The moment they landed, Ananke had sent a text to Orlando and Quinn. She’d received a reply while in immigration so she didn’t check it until now. It contained instructions on where they were supposed to go and how they were supposed to get there.
She glanced at Dylan. “Ever drive in London?”
“I’m insulted you would even ask that. Of course I’ve driven in London. It’s not that far from Dublin, in case you weren’t aware.”
“There is water in between,” said Liesel, the German hapa and former bodyguard.
“I’m quite aware there’s water between, thank you very much. But there are ferries. And planes. I’ve been to London dozens of times. And I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent driving here.”
Ananke led them to the garage where a Mercedes sedan was waiting.
“Nice,” Dylan said. “Very nice. I think I like your friends.”
Ananke got into the front passenger seat, while the other two women took the back.
“Still no explanation of what they need us for?” Rosario asked. She’d escaped a horrible childhood in southern Mexico at an early age and subsequently raised herself, learning along the way all the tools she needed to become one of the best thieves in the business. Whatever someone wanted, she could get.
“Not yet,” Ananke said.
She knew the others were uneasy. None of them knew Quinn or Orlando. They were here because of the bond they’d begun forming with Ananke in the short time they’d worked together, and she wouldn’t be surprised if at least one of them was starting to regret joining her.
True to his word, Dylan seemed to know his way around the city, and within an hour of leaving the airport, they were standing in front of the apartment door Orlando had directed them to.
When Ananke pushed the buzzer, the door was opened by a thin Asian woman wearing glasses and a far too serious look for her age.
“Yes?” she said.
“I believe Quinn and Orlando are expecting us.”
The woman looked her up and down. “You’re Ananke.” Not a question.
“And you are…?”
Ignoring her, the woman looked at the others and then said, “One moment.”
The door shut.
“Well, that was…interesting,” Dylan said.
Before anyone else could comment, the door opened again, only this time Orlando was there.
“Ananke,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for coming.” They hugged.
“How’s that baby?” Ananke asked.
“Verging on toddler.”
“Already?”
“That’s what happens. Come in, everyone. Please.”
Once they were inside, Ananke introduced her team.
Orlando shook each of their hands. “We’re so glad you’re here. Thank you again.” She looked around. “Let’s see. You met Jar already.” She motioned toward the thin woman who now sat at the table, working on a computer.
“The bubbly one,” Dylan said. “Yeah, we met her. I’m sure she’s a riot at parties.”
Orlando glanced at him. “You’re obviously the troublemaker.”
“What? What did I say?”
“The woman by the window is Monica. And that’s Quinn,” Orlando said as Quinn stepped out of a back room.
He headed over. “Great to see you. Thanks for coming.”
Another round of introductions, and then Ananke said, “Is this everyone?”
Orlando shook her head. “Most have gone out already.”
“Nate?”
“He’s keeping an eye on things.”
“And what would those things be?”
Orlando gestured toward the couch and several empty chairs. “Why don’t we sit down and bring you up to speed.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ORLANDO CALLED MARGERY at 4:55 p.m.
“Did you receive the final delivery?” Margery asked.
“We did, thank you.”
“I assume it’s time for me to make another call.”
“You’re reading my mind.”
“What would you like me to tell poor Mr. Roberts?”
“That we were spotted near Waterloo station thirty minutes ago. But this time say that you were able to get someone to follow us. I have another picture you can forward to them.”
“They’ll want to contact this mysterious follower.”
“Undoubtedly. Do you have a pen?”
“I do.”
Orlando rattled off a phone number. “Tell them that’s the follower’s contact number, but you’re not going to give them that until later, when I let you know it’s okay.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“That should be it. Thank you, Margery.”
“You owe us a drink and a story.”
“That, we do.”
The picture Orlando sent was another one of her and Quinn, this time with an in-focus street sign behind them that places them near Waterloo station.
Thirteen minutes later, Jar said, “One of the watchers just arrived at Southampton station.”
Margery’s phone already at work.
Four minutes after that, “There’s number two.”
Before number three arrived, Orlando received an alert telling her of activity on Tahir’s phone. Since she knew only a few phrases in Arabic, she allowed her translation software to decipher the conversation.
Tahir: Hello?
Caller: Are you headed back?
Tahir: Why would I be headed back?
Caller: Mr. Cooper just called. He received new information that the body remover and his woman are now in London. He says he will be back in a few hours and that he already has someone watching them. They have given you no indication of this?
Tahir: He is headed in the direction of the station, so that must be where he is going. You are saying someone is actually following them now?
Caller: Yes. So you can’t let Mr. Cooper out of your sight. It is possible the fixer is already with Quinn. We cannot miss this opportunity!
Tahir: I am not stupid, little brother. I will call again when I am back in the city.
If Orlando hadn’t profoundly disliked the Halabi brothers before, being referred to as the cleaner’s woman would have done the trick. That aside, the important thing was that the plan’s cogs were moving in the correct direction.
AT 6:54 P.M., Ananke reported the Southampton train’s arrival at Waterloo station, and the subsequent appearance of the three watchers and Tahir Halabi. She and Liesel joined the follow-me parade.
WITH THE NUMBER of different roles that needed to be filled, Quinn and Orlando’s team was three people short of being able to provide one-on-one coverage of all fourteen of Kassab’s men. They settled on assigning four people each to the two groups of five, and three to the four men staying near Kassab at the Park Plaza.
Until the signal was given, though, the three squads’ mission was only to observe.
“ARE YOU TWO sure you can handle this?” Orlando asked. “We could pull someone off something else.”
She was standing at the dining table, Jar seated on one side and Rosario on the other, each with a laptop in front of her and headphones draped around her neck.
Jar looked at Orlando, perplexed. “Why would we need someone else? I could do this alone. And if Rosario is as competent as you say, she can, too. It is not difficult.”
“It’s a lot of coordination,” Orlando said.
“It is a matter of being organized. I am very organized.” Jar looked across at Rosario. “Are you an organized person?”
“I like to think I am,” Rosario said.
Jar’s eyes narrowed. “Think or are?”
“I like you,” Rosario said. She looked at Orlando. “We will be fine.”
Orlando hesitated before nodding. “Good luck.”
She grabbed her backpack off the couch, and as she headed to the door where Quinn and Daeng waited, she heard Jar say, “I am serious. Think or are?”
; NATE AND KIET watched the area near Dehler’s building.
Kiet was back in the alley known as Smallbrook Mews, keeping an eye from the shadows on the back entrance to the woman’s apartment.
Nate did not have the same luxury of finding someplace to hunker down. Since it was still early in the evening, there were a lot of pedestrians about, and he would have drawn unwanted notice if he’d rooted himself to a spot. Instead, he walked around and around the block, like someone out for some exercise.
Each time he passed Westbourne Crescent, he looked toward Dehler’s stairway before allowing himself a glance at his watch, each time annoyed at how slowly the hands moved.
Nine p.m. felt like it was still a year away.
QUINN DROVE WITH Orlando sitting next to him, and Daeng in the back.
After Orlando sent Margery the text that told the woman to pass the phone number on to the watchers, she put her hand on Quinn’s seatback and lightly caressed his neck.
“It’s almost over,” Orlando said.
“I hope.”
“It is.” She paused. “Have you thought about…”
She didn’t have to finish the question. He knew she was asking about what he was going to do with Dehler.
“I’ve done nothing but think about it,” he said.
“And?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
He braced himself, expecting her to tell him he couldn’t wait until then. That he needed to know now. But what she said was, “I guess we will.”
Daeng pulled a vibrating phone out of his pocket. Glancing over her shoulder, Orlando saw it was the disposable one she’d given him earlier that afternoon.
“Looks like they’ve taken the bait,” he said. “Shall I?”
“Please,” she replied.
He activated the call, and said in a hushed voice, “Hello?”
MR. COOPER HAD begun to think he was getting the runaround again. He and his team had spent over an hour trying to figure out where this unknown person following Quinn and Orlando had gone. Roberts had said when he called that afternoon that contact information was forthcoming, but there had been nothing since.
Until a few moments ago, when a text with the number finally appeared on Mr. Cooper’s phone.
The line rang four times before it was answered with, “Hello?” The voice was whispered, almost urgent. Mr. Cooper could hear traffic noises in the background.
“I believe you are following the subjects I’m interested in.”
“Who is this?”
“You can call me Mr. Cooper. I received your number from Mr. Roberts.”
“Ah, okay. Yeah, I’m following them.”
“Where are they?”
“In a car heading through Soho. Hold on.” The sound became muffled, and Mr. Cooper could hear the guy talking to someone, almost arguing. The contact came back on the line. “Can’t talk right now. My cabbie’s giving me flak. Give me your number and I’ll call you when we get to wherever we’re going.”
“Wait. Can you at least tell me which direction you’re headed?”
“West…ish, I guess. But that could change. Number?”
As soon as Mr. Cooper finished giving it to him, the man hung up.
“YOUR CABBIE’S GIVING you flak?” Quinn said, glancing at the rearview mirror.
Daeng shrugged. “It sounded good.”
Not even thirty seconds passed before Orlando’s phone rang. “It’s Ananke,” she said, and put it on speaker. “Hey.”
“Your friends are trying to get a taxi. That’s your doing?”
“Yes. They’ll be heading north. What about Tahir?”
“He’s waving for a cab, too.”
“Good. Keep us posted.”
Orlando hung up, punched in another number, and said to Quinn, “Your turn.”
A moment later, Annabel Taplin’s voice came over the line. “Who is this?”
“Quinn. Time to put your team on alert.”
BILAL COULD STAND the wait no longer. He moved over to the phone but didn’t pick it up. To Kassab, he said, “Tahir should have called by now.”
“If he was going to call, he would have called.” If Dima’s uncle had intended the words as a rebuke, they were undercut by his own impatience to know what was going on.
Buoyed by this, Bilal said, “It couldn’t hurt if I checked in on him.”
Kassab hesitated a moment and then nodded.
Tahir answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“Uncle wants an update,” Bilal said.
“I don’t have time right now.”
“A quick one.”
Tahir let out an exasperated breath. “Mr. Cooper just got off the phone and flagged down a taxi.”
“He received new information?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Are you still behind them?” Bilal asked.
“Of course I am still behind them. Now, please, I need to go.”
“Tell me which way they are headed first,” Kassab said.
“Across the river, it looks like. After that, I have no idea.”
DAENG CALLED MR. Cooper after the watchers entered the area where the plan required them to be. “Quinn and Orlando are walking down Oxford Street now, toward Hyde Park.”
“Walking? How far from the park are they?”
“Three blocks, maybe.”
“All right. We’re only a few minutes away. Call me if anything changes.”
“You got it, buddy.”
DEHLER HAD DECIDED tonight would be the last she spent at the London apartment.
At 7:30 p.m., she prepared a meal from her leftovers, but skipped the wine she usually had. She would leave before sunup so she needed to stay sharp. She hadn’t decided on a destination but would worry about that later. The immediate priority was to get out of the city.
As she packed her bag, she heard a phone ring. The sound nearly made her jump out of her skin. Until that moment, the only noise in the apartment had been made either by her or the TV. She was so rattled that it took another ring before she realized it was her burner phone.
She snatched it off the kitchen counter. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” It was Esa.
“At the safe house.”
“Still in London?”
“Well, yes. Where else?”
“I caught wind of something big going on down there.”
“What do you mean, big?”
“Several agents called in for a special job.”
Her skin tingled with a sudden chill. “By who?”
“Jonathan Quinn. You need to get out of there. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CONTRARY TO WHAT Daeng had told Mr. Cooper, Quinn and Orlando waited until the watchers were only seconds away before exiting the car. They were also not three blocks from Hyde Park, but just one.
As Daeng drove off in the sedan, Orlando said into the comm, “We’re on foot now. Begin phase one.”
“Copy,” Jar said. “Phase one participants, switch to channel three.”
Quinn and Orlando adjusted their comms.
“Monica?” Quinn asked.
“In position,” Monica said. She was an infiltration specialist Orlando had met years ago, on a solo job she’d done for a Swiss financial institution, but that wasn’t the reason they’d chosen her for this particular task.
“Ananke, status,” Quinn said.
“Mr. Cooper and his boys are out of their cabs, a block behind you. Tahir’s getting out now.”
“Daeng, position?”
“A quarter way through my first loop around the arch.”
“Don’t forget the placard.”
“Already in the window.”
“And driver number two. Um…”
“Dylan,” Dylan said.
“Dylan, right. Sorry.”
“Ready and waiting.”
With everyone set, Orlando took Quinn’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Shall we?”
Into his comm, Quinn said, “We’re heading in.”
This first phase was all about deception, to create a situation that would draw out Dima’s husband and her uncle from their hiding place at the Park Plaza.
Quinn and Orlando strode down Oxford Street and crossed the road to the Marble Arch monument at the northeast corner of the park. There they found a spot near the curb, from where they could see back through the monument to the entrance of the Marble Arch Underground station.
“Ananke?” Quinn said.
“Watchers are approaching the crosswalk, Tahir five meters behind. Now that they see you’ve stopped, looks like they’re not sure what they should do. Hold on.”
Quinn and Orlando faced each other, allowing each of them a sideways view of the crosswalk. The watchers were huddled together on the other side, talking. Quinn couldn’t pick out Tahir, but he knew the man was back there somewhere.
The watchers separated and moved back from the curb until they were standing close to the building at the corner.
“Looks like they’re staying over here,” Ananke said.
“Yeah, we see them,” Quinn said. It was for the best. The additional distance would help sell the illusion. “Tahir?”
“For a moment, it looked like he was going to blow them off and cross on his own, but he’s decided to hang back for now.”
“Daeng?” Quinn asked.
“Starting second go-around.”
“Copy,” Quinn said. “Monica, are you ready?”
“All set.”
“How long will it take to get here?”
“Practice run took twenty-five seconds.”
“All right. Daeng, give us a forty-five-second warning.”
“Copy.”
As they waited, Quinn looked around, checking the faces of passersby, on the lookout for someone who shouldn’t be there.
“Forty-five seconds,” Daeng announced.
“Now, Monica,” Quinn said.
Monica emerged from the Underground station a second later and turned in their direction. As she neared, even Quinn might have mistaken her for Dehler if he hadn’t known better. Monica was a similar height and build as Liz’s killer, and with the wig and clothes she was wearing, the illusion was almost perfect.
The Aggrieved Page 25
