'She doesn't know that,' the CIA man retorted. 'She doesn't even know he's dead. This has all been kept on the q.t.'
Will shrugged.
'So if she gets in contact with you, Will, you'll let us know. Bring her to us. It'll be in her own best interest.'
'Sure,' Will replied. 'Anything else?'
Levinson shook his head. 'No. Not for now. You're free to go.'
Will stood up.
'Oh, and Will?'
'Yeah?'
'Thank you. You did a brave thing going after Faisal Ahmed. The world's a far better place without him.'
Will nodded curtly and left the room.
Zack Levinson watched Jackson leave. The moment the door was shut he picked up the phone and dialled through to Langley. 'It's Zack Levinson in London,' he told the switchboard. 'The DCIA's expecting my call.'
'Hold please,' a polite American voice told him.
Bradley Heller came on to the line immediately. 'You get him?'
'We got him.'
'And?'
'He's a pretty cold fish.'
'Did you get the impression he knew why Ahmed was after Priestley?'
'I asked him outright. Says he has no idea. Of course, it would help, sir, if I knew what was going on.'
'That's a headache above your pay grade, Zack,' the DCIA replied, evasively. 'Is Jackson being trailed?'
Levinson's eyes flickered through the window. 'Yeah, he's being trailed.'
'Good. Give him forty-eight hours. If he makes contact with the woman, bring them both in. If not, apprehend him and we'll deal with her later. Then I want Jackson on the first US military transport out of the country.'
'Am I allowed to know where to, sir?'
A pause. 'You have your instructions, Zack. This is a big gig for you. Don't let me down.'
Levinson's jaw clenched momentarily. 'I won't let you down, sir. You have my word.'
Alarm bells had started to sound in Will's head the moment Zack Levinson had started to question him. They knew Priestley's killing didn't stack up. They couldn't prove anything, but they knew. And what was that bullshit about offering Latifa Ahmed sanctuary? Days ago they had been waterboarding her, now they wanted to set her up in a cosy little condo with an income for life. He didn't think so. Zack Levinson had been perfectly transparent: Will knew that he and Latifa were in danger. Immediate danger.
He stepped out into the street. The guys he had clocked on each side of the road were still standing around nonchalantly, but as he continued walking he kept one eye on the side mirrors of the cars parked at the edge of the road. Sure enough there they were, following him at a distance. Two trails, and they were just the ones he could see. No doubt there would be more. As casually as possible he looked over his shoulder. A black cab was edging slowly up the street, its FOR HIRE light extinguished. He looked ahead again — suddenly everyone he saw was a potential trail. Guys on bikes, mums with prams. He knew he was being followed and any of them could be involved.
He had to lose his trail. He had to lose them quickly.
Will looked at his watch: 10 .45. He had three quarters of an hour and he couldn't afford to be late. It took a supreme effort for him not to keep looking around — if he alerted them to the fact he knew they were there, it would make losing them all the more difficult. So he slowed his pace and headed to the centre of town.
It took him ten minutes to reach Selfridges. He strode in confidently, fully aware of the fact that while he was in there all the main exits were likely to be watched. He headed across the ground floor, breathing in the heady smell of the perfume department, until he reached a line of elevators. He pressed the up button, then waited. It took a minute or so for the lift to come and in that time maybe seven or eight other customers congregated around him. The lift doors hissed open and they all politely entered. Just as the doors were starting to close, however, Will twisted his body sideways on and slipped out. To his relief, no one was quick enough to follow him. He rushed to the escalator and made his way up to menswear.
Once there, he found himself a large heavy overcoat and a brightly coloured woollen hat. He took them into a changing cubicle and, having checked that there was no CCTV, he ripped the security tabs off the items, then put on the overcoat and shoved the hat in his pocket. He walked brashly out, knowing that confidence alone was likely to avoid any harassed shop assistants from stopping him — they were too busy with the swarms of last-minute Christmas shoppers in any case.
A change of clothes, he thought to himself as he left the department store by a different exit, won't be enough to fool the best surveillance teams, but if he threw every trick he knew at them, then he had a chance. And Will had plenty more tricks up his sleeve.
His next destination was Hamleys on Regent Street. As Will had calculated, it was full of parents and their excited children. Will pushed his way in and negotiated his way through the crowds until he reached the far side of the ground floor. It took him a short while to find what he was looking for — a small, red fire alarm on the wall. He shuffled up against it, his back to the wall, then jabbed it sharply with an elbow. The glass shattered and immediately a high-pitched wail filled the air.
For a brief moment everyone stopped. And then, as one, the crowd dissolved into a state of blind panic. Everyone headed for the exit doors, which became blocked with a scrambling sea of people.
Will joined the throng. As he did so, he took the woollen hat from his pocket and put it firmly on, then bowed his head towards the floor. If he kept in the middle of the crowd, he would be unrecognisable.
It took several minutes to leave the shop, but that suited Will just fine. Once he was out in the cold air, the pavement was still crowded. He headed south down Regent Street towards Piccadilly Circus, quickly ducking down into the underground station.
The Tube concourse was circular, exits heading off at regular intervals, and Will decided to use this to his advantage. If anyone was still following him, they would expect him to get on a train to try and shake them off; he was going to do something different. If he walked quickly enough and put sufficient distance between himself and any trails, the circular concourse would mean that he could get out of their line of sight and take one of the exits before they noticed he had gone.
Like everywhere else, the station was crowded and Will thanked his luck as he hurried down the south-eastern exit and into Lower Regent Street. As soon as he was above ground again, he hailed a black cab. 'St Pancras!' he hollered at the driver as he climbed in and moments later he was heading north again. From the windows of the cab he kept track of any car coming up behind them. By the time they were in Cambridge Circus, Will was convinced that he had lost his trail.
He looked at his watch: 11.20. Ten minutes to go. He was going to make it.
Will asked the cab driver to stop just short of the station. He paid him, then stood on the pavement for a couple of minutes looking out for any other possible surveillance. There was none, so he headed up into the station.
It was only a couple of days until Christmas, but the station was still busy. That suited Will as he walked speedily but unobtrusively through St Pancras. Up ahead he saw what he was looking for: the huge black statue of a couple embracing. The most romantic meeting place in Europe, he seemed to remember someone calling it and in another life maybe it would have been. But romance was a long way from Will's mind. He realised his heart was thumping nervously. This morning had underlined that he was right to be doing this; but he just hoped there weren't any more surprises.
A number of people were milling around, waiting for loved ones or looking impatiently at their watches. Will ignored almost all of them. There was only one person he was looking for right now and he realised his heart was in his throat at the prospect of that person not having made it. He scanned the crowds around the statue, but there were no familiar faces.