Collateral Damage

by Stuart Woods

  “No, you can just leave it there,” the copper replied. “I’ll get our hand truck.”

  —

  Jasmine got up from the table, taking the application with her. “Excuse me,” she said to the receptionist. “Where is the ladies’ room?”

  “Just around the corner to your left,” the woman said.

  “I’ll be right back.” Jasmine stepped out the door and walked toward the emergency staircase, which had a large exit sign above it, well lit. As she did, her cell phone began to vibrate in her jacket pocket, the signal that all was ready. She checked to be sure she had enough bars, then pressed a speed dial button on her phone, put it back into her pocket, opened the door to the stairs, and started to run down them. She descended two floors, stepped outside into South Audley Street, where a black taxi waited for her, its engine running. She got into the vehicle, and as it rolled away the bomb inside the rear door of the embassy detonated with a huge roar.

  Protected by the buildings on the west side of the street, the taxi drove down to Mount Street and took a right. Now sirens could be heard. The taxi got to Park Lane and made a left turn, filtering into traffic. The driver edged into the right lane and turned into Hyde Park behind the Duke of Wellington’s house, now a museum. They were all the way to South Kensington before the first emergency vehicles made it into Grosvenor Square.

  The taxi stopped, Jasmine got out, removed a roller suitcase from the cab, and looked at her watch as she headed for the London Underground entrance. The second bomb, the one on a timer in the DHL van, would be going off at this moment.

  Ten minutes later she was speeding west, toward Heathrow Airport. Once there, she would take a taxi back to her new home on the Thames, along with the rolling suitcase, looking like any other Heathrow arrival.

  —

  Holly Barker got out of the chopper at the East Side Heliport and into the black SUV waiting for her. As she did, her cell phone went off, and she dug it out of her pocket. “Holly Barker.”

  “It’s Scotty,” her secretary said. “Where are you?”

  “I just arrived in New York.”

  “Can you get in touch with the director? Her cell phone didn’t answer. I know she got back last night, but she’s not in the office yet.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Tell her this: a large bomb has detonated at the rear door of the London embassy, and there are many casualties. Hang on,” she said, “other line.” She came back after a moment. “A second bomb has gone off in a delivery van parked in North Grosvenor Street, probably on a timer. That’s all I’ve got. I’ll call you when there’s more.”

  “I’m headed for the East Side station. Call me on a secure line there.” Holly hung up and pressed the speed dial button for Kate Lee’s cell phone. It rang five times before it was answered.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Holly. Where are you, Director?”

  “In my car, on the way to Langley.”

  “Tell your driver to take an alternate route on surface roads and to proceed with caution,” Holly said. “There’s bad news from London.”

  The phone was ringing in the office as Holly hurried into the room, and she grabbed it. “Holly Barker.”

  “It’s very bad,” the director said. “There are at least thirty casualties, including Tom Riley.”

  “How did they get to Tom?” Holly asked, knowing that his office was several floors up.

  “For some reason, he went down to sign for a package, which was the bomb. A second bomb went off in the delivery van, which was sitting in Upper Grosvenor Street, doing a lot of damage to the offices across the way.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Ed Marvin, the deputy London station chief, had coronary bypass surgery yesterday and won’t be back at work for at least six weeks, and Lance is in Hawaii at a Pacific Rim security conference, so you’re now acting London station chief, until we can sort things out. An airplane will be waiting for you at Teterboro at eight P.M., and the chopper will take you out there at seven-thirty. You’ll be met at London City Airport, and the Connaught will have a suite for you. Call me from the embassy on my cell as soon as you’ve assessed the situation. Don’t worry about the time difference.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And, Holly, I’m sorry about your New York visit. Since Stone is a consultant to us, you can take him along, if you can talk him into it.”

  “I’ll order him to come,” Holly said.

  “Good luck.” The director hung up.

  Holly dialed Stone’s number, and Joan put her through to her boss.

  “Have you heard about London?” Holly asked.

  “I’m watching it on CNN right now,” Stone replied.

  “The director has ordered me to London, and she said I could take you along. Meet me at the East Side Heliport at seven-thirty.”

  Stone hesitated for only a moment. “I’ll be there,” he said.

  Holly hung up and dialed the direct line to the London station chief’s office.

  “Yes?” A woman’s voice.

  “This is Assistant Director Holly Barker. Who is this?”

  “I’m Ann Tinney, Tom Riley’s assistant.”

  “I was very sorry to hear of Tom’s death,” Holly said.

  “Thank you, Ms. Barker.”

  “Since Ed Marvin is in the hospital, and Lance Cabot is at a conference in Hawaii, the director has asked me to act as station chief until the situation is stabilized.”

  “I understand. When will you arrive?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Please have key staff standing by for a meeting. I’ll want an update on the casualty list and the damage, and then I’ll want individual briefings from each desk chief.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m at the New York station now, but I’ll leave here in two hours. You can reach me on the airplane through the switchboard at Langley, if there’s anything further to report.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you, Ann. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Holly hung up and logged into the Agency’s mainframe computer from the station at her desk. She entered her password, then went into the personnel database and called up the list of London’s station key staff and began reading their files. Twice during the next two hours Ann Tinney called from London and gave her updates. It was getting worse.

  —

  Holly and Stone had dinner on the Gulfstream G-450, and she managed to get a few hours of sleep before the flight attendant woke her in time to shower and change before landing.

  When she was back in her seat, the flight attendant came back to brief her. “There’s fog in London,” she said, “but the pilot says the ceiling is eight hundred feet, so we shouldn’t have a problem landing. The approach is steeper than at most airports and the runway shorter, so be prepared for that. An embassy car will be waiting on the ramp for you.” She went back to the front of the airplane and buckled in.

  “Excuse me,” Stone said, rising from his seat. “I want to watch this approach from the jump seat.” He went forward.

  Holly could see nothing but gray outside the windows. As the flight attendant had warned, the approach was steep, and they broke out of the clouds in time to get a good look at the Thames. On touchdown, the reverse thrusters came on, and the pilot braked hard. A moment later they were turning off the runway and onto a ramp.

  Stone came out of the cockpit grinning. “That was exciting,” he said.

  The attendant opened the door, and they descended to the ramp, where a car was waiting that looked much like the presidential limousine.

  “They’ve sent the ambassador’s car,” Holly said, when they were inside. “This is embarrassing.” The door shut with a soft clunk, and they could barely hear the sound of an aircraft taking off from the runway.

  “I could get used to this,” Stone said, stretching his legs.

  “I can’t believe they sent this car,” Holly said.

  “In the circumstances,” St
one said, “I think they wanted you transported in something bombproof.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  She dropped off Stone and her luggage at the Connaught, then the car continued the short distance to the embassy. She was met by two Marine guards at a side entrance on Upper Brook Street, and whisked to the top floor.

  “The ambassador wants to see you,” one of the guards said as the elevator stopped. A moment later she was in a large office being greeted by a gray-haired, well-tailored gentleman.

  “Ms. Barker,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Ambassador Walters. I just wanted to say hello before you go down to the Agency floor, and extend my condolences for the death of Tom Riley. He was a good man, and I relied on him completely.”

  “Thank you, Ambassador,” Holly replied. “I’m grateful for your condolences, and I’ll pass them on to the director when we speak.”

  She was escorted back to the elevator by the two Marines, then down a couple of floors. They emerged from the elevator into a small lobby. A receptionist stood and indicated a steel door, which was electronically opened. After that it was just offices, like everywhere else.

  She was escorted to a large conference room, where Ann Tinney, a tall, handsome woman in her fifties, introduced her to a dozen men and women around the table, then offered her the chair at the head.

  “Good morning,” Holly said. “I’m glad to meet you all, and I want to tell you how sorry I am for your terrible loss of Tom Riley. I knew him pretty well and admired him.

  “The director has appointed me acting station chief until things become more … regular. I understand that I’m not Tom Riley, and I’m going to need the help of each of you to get through this.”

  Holly turned to Ann. “Now, I’d like to be briefed on exactly what happened, the casualties, and the damage. I’ll have to report to the director shortly, and I want to be prepared.”

  Ann Tinney operated the video equipment from the seat next to Holly. “We’ve put together clips from a dozen surveillance cameras to give you a graphic idea of what happened.” She brought up the first video.

  “Here we have the DSL van, stolen, of course, pulling up to the barrier at the Upper Grosvenor Street end of Burnes Street. You’ll hear the police constable call in the driver’s request to deliver a large box, addressed to Tom Riley, with a return address of Langley.” The audio played, and the barrier was removed so that the crate could be wheeled to the back door.

  “Stop,” Holly said.

  Ann stopped the footage.

  “There’s something I don’t understand,” Holly said. “Why would Tom leave his office and go downstairs to receive a shipment, even if it was from Langley?”

  “We’re embarrassed by that,” Ann replied, “but as you heard, the delivery required his signature, and since it was from Langley, Tom thought it important enough to go downstairs himself. There is nothing in our security protocol that would prevent him from signing personally.”

  “Let’s get the protocol amended immediately to cover that situation.”

  “Certainly. Shall I continue?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The view from a camera inside the rear door. “As you see, the steel security doors are opened to admit the shipment. The driver is now in a room built of reinforced concrete with steel doors that we consider bombproof.”

  “Unless the bomb is inside the room,” Holly said. “Amend the protocol to check with the shipping company and the putative sender before admitting any package to the building.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Holly will do, for all of you. Continue, please.”

  “Here’s a view of Tom entering the room, looking curious. He takes the clipboard from the driver and examines it.” The audio came on.

  “Get this crate out of here and secure the room!” Tom shouted.

  “The dog had not signaled, but apparently something about the clipboard aroused Tom’s suspicions, and he acted without delay. We see the rear doors opening, and then …”

  The video went to one frame at a time: Tom turned and shouted at the Marines, the crate exploded, and both video and audio ended.

  “Tom was seconds away from having the crate outside and the room secured when the bomb detonated. There was no action on the part of the deliveryman, so it would have been detonated by cell phone or radio,” Ann said. “Now we see the explosion from outside, from a camera on the State Department building across Upper Grosvenor Street, in slow motion.”

  The force of the blast blew a police constable out of the building and across Burnes Street, where his body collided with a neighboring building. A Metropolitan Police car parked in Burnes Street was blown into that building, as well.

  “Now we switch to another camera in Upper Grosvenor three minutes and twelve seconds later,” Ann said.

  The DSL van exploded with a ferocity as great as the first bomb. Cars and pedestrians were blown about and shattered.

  “Jesus Christ,” Holly said involuntarily. “What was the death toll?”

  “In the downstairs room, Tom, the police constable, two Marines who were there to examine the crate, plus another Marine at the desk, and the Labrador retriever sniffer dog were killed instantly. The room contained the blast, as it was designed to do, but the doors were open, so there was residual damage outside. A police constable in the patrol car was killed, and four people in the building across Burnes Street were seriously injured. Thirty-two other people were killed when the second bomb detonated—pedestrians, people in passing cars. The van partially blocked Upper Grosvenor, so traffic was bumper to bumper. Four of the dead were in the State Department personnel office across Upper Grosvenor. Eighteen other people either in the street, in cars, or in that building were injured, four of them seriously. The rest was from flying glass and shrapnel. That’s it.”

  Holly heaved a deep sigh. “All right. I have to report to the director now, and after that I’ll see the desk chiefs, one at a time, please, in Tom’s office, to get an overview of current operations in your various purviews.”

  Ann Tinney stood up. “I’ll show you to Tom’s office.” They left the conference room and started down the hall. “All of Tom’s personal effects have been cleared from the room, so you needn’t worry about disturbing anything there. It will be your office while you’re here.”

  “Thank you,” Holly said. She was shown into a large corner office with unremarkable furniture, including a round conference table in a corner. Opaque window shades prevented photographing from outside. “Please excuse me, Ann, while I phone the director.”

  “Of course.” Ann left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Holly picked up the phone, then put it down again. She had never seen anything so horrific, and she needed a minute or two and some deep breaths to get control of herself. She looked at her watch, which displayed the two relevant time zones: it was four A.M. in Washington. She dialed Kate Lee’s cell number.

  Kate answered on the second ring. “Holly? I’ve been expecting your call.”

  “I’m sorry to wake you. I’ve just had a full briefing on the two bombs, with both video and audio.” She recounted what she had seen.

  “Have them transfer that presentation to both the White House situation room and to my office at Langley,” Kate said calmly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can you explain to me why Tom went down to sign for the crate?”

  “He thought it was from you. The security protocol doesn’t cover such an incident, and I’ve instructed that it be amended immediately.”

  “It was a stupid mistake,” Kate said.

  “From what I’ve seen, it was the only mistake anyone made, and even that wasn’t against protocol. The room where the bomb went off performed as designed.”

  “It’s a very great disaster,” Kate said.

  “How long do you think it’s going to take to get a new station chief in place?” Holly asked.

  “I spoke to L
ance last night. He’s on his way home now, and he’ll have a list of candidates when he gets to Langley later this morning. Have you been briefed by the desk chiefs yet?”

  “No, that’s next on my schedule.”

  “One or two of them may be on Lance’s list of candidates, so I’ll be especially interested in your assessment of them as individuals.”

  “I’ll try and have that for you by the end of the day here,” Holly said.

  “The president made a brief appearance in the press room last night to announce the bare bones of what happened. After he’s viewed the security camera footage, he’ll have a press conference to outline what happened.”

  “I’ll get the footage transmitted as quickly as possible,” Holly said.

  “Good-bye, then. We’ll talk later today.” Kate hung up.

  Holly called in Ann Tinney and gave her instructions on transmitting the footage, along with her commentary. “I’ll start seeing the desk chiefs now,” Holly said.

  Holly got to the Connaught just after nine P.M. and was shown to the suite. She had called Stone when she was on her way, and he took her in his arms.

  “It must have been a very bad day,” he said.

  “I just cannot explain to you how bad,” she replied. “Before this is over we’ll have forty dead—more than half of them collateral damage, complete innocents.”

  He put her down in a comfortable chair, gave her a drink, then sat on the ottoman and rubbed her feet.

  “That’s the first good thing to happen today,” she said, tugging at the drink.

  “I’ve ordered dinner,” Stone said. “It will be here in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, thank you. I had half a cup of soup early this afternoon. It was back-to-back briefings, and I hope I can retain half of what I learned. I certainly have a new respect for what the London station chief does. He has all of Europe under his purview. The only good thing is that everything is being smartly handled and operated. It’s a tribute to Tom Riley and Ed Marvin.”

  “Who’s Marvin?”

  “Deputy station chief. Had bypass surgery two days ago, out for a couple of months, probably.”

  The doorbell rang, and Stone let in the waiter with his tray table. He opened the wine and tasted it while the table was being set up. The waiter carved the roast chicken Stone had ordered and served the vegetables, then retreated.