As he glanced back at his children, Kronos hoped that day would never come.
Twelve
Will called Roger from his cell phone. “He’s not going after me. Unless I back down, he’s going to identify someone I care about and kill that person.” He told him about what had happened two hours earlier. “What’s your status?”
“The team remains static, though yesterday one of them left in a vehicle for three hours.”
“Did you follow him?”
“I made the decision that we stay focused on the bulk of the team.”
“Was he carrying anything when he returned?”
“No. But if his trip was to meet an asset and get weapons from him, the stuff could have been left in the car. You want us to take a peek?”
“Not yet. We can’t risk them finding out we’ve tampered with their vehicles. How many cars do they have?”
“Two. Both SUVs, parked in the hotel garage. Accessible within two minutes of them leaving their rooms.”
“Any sightings of someone who fits Mikhail’s description?”
“Don’t think so, but we can’t be certain. Hotel’s got too many damn entrances for us to cover all bases.”
“Assessment?”
“I reckon they’re still waiting.”
Will said, more to himself, “What for?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
“I might be able to get back tonight. I’ve got a couple of things to sort out first.”
The line was silent for five seconds.
“Your world ain’t exactly brimming over with people who care about you. There’s only one person who fits that description.”
“I agree.”
Sarah Goldsmith, nee Cochrane, Will’s sister.
“You think that person’s been identified?”
“I don’t know! Probably not, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get the person to a safe place.”
“Police?”
“Not a chance.” Will had to entrust his sister’s safety to individuals he knew and who had proven themselves to him. “I’ve got people.”
“Okay.” Roger sighed. “I think you’re right about the witch hunt. But this is getting out of control. The risks are-”
“Bloody obvious!” Will regretted snapping. In a calmer voice he said, “Not a word to anyone about all of this.”
“Sure. When are you seeing her?”
“Today.”
“Good luck, because it’s going to be a fucking difficult conversation.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Will sat on a bench in London’s St. James’s Park and waited. In front of him was a waterway containing ducks, pelicans, and other wildlife. Visible to his left was Whitehall’s Horse Guards Parade. Red-coated mounted Life Guards soldiers were moving in formation across the square, passing in front of the Old Admiralty’s regal buildings and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Will wondered if Major Dickie Mountjoy came here during his daily trips down memory lane. He decided he would because Dickie’s raison d’etre was pomp, ceremony, and the celebration of bygone ages, and Whitehall had that in abundance.
A woman navigated her way across the parade ground, grimacing as one of the army horses defecated close to her. In her early sixties, she was slightly dumpy, wearing a winter anorak, tweed skirt, purple hat, and flat shoes, and holding a carrier bag. Will kept his eyes on her as she moved into the park, walked along the footpath adjacent to the waterway, and sat down next to him.
Placing a hand over Will’s hand, she patted it, smiled, and said in a well-spoken voice, “It’s been a while, my dear.”
Will gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s great to see you again. Thanks for coming at such short notice, Betty.”
Betty Mayne shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.” She reached into the bag and withdrew a loaf of sliced bread. “Make yourself useful.” She handed Will several slices of the bread. “But don’t let the greedy ducks take it all.” She began tearing a slice into pieces and tossing bits of bread into the water.
Will looked at the bread he was holding, felt unsure what to do, then began feeding the birds.
“Not done this before, have you?”
“I can’t remember.”
“That’s no surprise.”
Will tossed a larger piece of bread into the water and watched ducks noisily race toward it. “I need you and Alfie.”
Betty’s husband.
“And Robert and Joanna.”
A retired married couple.
Betty nodded. “What for?”
“Two of you need to camp in my house. The other two need to take a holiday-Scottish Highlands, North Wales, one of the coastal islands, anywhere remote.”
“Babysitting?”
“Yes.”
“Threat to target?”
“Severe.”
“Target’s name?”
Will tore off another piece of bread, held his hand still, and said quietly, “It’s my sister.”
Betty turned toward him, her expression one of total sympathy. “Oh no. You poor thing.”
Emotion welled up inside him. He tried to keep it in check. “I need you to start today. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you more warning.”
“Nonsense.” Betty’s tone was now authoritative, her posture strong. “We’ll get this sorted. Don’t you worry about a thing. And the whole point of us is that despite our age, we can move quicker than your other assets. That was your idea, remember?”
Betty was right. He’d chosen the two husband-and-wife teams because they were retirees, therefore were not tied to an employer, and could support him at a moment’s notice. It also helped that Betty was a former undercover operative with Fourteenth Intelligence Company that her husband Alfie had been a sergeant in the SAS, that Robert had been Alfie’s captain, and that Joanna had been an MI5 case officer. The four operatives had first met in the mid-seventies in a farmhouse in a remote part of the United Kingdom. Joanna was there to debrief a source, the others there to ensure the agent and handler were protected. The agent never showed up; instead armed IRA men did.
Betty asked, “What’s the threat to your home?”
“It’s unlikely there’s a direct threat. I need someone in there, as it’s probable that I’m going to receive some very important letters, letters that will be trying to warn me off an operation. I’m going to be overseas. If a letter comes, its contents must be relayed to me straight away. But I need two of you in there just in case.”
Betty seemed to consider this. “When do we collect your sister?”
“Today. She should be home around six. And it won’t be just her, we need her husband as well.”
“Are they expecting us?”
“No.”
“In that case, you’re going to have to do some pretty smooth talking to her, because”-she rubbed her legs-“the days of me being able to take part in a snatch operation are long gone.”
Will smiled. Betty had always reminded him of the no-nonsense, get-on-with-it women who’d built Lancaster bomber planes, nursed air raid casualties, or parachuted into German-occupied France during World War II. “I will be talking to her. But I could do with your help to keep her calm.”
With pinpoint accuracy, Betty threw the last of her bread into the gullet of a pelican. “Then that’s settled. Alfie and I will pack our walking sticks and thermal undies; Robert and Joanna can play mum and dad spending a few days visiting their son’s London pad.”
As Will kept his eyes on Betty, he felt safe and secure. Betty was a remarkable woman, had a backbone of steel, and was a highly experienced operative. But what set her apart from others in Will’s life was that she had always displayed an unconditional compassion toward him. He suspected she viewed him as the son she’d never had. He didn’t mind, because to him she felt like family. “Is there anything you need?”
Betty patted his hand again. “Silly boy. You leave everything to us. We know what we’re doing.”