotel.”
Sarah made a face that was supposed to look innocent and lost. “Oh, officer, I'm just so confused with driving on the wrong side of the road and everything. Can you please tell me how to get back to my hotel? Pretty, pretty please?” She fluttered her eyelids for effect, and the men all grinned.
“That ought to work,” Decker said. “Tell them your GPS is taking you on a wild goose chase, they'll believe it. The British tend to think us Yanks just don't know how to follow directions, because so many people complain about getting lost, here.”
Their breakfast orders arrived, and they began eating. Neil, who never seemed to get enough to eat and was often teased that his skinny frame must be hollow in order to accommodate all the food he shoved down his throat, had ordered the hotel's famous Full English breakfast, which consisted of three eggs sunny side up, four slices of bacon, a large sausage, baked beans, hash browns, grilled tomatoes and eggplant, and something called a black pudding that looked like another very dark chunk of sausage.
“What on earth is that?” Sarah asked, pointing at the black pudding.
Neil cut off a piece and forked it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he moaned. “I don't know, but it's good. I have to find out, so I can order it again.”
Decker grinned at him. “It's called black pudding,” he said. “It's made of pork blood, with fat and oatmeal.”
Neil froze in mid chew, and his eyes went wide. He swallowed hard, then looked at the rest of it on his plate. “Pork blood? Does that make me some kind of vampire?”
The retired FBI agent laughed. “No, it doesn't. Black pudding is one of the most popular dishes in the UK. They do it like that at breakfast, but you can also get it batter-dipped and deep-fried, or you can eat it cold, right out of the wrapper.”
Neil stared at him for a long second, then shrugged and stuck another bite in his mouth. “Oh, well, it still tastes good. As long as it isn't going to turn me into a zombie or vampire or something, I can live with it.”
The rest of them chuckled at him, as they finished their breakfast. It didn't take long, and then they were each off to carry out their part of the day's mission.
Noah and Decker followed Neil to his room, and Noah took out his phone to call Catherine Potts. He dialed the number from the note, and it was answered on the first ring.
“You've got Catherine,” came a pleasant voice.
“Catherine, this is Alexander Colson,” Noah said. “How are you doing today?”
“Oh, just wonderful, Mister Colson. I'm on your project right now, would you like to get together to talk about it?”
“I think that would be a wonderful idea,” Noah said. “I guess you're somewhere near the property?”
“I am, sir, just a wee distance away. There's a little chip shop at the corner, would you care to meet there? It's easy to find, you can't miss it. It's only a few hundred meters past the property, where Aberdare Gardens meets up with Goldhurst Terrace.”
“That'll be perfect,” Noah said. “My associate and I should be there within the hour.”
“Very good, sir, I shall be waiting. I'm wearing a paisley dress, I should be very easy to spot.”
“And you won't have any trouble spotting us, either,” Noah said, “since my associate and I look like salt-and-pepper. We'll see you shortly.”
He ended the call, and he and Decker sat quietly while Neil hacked into the necessary databases to find the information he wanted. Within half an hour, he had downloaded blueprints of the building and gotten into the apartment complex's security video system. This gave Noah a clear visual representation of the building, including the hallway outside Pendergrast's apartment.
“Is that a live feed?” Noah asked, and Neil nodded. “Then keep an eye on it, and if you see him leave his apartment, call me.”
Neil held up a finger, then started tapping keys again. “Okay, like I told you before, he's on an NSA watch list. According to the NSA, he's still in his apartment right now. I'll keep watching, and let you know.”
“Good job,” Noah said, then hooked his head at Decker. The two of them left the room and went down the elevator to the lobby. There was a car rental agency inside the lobby, and a moment later they were handed the keys to a new Jaguar F-type.
As they walked to the car, Noah looked over at Decker. “Apparently you've been here before?”
Decker nodded. “A few times. I had the pleasure of working with Interpol on a couple of cases that brought me here. I can't say I know the city all that well, but I can probably find the important places without resorting to GPS.”
Noah tossed him the keys. “In that case, you drive. I want to reconnoiter the area, get a feel for it, and I can do that better if I'm not the one behind the wheel.”
Decker caught them deftly and slid into the driver’s seat, unlocking the passenger door so that Noah could climb in. “Yeah, I'm kind of used to driving on the wrong side of the road here,” he said. “It makes you a little crazy, the first time or two.”
“I'll just bet it does,” Noah said. “There are people who would tell you I'm as crazy as I need to be, already, so we'll just let you do the driving at the moment. Hope Sarah can handle it, but I'm willing to bet she can.”
“I'm sure,” Decker said, but further conversation was cut short when Noah's phone rang. He looked at the display and saw that it was a call coming in on the special number he had given to President Habib.
“This is Colson,” he said.
“Mister Colson,” said the president. “I hope you'll forgive a wor
ried father, but I just needed to know that you are working toward bringing my daughter home. Have you made any progress?”
“We've identified and located the person who called you to tell you that your daughter had been taken hostage,” Noah said, “and we are zeroing in on him even now. I'm hopeful that he will be able to provide us with more information that will help us find her. I wish I had something more to tell you, but that's where we stand at the moment.”
President Habib uttered a sigh. “Thank you,” he said simply. “It gives me hope just to know that you are truly doing what you can. I will let you get back your work, and continue my prayers for your success.”
The call ended, and Decker looked over at Noah. “I've worked a lot of kidnapping cases,” he said. “The one thing that never changes is that the victim's loved ones always need constant reassurance. Being a world leader isn't going to change that for him.”
“I know,” Noah said. “Simple human nature.”
Pendergrast's apartment building was in South Hampstead, a half hour's drive from the hotel. Decker had punched it into the GPS on his phone, and followed the directions as he maneuvered through the city. Aberdare Gardens, the broad street on which it was located, was lined with apartment buildings that all seemed to be very much alike. Still, they had no trouble finding the right one.
Since they had not heard from Neil, it was a safe bet that Pendergrast was still holed up in his apartment, so they drove past the building toward the intersection. They found the little restaurant known as a chip shop with no problem, and parked the car in front of it. Both of them spotted Catherine as soon as they entered the building, and she looked up and smiled as she waved them over to her table.
“I'm Catherine,” she said as they took seats. “Which of you might be Mister Colson?”
Noah smiled. “That would be me,” he said. “This is James Mitchell, my associate.”
Catherine shook hands with both of them as a young waitress approached their table. Despite the fact that they had eaten breakfast only a short time before, both men ordered snack-sized portions of cod and chips, the beer-battered fish and fried strips of potato that reminded them of French fries, with Coca-Cola. Their orders were delivered only a moment later, leaving them in relative privacy.
“This is a bit of an upscale chippy,” Catherine said. “In most, you have to stand in line to place an order, but here they like to think of themselves as a restaurant, rather than just a chip shop. We can speak freely in here. This place is often used for clandestine meetings by Interpol and other agencies.”
“I gather from your accent that you're a native here?” Noah asked. When she nodded, he went on. “I was given to understand that you work for the same people we do. Is that correct, or am I missing something?”
“It's correct. I'm the station chief for E & E in London, the agency's liaison and supply officer. If there's anything you need while you're here, you need only to let me know. So far, all I know is that you wanted me to keep an eye on the subject, and that's been very easy to do. In fact, there are so many different agencies watching him that we've been bumping into each other. Someone from NSA spotted me yesterday and wanted to know what my interest was. As far as they know, I'm with British intelligence, so I simply let them think I was looking into some of his local activities.”
“British intelligence?” Decker asked. “A story like that won't blow up in your face?”
“Oh, not at all,” Catherine said. “I truly am with MI6. It's a special arrangement between E & E and the SIS. Only a very few MI6 top staff have any idea of my real identity and affiliation, but letting me maintain an identity with SIS means they can occasionally put in a request to our boss for the type of services we offer. They're quite happy with the arrangement, and as far as the rest of the British government knows, I simply work in the liaison office that coordinates with Yank agencies.”
Decker grinned. “Sounds like a terrific cover. So, what can you tell us about Pendergrast?”
“Jeremy Pendergrast is forty-seven years old, a former CIA employee who now dabbles in information marketing. He's known to provide certain other services, as well, such as negotiating secret deals between governments and facilitating certain types of clandestine operations. Here in the UK, he's fairly well known for having a lot of dirt on a lot of people. Occasionally, some of our less desirable citizens go to him when they feel that the government is getting too close to the things that they do. He knows the strings to pull to make excess scrutiny disappear, or even get rid of pending criminal charges. Unfortunately, he has dirt on far too many people for anyone to be willing to take action to shut him down.”
“Do they want him shut down?” Noah asked. “I'm planning to take him on a little vacation, to discuss a pretty important situation with him. I need to know what his involvement in it was, but it isn't necessarily important to me that he ever gets to come home.”
“I don't think we're done with him just yet. Believe it or not, a sod like him can come in handy from time to time. If possible, I suspect we'd like to have him back when you're done with him, and more or less in one piece.” She paused and smiled. “All right, perhaps two pieces.”
“I'll do my best.”
FIVE
When they finished their snacks, Catherine went with Noah and Decker to give them a tour of the neighborhood. The entire area was predominantly populated by apartment buildings, although a few small businesses dotted the area here and there. It wasn't hard to develop a staging plan for the abduction, as long as Pendergrast didn't throw a monkey wrench into the works by slipping off unobserved.
While they were touring the neighborhood, Neil called. “Hey, Boss man, I think I found what you're looking for in a safe house. Almost due west about fifty miles is a little village called Twyford, isn't that cute, and there's a farm house a half-dozen miles outside of it that is about as isolated as you can possibly get. According to the listing, the nearest neighbors would be in the village itself. It's available on a month-to-month rental, but it's pricey. Comes to about three thousand American dollars for a month, plus a thousand dollars worth of security deposit. Belongs to some rich guy in London, who rents it out to people who like to hunt. It's available right now. Do you want to look at it, or should I just snatch it up?”
“Sounds like it'll work,” Noah said. “Go ahead and get it, and send me directions.”
“You got it!” A moment later, Noah's phone beeped as it received the directions by text message.
“Neil found us a place to do our magic,” Noah said to Decker. “Catherine, can we drop you back off at your car?”
“That would be dear,” she said. “I left it at the chippy, so leave me off there.”
Decker drove back to the chip shop and let Catherine out, and then headed for the M4 highway. Noah had punched Twyford into his GPS in order to simplify things, and they were on the way moments later.
Neil called again while they were traveling, to let Noah know that he had made the arrangements to rent the place under the name of Alexander Colson, so Noah could stop at the estate agent's office in Twyford to pick up the keys. Noah punched in the agent's address to his GPS, so when they got into town it was easy to find. The agent turned out to be a portly older man named Withers.
“Good to meet you, Mister Colson,” Withers said. “Your man tells me you're a writer, eh?”
Neil hadn't bothered to mention this little detail, but Noah smiled and went with it. “I try to be,” he said. “I'm working on a novel, it'll be my first. Some of my friends in the business told me that the best way to get any writing done is to set myself up in the English countryside.”
Withers nodded his head vigorously. “Oh, aye,” he said. “You'll be the fourth or fifth writer to use the estate for some quiet and solitude. I hope it goes well for you.”
He gave Noah the keys to the house and a printed map that showed a number of landmarks to watch out for, in order to be certain of making the right turns. The es
tate was large, encompassing well over a thousand acres, with a river and a small lake on the premises.
The road leading to it was little more than a wagon trail, and Decker had to slow down in spots where runoff had left some deep holes. It took them almost twenty minutes to get to the house, but both men were amazed when they finally saw it.
The house had three stories, as well as a full basement. The agent had explained that it was nearly 200 years old, and had once been a private holiday residence of Lord Liverpool, who had served as prime minister of England under the reign of George IV in the 1820s. It was incredibly well furnished, and many of its pieces were antiques dating back to that period.
In addition to the house, there were several outbuildings on the property. Two large barns gave mute testimony to the estate's farming history, though the only occupants the men found were a number of stray cats that seemed to have taken up residence there. There was what appeared to be a chicken house, surrounded by a pen that would've allowed them a generous area in which to run and scratch, as well as what was obviously intended to be a garage for vehicles and equipment.
“Look at this,” Noah said, as he and Decker were exploring one of the barns. He pointed upward to where a block and tackle hung from the highest point of the roof. “I'm guessing that's about fifty feet up, what do you think?”
Decker nodded. “I'd say you're about right. It blows my mind that the British seem to like these huge barns, but I guess having three hay lofts comes in handy for their winters.”
“I guess. Right now, I'm thinking that if we hang Pendergrast off that hook up there by his hands, and just let him think about things overnight, he might be ready to do some serious talking come morning.”
Decker stared upward at the hook. “You'd need to run him right up tight to the ceiling, so he doesn't have any slack. Probably still be a good idea for us to keep a watch on him, though.”
“I was planning on it, but whoever is watching will stay out of sight. I want him to think he's alone, that we just hung him up and left him there to rot. Most people don't realize it, but there's very little more frightening than to think you're going to die slowly from thirst or starvation, and all alone. I want him to reach that point before we actually start to question him.”
