From the backseat of the vehicle, Will checked his watch. It was ten minutes past six. The three-bedroom row house in Richmond’s Manor Grove was still in darkness, as were most of the other houses in the street. Will’s sister and her husband were both partners in a law firm; Will imagined that the rest of the street’s occupants were also white-collar professionals and were either still working or on their way home.
From the front passenger seat, Alfie glanced over his shoulder at Will and said in a south London accent, “Bit of money around here these days, ain’t there, sunshine. Make you wish you were in the private sector?”
Will smiled, though felt uneasy. “I don’t think the private sector would have me.”
Alfie pulled out a filterless cigarette, stuck it in the corner of his mouth, lit it with a match, and partially rolled down his window. The sixty-five-year-old ex-SAS man was short and had a stocky frame that was clearly once very powerful, but now moved a little more slowly and more awkwardly. He was dressed in an ill-fitting suit, shirt, and tie, and Will knew that Betty had made him dress up for the occasion. “Look at ’em. Just ordinary terraced houses like my old folk used to live in. Couldn’t afford it now. Bet these places cost a quarter of a million.”
Beside him, Betty gave a disapproving sigh. “You’re so out of touch with London prices, angel. A place like this would be at least half a million.”
“Blimey, petal.” Alfie looked out of the window, blowing a long stream of smoke into the cold exterior air. “Where did we go wrong?”
“We joined the army.”
“Oh yeah, that was it.”
Will looked over his shoulder in the direction from which he thought Sarah and her husband would be entering the street. He saw nothing, but wondered if there were armed men hiding somewhere on the route in an unlit vehicle, waiting to ram Sarah’s car when she arrived and gun her down. “I’m going farther up the street.”
Betty said, “Off you pop then, my dear. .”
Will opened the door and put one foot out onto the street.
“. . But I hope you’re wearing a warm vest underneath that thin suit.”
“I. . I’ll see you in a minute.” He shut the car door and walked fast up the road until he reached another vehicle that was facing him.
The sedan car was at least twenty years old. Robert and Joanna were inside, and as he moved to the side of the vehicle Joanna rolled down her window and beamed at him. “It’s lovely to see you again, William.” Her formerly blonde, now gray hair was tied back in the severe style that she’d always had it in since attending the Cheltenham Ladies’ College as a teenager. It was at odds with the almost permanent smile that she wore. At sixty-one years of age, she was the youngest in the team, though a recent onset of arthritis in her hips had aged her once pretty face and her physique. “I was sooo excited when Betty told me we could come out to play with you.”
Will nodded, unsure how to respond.
“Hello, Willy old boy.” This came from Robert, who was leaning across his wife from the passenger seat.
Will had always hated it when the ex-SAS captain called him Willy. Or old boy, for that matter. Will leaned forward so that his face was by the window. “Hello, Robbie.”
Robert made the tiniest grimace at being called Robbie. His expression changed, and when he spoke it was in a clipped tone favored by army officers. “Hunkered down in a car”-he patted Joanna’s thigh-“bit of stuff by your side, watching a place and knowing it could all go to rat shit at any moment.” He grinned. “Just like the good old days, eh Willy?”
Will smiled. “Your days, not mine.”
Joanna asked, “Is there anything you’d like us to do with your place while we’re there?”
Robert huffed, “Stop mothering the boy.”
Will thought for a while. “Actually, I’ve got some boxes that need unpacking. Don’t feel obliged, but it would be a big help.”
Robert was about to say something, but Joanna held a finger to his lips and said, “We’d absolutely love to.” She looked mischievous. “But have you got any naughty boy things you’d rather this shrinking violet didn’t see?”
“Hardly.” Will laughed.
As did Robert. “Shrinking violet?”
Joanna looked sharply at her husband while opening the glove compartment, withdrawing a Heckler amp; Koch MK23 handgun, expertly checking its workings, and saying, “No chance of being a shrinking violet when married to you. Is there?”
Robert shrugged. “Never said I was a saint.”
Joanna held his hand, looked at him with adoring eyes, and said, “My man.” She glanced back at Will. “When she arrives, make it fast. Speed confuses most people. Betty and Alfie will deal with the fallout en route to destination.”
Will nodded.
Robert dropped his hand into his door’s compartment and placed his hand over the hilt of a Remington 870 shotgun. His demeanor was now completely different. “Very fast, Mr. Cochrane.”
“Will.” Joanna was staring straight ahead.
Will turned and saw a vehicle’s headlights in the distance. He stepped away from Joanna’s car and moved into darkness. The vehicle passed Betty and Alfie’s car, passed Sarah’s house, passed Will, and continued on up the street. Will checked his watch again. Six twenty-five. He silently cursed, and wondered if Sarah and her husband were delayed at work or had gone out for an early dinner. The last direct flight to Germany tonight was an 8:00 P.M. Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt, but he doubted he’d make it, meaning he’d have to route to Germany via another European capital.
Another set of headlights emerged at the far end of the street. They grew closer, and the car’s engine noise changed as gears shifted and the car slowed. It stopped right outside Sarah’s house, and its ignition was turned off. Doors opened. A woman and man exited the vehicle. Both were dressed in business suits and were clutching leather attache cases. They were Sarah and her husband, James.
They moved to their front door, entered the house, and shut the door behind them, and within seconds all of the downstairs lights were illuminated. Will jogged back down the street until he was by Betty’s car. She lowered her window but wasn’t looking at him, instead had her eyes fixed on the property.
Will muttered, “It’s imperative I have no idea where you’ll take her. But if you get spooked by anything, anything at all, then move to somewhere else. Money’s no object. I’ll cover all costs.”
While keeping her head motionless, Betty replied, “Just get her and her husband in the car. We’ll take it from there.”
He glanced at Joanna and Robert’s car, then back at Betty and Alfie. The old operatives were well past their prime, but they had something that a younger and more agile team couldn’t have: wisdom, and a been-there and seen-it-all wealth of experience. As well as all of that, they were incredible shots. One year ago, Will had watched them assemble at one end of the shooting range at one of MI6’s training facilities. They’d looked like a group of retirees who’d taken a bus trip out of London’s suburbs to catch a bit of fresh country air. The bemused range instructor had given them training on how to hold a Browning 9 mm at eye level and the stance required to compensate for the powerful handgun’s recoil. Betty had been up first. With a grin on her face, she’d ignored the instructor’s advice and, to Will’s amusement, had held the gun with two hands close to her tummy and fired ten shots in eight seconds across the twenty-meter range and had placed all bullets within a three-centimeter spread of the bull’s-eye. The instructor’s jaw had dropped, and he’d said, “You look like me granny. How on Earth did you do that?”
Will knew his sister couldn’t be in better hands.
He walked across the street, strode up to the entrance, hesitated for a moment, then rang the doorbell. As he waited, his stomach was in knots.