But they were together, and his hand over hers was a reminder that she would always be safe with him. She drew in a breath, exhaling slowly. It would be okay. They were going to be on the sidelines, called to action only if they needed Jenna to ID Levchenko.
They pulled up to the service entrance of the stadium and were waved through when the driver produced his ID to the man at the gate. Jenna looked at the parking lot as they continued to a ramp leading under the stadium. The parking lot was packed with cars, people already streaming into the stadium. Even from the car Jenna sensed the air of celebration, the excitement at the prospect of spending a day outdoors with family or friends, eating Wicksmanor sausages and drinking beer.
She had to force down the bile that rose in her throat. It was sick.
Hate upon hate upon hate.
Violence breeding more violence.
A never-ending cycle of death and destruction.
She closed her eyes, imagined Lily running through the fields of Tuscany, the sound of her laughter carried across the fields, the warmth of the stone terrace under Jenna’s bare feet.
“Time to go, love.”
She opened her eyes to Farrell’s face. She reached up, touched his cheek. “Don’t worry."
His expression softened, and he leaned over, pressed his lips hard against hers. “Don’t you worry.”
And suddenly, she didn’t. Because he told her not to, and because she knew it was more than a figure of speech. More than a way to keep her calm.
It was a vow. A promise that he would make sure she didn’t have to worry.
And Farrell didn't break promises.
“I’m not,” she said.
They got out of the car with Kane. The driver stayed put, and Jenna wondered suddenly if they were expecting to need a quick getaway or if it was some kind of protocol not to leave the government vehicle unattended.
“Let’s go,” Kane said.
He led them down a long concrete tunnel in the bowels of the stadium. They passed janitorial staff and Wembley security, food service workers and ticket agents, everyone on their way to work. They received a few curious glances — probably owing to the fact that she was traveling with two enormous men who looked like they wouldn’t hesitate to snap someone’s neck with their bare hands — but were otherwise allowed to pass without question. She hoped it wasn’t indicative of the overall security at the Stadium. Hoped that they were given a pass because they’d already been cleared by someone behind the scenes. Because Levchenko was out there somewhere, and she hated to think he’d been able to saunter into the stadium as easily.
Kane stopped and rapped on a steel door. It opened a crack, one dark eye scanning them before opening the door wider.
“About time,” the man said.
He was short but stocky, his scalp showing under a barely-there layer of black hair.
“I’m really not in the mood for your shit right now, Rodriguez,” Kane said.
The room was large, barely furnished with a metal table, a handful of chairs, and a bulletin board covered with pictures of Levchenko. They weren’t taking any chances; there were pictures of a fresh-faced youth who only resembled the Petrov Jenna knew around the eyes, photographs of an older Levchenko, his face mostly covered by a beard, a knit cap pulled down almost all the way to his eyes. There was even a photo of Levchenko as Petrov, wearing a suit in the photograph found by Sebastien that had first helped them connect the dots between Petrov and Levchenko.
Twelve men stood around the room, all of them armed and wearing tactical gear. None of them with names on their chest. This wasn’t the kind of job where you wanted to advertise your name. But that wasn’t what scared Jenna most — it was the gas masks hanging from their belts.
They glanced only briefly at Jenna before returning to their conversations, and Jenna finished scoping out the room. Her eyes came to a stop on a bank of monitors on the metal table. Each one was displaying a different part of the stadium, but the picture was in black and white, the details hard to make out.
One of the men clapped his hands. “Everybody gather around. Come on.”
The men stopped talking and moved in. Kane stepped forward with the rest of them while she and Farrell stayed at the back. Farrell’s were flinty as he studied them, and she knew he was assessing their gear, their weapons, their ability to protect Jenna from Levchenko.
“Okay, you all know the basics here,” the man in charge said. He pointed to the pictures on the bulletin board. “This is our man. You were all given copies of the pictures in your briefing files. He’s not exactly a master of disguise, but he’s good at blending in. He might look like any one of these pictures, or none of them.” His eyes cut to Jenna. “We have a civilian asset at the back of the room who has firsthand knowledge of the suspect and may be able to ID him if you’re unsure. However, the asset is to be used only as a last resort, and she will remain in the staging room unless she is required outside of it.”
The men turned around, their eyes landing on Jenna before returning to the man at the front of the room.
“Denys Levchenko is considered armed and dangerous, but he may be carrying the previously discussed bioweapon. Because of this, you are not to shoot unless loss of life is imminent. And he may not have the virus on him at all, in which case we need him alive to discern where it’s hidden.”
“So basically we can’t shoot the motherfucker,” one of the other men said.
The others laughed.
“That is correct Agent Wilson. We need this one alive — at least until we have the virus contained. Any questions?”
The men shuffled a little, but no one said anything.
“Good. Head out to your assigned areas. Follow SOP on communications.”
The men headed for the door and trickled into the hall.
The man who’d done all the talking crossed the room. “Thanks for being here, Miss Carver.”
“Of course.”
He turned his attention to Kane. “Keep her in here unless I call you out.”
Kane nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The man wiped a hand over his face and shook his head, then followed the other men out of the room. When the door closed behind him, only Kane and Farrell were left in the room with her.
“What do we do now?” Jenna asked.
Kane sat down. “Now we wait.”
Thirty
The room was like a prison.
Small. Silent. Cut off from everything else that was going on outside of it.
Jenna spent the first twenty minutes watching the security monitors, keeping an eye out for the men who were there to find Denys Levchenko and listening to them talk through the radio sitting on the table. The communication was largely indecipherable, filled with code words she didn’t understand and directions that didn’t make sense to her. She didn’t spot any of them on camera, and she finally gave up, pacing the room instead.
Farrell had been silent since the men had left the room, but she saw his tension in the tightness of his shoulders, the way they seemed almost too rigid, his body poised and ready for anything. Kane tapped his fingers on the metal table, seemingly bored, looking up only every now and then to glance at the monitors.
“Should I be watching more closely?” Jenna finally asked.
Kane looked up. “The monitors?”
“Yes, the monitors. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“You’re here to ID Levchenko. The odds of doing that in a crowd of ninety thousand people are pretty slim, but feel free to try,” Kane said.
Jenna shook her head. “How else am I going to ID him?”
Kane pointed to the radio. “They’ll let us know.”
She sighed, dropping into one of the chairs, wishing she had a glass of wine, a drink, anything to soothe her frazzled nerves. Watching the monitors only made it worse. The stadium was packed with men, women, and children. People who were going to suffer if they didn’t stop Levchenko before he released the virus into the air.
“Possible sighting section M, Level 3,” a voice sounded over the radio. “Near the bar kiosk. Cap. Please have civilian asset confirm.”
They sat up, turning their attention to the security monitors.
“Which one of these is Section M?” Jenna asked.
Kane pointed to two of them. “These two. But this is the one that has the kiosk.”
Jenna leaned in, scanning the faces of the people in line for beer, the ones passing by on the way to their seats. “I don’t see anyone with a cap.”
“Look at this one,” Kane said, pointing her to the other monitor for that section, “in case he’s moved out of the frame.”
“Green room, do you read?” a voice said over the radio.
Kane picked up the radio. “We read you. Stand by.”
Jenna turned her eyes to the other monitor. “Is that him?” she asked, pointing to a tall, thin man in a baseball cap. “By that pillar?”
Kane picked up the radio. “Is suspect wearing a long jacket, jeans?”
“Confirmed.”
“Is it him?” Kane asked. He was half out of his chair, ready to go. Itching to go.
Jenna hesitated, trying to make the security image clearer through sheer force of will. She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m just not sure. I’m sorry.”
“Asset can not confirm or deny,” Kane said into the radio. “Image isn’t clear enough.”
“Well, get her ass up here,” the voice said. “Before the bastard leaves.”
Kane stood. “Let's go.”
Farrell’s hand clamped down on Kane’s arm. “No way.”
“This is why she’s here,” Kane said through his teeth. “Now get your fucking hand off my arm before I break it.”
Farrell’s gaze dared him to try, and Jenna stepped between them, looking up at Farrell.
“He’s right. It’s why I’m here. I have you, and Kane will be with us, and the place is crawling with security. I’ll stay out of sight.” She looked at Kane before Farrell could say or do something else to protest. “Let’s go.”
Kane nodded, and she followed him to the door with Farrell at her side. They stepped into the service hall and walked toward a muffled roar emanating from beyond the concrete walls. It got louder as they approached another door at the end of the hall. Kane pushed it open and the noise washed over her like a wave of static.
She blinked against the light, overly bright after being stuck in the windowless room for nearly an hour. The game had started, and the announcer’s voice over the loud speaker mingled with the chants and shouts of the crowd.
“This way.”
Kane led them to a large metal service elevator. They took it to the third floor, and exited onto one of the concrete ramparts overlooking the stadium. People were milling around the concessions even as the game unfolded on the grass below. The crowd was a wash of color and sound, and she had to force herself to stay focused on the line of concessions.
They moved out of the crowd, off to the side of the rampart, staying close to the center wall. Farrell was like a pillar of stone at her side, so close she couldn’t have moved two inches without bumping into him, his face stony, eyes watchful as he scanned the crowd. They were twenty feet from the beer kiosk when they came across one of the armed men from the staging room.
“I think we lost the bastard,” he said to Kane, obviously agitated.
“Tell me you’re joking.” Kane’s voice was deadly calm.
“He was right there,” the man said. “And then he wasn’t. Jordan went to do some recon in the surrounding area.”
“Jesus christ…” Kane shook his head. “Could you guys find your way out of a paper bag without a flashlight?”
The other guy’s face twitched, but he didn’t respond, and Jenna wondered about the hierarchy. Was Kane the man’s boss? Was he everybody’s boss? Did they even work in the same organization?
They’d been met with an odd mix of trained agents — men and woman, French, British, German, American. This was obviously an equal opportunity operation with something at stake for everyone.
The man in front of them lifted a hand to his ear, stood still for a few seconds, then turned to Kane. “Possible sighting in Section F, level 3.”
“Section F?” Kane asked. “That’s on the other side of the stadium. Are you sure you guys don’t need glasses?”
The guys shrugged, but his expression had an angry edge. “I’m just telling you what they’re telling me.”
“I’m not dragging Carver all over while you guys try to pull your heads out of your asses.” Kane looked at Farrell. “Stay here.” He turned to the other agent. “Stay with them.”
He stalked off, and Jenna leaned against the wall, daring to let her guard down a little.
“You okay?” Farrell asked.
She looked up at him, forced a smile. “I’m good.”
But she wasn’t. Not really. The crowd was massive, a sea of bodies and faces that all blended together after awhile. She wasn’t sure she would have recognized Levchenko if he walked right past them, let alone trying to pick him out of the crowd. She felt exposed, like Levchenko was out there watching her, and vulnerable despite the fact that she was flanked by two men who were every bit as armed and dangerous as Denys Levchenko.
“Hold on,” the agent said. “I’m getting something.” His face stilled as he listened to the voice in his earpiece. Then he turned to Farrell. “They might have apprehended a possible accomplice in L. It’s one section over. I’ll be right back.”
Farrell nodded, then stepped forward a little, obviously trying to give Jenna extra cover as the agent sprinted down the rampart toward section L.
“Do you think they’re going to get him?” Jenna asked.
“I think it’s just as likely they got some guy with a backpack full of drugs who doesn’t know how to act casual,” he said.
He was probably right. If the person they’d intercepted had really been with Levchenko, they probably would have made a lot more noise. She drew in a breath, leaned her head back against the wall, tried to talk herself down as she let her eyes drift over the faces walking past. And then, just when she’d started breathing easier, a blue cap bobbed past them in the crowd.
It wasn’t the cap that made her do a double take. It was something in the way the man walked, the carefully measured stride, the set of his shoulders as he put one foot in front of the other.
“Farrell…”
He turned to look at her. “You see something?”
“Blue cap,” she said. “Maybe.”
His gaze followed hers, then honed in on the man wearing the blue cap. “Got him.”
“What do we do?” He was moving away from them, not necessarily in a hurry, but dangerously close to being swallowed by the crowd.
He shook his head, looking around like one of the agents might appear out of thin air. Then he took her arm.
“Stay close.”
They stepped into the crowd and started walking.
Thirty-One
Farrell hadn’t gotten a look at the guy’s face before he passed, but if Jenna thought it might be him, it might be him. They couldn’t afford to wait for Kane’s team to get their shit together. He wanted this over. Wanted Jenna out of the crowd where it was almost impossible to keep her safe. Wanted her back in an environment he could control.
He picked up his pace, keeping his hand on Jenna’s arm to make sure they didn’t get separated, trying to close the distance between them and the man in the blue cap. They’d worked their way to section N and were approaching another bank of concession stands when he dropped out of sight.
Farrell hurried forward, looking right and left. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” She pointed to a narrow hallway that seemed to lead to the concession stands along one side of the rampart. “Maybe he went down there?”
“Maybe.” He resisted the urge to let loose a string of expletives. Where the fuck were the men who were supposed to help him guard Jenna? This was not how this was supposed to go down.
He looked around, hoping to catch sight of Kane or one of the other men. He even toyed with the idea of leaving Jenna near one of the unarmed rent-a-cops patrolling the stadium.
But no. He wouldn’t leave her. Not ever.
He held her arm tighter, put his hand inside his jacket near his weapon. He had been authorized by Kane to carry it, but he didn’t want to set off a panic by making it obvious to the crowd that he was armed. “Come on.”
* * *
She didn’t have time to be afraid. She had to know if it was him, if the man in the blue cap was the man who had posed as Alex Petrov. Who had pretended to be her friend after killing her father. Who had spearheaded the development of a virus that could kill them all to avenge his father.
Like all the other service halls, this one was narrow and dimly lit, painted a dull gray that only made it seem darker and dingier than it already was. There were doors to either side of the hall. Jenna wondered if they led to the concession stands serving hot dogs and fish and chips and soda and beer while a madman carried a deadly weapon that no one would see coming.
She kept expecting one of the doors to open. To see one of the food service employees step into the hall. But it was empty, the sound of the crowd growing more muffled as they worked their way away from the field. Farrell had drawn his gun as soon as they’d stepped out of the crowd. Now he held it up, stepping quietly and slowly past each of the doors, closing his hand around each one, testing them in vain to see if they were unlocked.
They reached the end of the hall and paused. They were out of options. The man in the blue cap must have gotten ahead of them somehow. Either that or he’d cut down into the rows of seats angling away from the field, losing himself in the spectators roaring outside the hall.
Farrell nodded to indicate they should head back, and they started down the hall. They didn’t get two steps before something wrapped around her neck, and in a split second she was pulled backward by an unseeing hand. The last thing she saw as the door began to close was Farrell’s face, contorted with rage.
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