Seek and Destroy

by Alan McDermott

  CHAPTER 19

  Bill Sanders had only been to Chinatown a couple of times. On both occasions he’d been forced into it by family and friends, but he never would have chosen it for a meet. Of course, no one dictated terms to the ESO.

  After an hour of wandering the streets, he had an early dinner at a seafood place near the White House. Not surprisingly, he recognized quite a few of the customers. He also noted the way they spoke in hushed tones, occasionally glancing his way. It was clear they were talking about him. Some of these people he’d once considered friends, others associates, but no longer. They were reveling in his downfall, and doing little to hide it.

  Sanders didn’t care. If the ESO granted him his wish and helped him disappear, he could spend his days relaxing on a sun-kissed beach while even the VIPs in the room would be forced to work for another couple of decades.

  At five thirty he left the restaurant and the gossips and walked to Chinatown. He passed under the Friendship Archway, the giant, ornate gateway that marked the district, then entered the six-story building that housed the chosen restaurant.

  A maître d’ dressed in traditional Chinese garb welcomed him and asked if he had a reservation. Sanders gave his name, and the host checked it against a list. He clicked his fingers, and a waiter immediately appeared at his side. Orders were passed in staccato Chinese.

  “Please, follow Cheung, sir. He will take you to your table.”

  Sanders tucked in behind the man and was led up a wooden staircase, then along a hallway to a door that had STAFF ONLY written on it. The waiter opened it and ushered Sanders inside.

  It was a small, windowless room, occupied by two men dressed in black suits with machine pistols hanging from straps on their shoulders. Both looked American.

  The waiter bowed and disappeared.

  “Strip,” one of the men said when the door closed.

  Sanders removed his jacket, tie, and shirt.

  “And the rest.”

  He kicked off his shoes, then his pants, leaving just a pair of boxers and his socks.

  “Everything,” the second one instructed.

  Sanders sighed as he took off the socks and let the boxers drop to the floor. He stood there stark naked while one of them ran a device over his body and the other checked his clothes.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t wearing a wire, they handed Sanders a white plastic gown. He put it on and buttoned up the front.

  His clothes were put in a box, and another door was opened. Sanders walked through and found himself in a space at least eighty feet long and thirty feet wide. The walls were highly polished, paneled oak. A matching table with seats for twenty took up most of the space.

  Two men in their thirties sat on one side of the table. One had short black hair parted to the side, while the other was completely bald. Sanders had never seen them before, but they didn’t look old enough to be part of the ESO hierarchy.

  “Take a seat,” the bald one said, pointing to the opposite side of the table.

  Sanders obliged.

  “Something to drink? Food, perhaps?”

  “Just water. The food here disagrees with me. I think it’s the MSG.”

  The one with the side parting rose and grabbed a pitcher of water and a glass. He put it in front of Sanders, then retook his seat.

  “I’m John, and this is Harry. What can we help you with today?”

  Sanders knew they wouldn’t be real names. “No offense, but I wanted to speak to the organ grinder, not his monkeys.”

  “None taken,” John said. “You are speaking to him. He’s listening in and has full communication with us.” He tapped his ear, and Sanders could see a tiny wire leading from it into the man’s jacket. “Please, tell us what’s on your mind.”

  “I will, but first I need your help. After I tell you this, I need assurances that you can get me out of the country.”

  John listened to his superior’s reply coming through his earpiece, then repeated it to Sanders. “And why should we do that?”

  “Because the Feds are closing in, and if I go down, my only hope is to turn state’s evidence. That’s a route I’d prefer not to go down.”

  “A sensible choice. What would you need in order to disappear?”

  “Forty million and new IDs for me and my wife. And you’d need to fake our deaths, obviously.”

  “Obviously. Anything else?”

  Sanders shook his head. “No.”

  “Okay, that can be arranged. What did you want to share with us?”

  “Driscoll. She knows you’re still after her, and I wanted to warn you that she’s coming for you. She asked me to give her names, but I refused. You know what she did to Mumford.”

  Sanders waited for a reply, which seemed to take forever in coming.

  “What makes her think it was us?”

  “She didn’t say. Just that a friend of Farooq Naser was killed in an effort to draw her out.”

  Another long pause. “Are you still in contact with Driscoll?”

  “She got in touch with me, but we’re supposed to speak again tomorrow.”

  “Good. John is going to write down some coordinates. I would like you to pass them on to her.”

  “Coordinates? For what?”

  “We weren’t the ones who sanctioned this hit on Driscoll. We think it’s a rogue element of the old ESO. Someone who doesn’t want to let it go. She’ll find him there.”

  That made a lot more sense to Sanders. When Driscoll had suggested the ESO was back to their old tricks so soon, he hadn’t thought it likely. With President Russell after their scalps, the ESO’s smartest move would be to slink back into the shadows until it blew over, not rekindle the feud.

  “What if I can’t convince her about this? What if she thinks it’s a setup?”

  A long silence passed while John listened to his superior. “That’s your problem now. If you want our help, you’ll have to earn it. The person she’s after . . . never really was one of us. We have a long-term strategy, nurtured over generations, but he wanted to achieve everything in his own lifetime. Quick to destroy people, when patience was the prudent approach. It’s time to reap what he sowed.”

  Sanders had a lightbulb moment. “It’s Langton, isn’t it? He’s still alive.”

  John gave him a curt nod. “For the sake of the service he gave us over the years—and, of course, to prevent him opening his mouth—we let him escape custody. He lives on a private island with everything he could ever wish for. Or so we thought. Everything except vengeance, it seems.”

  Sanders had thought Langton’s death by heart attack a little too convenient at the time. The papers had run the story for a couple of days, then he’d been consigned to history. A few of the outlying news outlets had challenged the official narrative, but never with enough proof to change opinions. The whole world thought him dead and gone, apart from those who had perpetrated the deception.

  “I might have a tough time getting her to believe he’s still around,” Sanders reiterated.

  “As I said, that’s your problem now. You don’t have to tell her it’s Langton, just point her in his direction.”

  Sanders could do that. All she wanted was information on the men behind the attack on Naser’s friend. He’d give her the coordinates of the island and his part in this would be over.

  “There’s one thing you should be aware of,” John said. “The island doesn’t officially exist. You won’t find it on any maps, nautical or otherwise. Try to google it and you’ll just see a big blue puddle called the Pacific Ocean.”

  Suddenly the task didn’t seem as straightforward as it had seconds earlier.

  How would he persuade Driscoll to fly halfway around the world to an island that wasn’t there? This wasn’t a Kong movie.

  “That’s going to be even trickier to sell.”

  “For forty million and a new life, I’m sure you’ll do your best.”

  Sanders started to speak, but John stood and gestured to the door.
The meeting was over.

  Sanders walked through the door and found the two armed men still there. He took his clothes from the box and changed, then walked back downstairs and out of the restaurant.

  He pictured Driscoll with her burner phone, counting down the time until their next call. Sanders checked his watch. He had twelve hours to come up with a plan.

  CHAPTER 20

  Jane Connor felt uncomfortable in the clothes she was wearing, but they were necessary if she were to pass as a nanny. Her normal attire was tight jeans and a T-shirt that accentuated her toned body, but today she had on a baggy woolen jumper and a flowing tie-dyed skirt that reached her ankles. On her feet were leather sandals that were headed for the bin the moment the mission was over. To complete the ensemble, she wore glasses and had her hair tied back.

  She climbed the steps to the townhouse and rang the bell. It was answered almost immediately by a blond a couple of years her senior.

  “Hi,” Connor said, and thrust out her hand. “I’m Linda Myers.”

  The woman took it, and Myers offered a limp handshake.

  “Hi. Come in. I’m Sarah.”

  “Nice place you’ve got. I wish I could afford a place round here but prices are just crazy right now.”

  “And getting worse,” Sarah agreed. “Let me introduce you to Alana and Melissa.”

  Myers followed her down the hall and into the kitchen. It really was a nice house, and on first impression, Sarah seemed decent enough.

  It was a shame she was going to have to destroy her life.

  Melissa was sitting at the kitchen table eating toast and what looked like chocolate spread, while Alana was in her bouncy chair, goo-gooing at an assortment of fluffy animals tantalizingly out of reach.

  “Aw, what beautiful girls. You must be so proud.”

  “I am, but Melissa’s just visiting for a couple of weeks. She’s a friend of the family.”

  Myers knew as much but continued to play the innocent. She squatted down next to Gray’s daughter. “And what does Melissa like to do?”

  “I like drawing and Peppa Pig and cartoons.”

  “Wow! That’s exactly what I liked when I was your age. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

  She took her turn with Alana, making appropriate noises that seemed to put Sarah at ease.

  “How long have you been a nanny?”

  “Eleven years. I first did it as a favor for a friend who was hurt in a car crash. She was a single mum and didn’t have family close by. I just loved the experience. I can’t have kids myself, but this more than makes up for it.”

  “And when you’ve finished work for the day you can go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “There is that, but nothing beats tucking kids in and reading them a bedtime story. That’s why I prefer the live-in opportunities, but there are none around at the moment, and I was told this is just a temporary position. A month, is that right?”

  “Yes. Our other nanny Janice was injured in a burglary last night.”

  “Oh, how awful! I hope she’s okay.”

  “She is. She broke her wrist, though. It’s hard enough looking after Alana with two hands, never mind one.”

  Sarah asked a few more questions, digging a little deeper into the Myers legend, but Linda provided all the answers with ease.

  “Would you like me to fix lunch?” Myers asked. “I do a mean spag bol.”

  “Sounds ideal. Turns out that’s Melissa’s favorite.”

  “Great. I’ll take them out to build up an appetite and bring them back at midday.”

  “No!” Sarah looked shocked at her own outburst. “I’m sorry. I don’t want the girls leaving the house. I know it sounds weird, but I have my reasons.”

  “That’s fine,” Myers said, though it was far from okay. A car was waiting around the corner to take her and the kids to the airport. It was eight thirty now, and the plane was scheduled to leave at three in the afternoon. That allowed two hours to get the kids out of the house, another two to get through London traffic to the airport on the south coast, and two and a half hours of contingency thrown in.

  She was going to need every second of it.

  At some point, she’d need a few minutes to herself to update the team. She’d go to the restroom and bang out a quick text message, then contact the others fifteen minutes later for updated instructions.

  She understood the reasoning behind her orders. If Sarah were hurt or killed, MI5 would throw everything it had into finding the girls. That would mean heightened security at every port, making their getaway infinitely more difficult. Better to sneak away and be on the plane before the shit hit the fan.

  “Could you clear up the breakfast plates when Melissa’s finished?” Sarah asked. “I have to get ready for a hospital appointment at eleven o’clock.”

  Myers smiled. Problem solved.

  She hoped.

  “Of course,” she said. “Do you want me to get them ready and come with you?”

  She could see Sarah was conflicted: take the girls, or leave them with the nanny she’d only known for half an hour.

  Say no. Say no.

  “No. I’ve no idea how long it’ll take, and I don’t like the idea of Alana hanging around the hospital. Too many sick people.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll make the pasta for lunch and save some for when you get back.”

  “Perfect. I’ll try to be home by two.”

  Sarah went upstairs, and a couple of minutes later Myers could hear the shower running. She went over to Alana, who had started to fidget and whine, and recognized the smell immediately.

  “Melissa, could you show me where Sarah keeps the nappies?”

  Melissa jumped off her chair, more than happy to help. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bag containing everything Myers would need, then went back for the changing mat.

  She had no kids of her own, but Myers had been around her sister long enough to know how to change a diaper. Mica had four children, and for a six-year period, shitty diapers had been a daily occurrence.

  Myers deftly removed Alana’s pants and pulled up her T-shirt, then took off the soiled diaper and cleaned the baby’s bottom with wipes.

  “Sarah puts powder on,” Melissa said, standing close by.

  “Does she? Then I think we should do the same.”

  A couple of minutes later, Alana was dressed again. Melissa tied the disposable diaper up in a scented plastic bag, put it in a box, and closed the lid.

  “Can we do drawing now?” Melissa asked.

  “That sounds like a fabulous idea.”

  Myers put Alana back in the bouncy chair while Melissa went to fetch paper and her coloring set.

  The next hour flew by. Sarah returned dressed for her appointment, and she gave Myers a tour of the house. She showed her where to find the baby formula, plus the coffee, tea, and sugar, then went upstairs to show her where Alana slept for her lunchtime nap. She also gave Myers her cell number.

  “If you have any problems, call me. For anything.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Myers told her.

  Sarah kissed the girls and told Melissa to be good, then took her coat from the stand and put it on. “Remember—any problems, call me.”

  She left, and Myers waited a few minutes before walking upstairs and calling her colleague.

  “Call me back in two minutes, then bring the car round five minutes later.”

  She hung up, then went back downstairs and sat next to Melissa, who was busy drawing her favorite cartoon character. Moments later, Myers’s phone rang.

  “Hello? Oh, hello, Sarah . . . Yes, I’m sure Melissa and Alana would love that! Yes, I’ll get them ready and drive there now. Okay, bye!” Myers turned to Melissa. “Sarah said you might like to go on an airplane ride. Would you like that?”

  Melissa threw down her crayons. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Great! Let’s get dressed. It’ll be cold. I’ll pack a bag for Alana.”


  Myers took Melissa upstairs and found some outdoor clothes, then chose something warm for the baby. She threw a couple of diapers in a bag and prepared a bottle of formula, then put her coat on and picked Alana up from her chair.

  “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

  She opened the door and let Melissa go first, then pulled it closed behind her. She walked down the steps just as two cars stopped outside the house. Myers handed her phone to the driver of the first, then returned to the other vehicle. The phone would be taken to the nearest Tube station and left on a train for the authorities to follow. By the time they found the unwitting person who’d picked it up, she’d be long gone.

  “This is my friend Paul. He’s going to take us to the airport for our plane ride,” Myers said. She held open the rear door and Melissa climbed across and into the car seat. Myers strapped Alana into a reversed child seat in the front, then got in beside Gray’s daughter.

  “Off we go!”

  The driver took them south through London. When he got to the M23, he reset the trip feature on the odometer.

  Eleven and a half miles later, he moved to the inside lane. “Looks like there’s a problem with the car,” he said. “I’ll have to pull over.”

  “Oh no, nothing serious, I hope?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll see when we . . . Hang on, that’s my friend John!”

  Myers saw the switch vehicle on the hard shoulder waiting for them. Paul pulled in behind it, and Myers got out and spoke to the other driver. She returned to the car.

  “Melissa, John is going to give us a lift to the airport. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  Melissa agreed that it was, and she followed Myers to the people carrier and let the nanny strap her in. Myers returned for Alana, and minutes later they were off again.

  The ruse should keep the security services off their tail. Paul would drive the car around for a while, then dump it in a remote location in the countryside and hitch a ride with one of the Cobra team. By the time the authorities found it and realized they’d been tricked, she and the girls would be on the island.