‘An explosion?’ Barnes inquired, just for the sake of asking a question, his mouth full of the double cheeseburger he was savagely chewing. Immediately he raised the neck of the Carlsberg to his mouth to help him swallow the mouthful.
‘Anything else, Dr. Barnes?’ Theresa asked from the door.
‘No thanks, Theresa. I’m fine.’
She went out and left the three men alone in a silence broken only by the loud chewing and tenacious swallowing of enormous bites. In three tries, the burger disappeared. He moved on to the pizza.
‘What about this explosion?’ Barnes asked with his mouth full.
‘The authorities are talking about a gas leak.’
‘Then there’s no story,’ Barnes concluded.
‘No,’ Staughton agreed.
‘My men have been to the site and put together some information. It wasn’t a gas leak. It was a bomb,’ Thompson threw out dryly, immediately capturing the attention of the other two. Barnes stopped chewing.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. And there’s more. MI6 is involved in the cover-up of everything.’
‘Why? What do they gain from that?’
‘I don’t know yet. But they know the way we are. We like to sniff around… and what have we discovered, off the record?’
Barnes and Staughton waited in suspense for him to finish his statement.
‘They found a corpse in the debris. It belongs to Grigori Nestov. Do you know the name?’
‘Grigori Nestov,’ they repeated, searching their memory.
Staughton gave up. ‘I have no idea.’
‘I’ve never heard the name,’ Barnes said with certainty.
‘Nor I,’ Thompson finished with a triumphant smile. ‘But it turns out Nestov is part of a unit of the RSS.’
‘Wow!’ Staughton responded. ‘RSS?’
Barnes and Thompson looked at him reprovingly. What’s so special about being RSS when they were CIA?
‘We have the RSS in the middle of an explosion. What does that mean?’ Barnes wondered, raising the last piece of pizza to his mouth.
‘But it gets better, and this will get you out of your seat,’ Thompson anticipated.
‘What?’ Barnes asked expectantly.
‘The house. It’s in the name of Sarah Monteiro. Does that tell you something?’
‘What?’ This question came in a deafening shout with Barnes on his feet leaning on the desk.
‘Wow,’ Staughton repeated. ‘Confirmed?’
‘Completely confirmed,’ Thompson clarified, holding out the papers and handing over the first page to Staughton so he could see with his own eyes.
‘What bastards,’ an enraged Barnes said. ‘Who are these English? Who do they think they are? They’re only good for wiping our asses, and now they want to leave us out of the picture? Assholes.’
‘What’s happened to the girl?’ Staughton asked, as he handed the paper to Barnes, who grabbed it roughly out of his assistant’s hand.
‘Her location’s unknown. There’s one injured, checked into the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, but it’s not her.’
‘Go there immediately,’ Barnes ordered. ‘And I want her in front of me before the morning is over. Find out what a Russian agent was doing in her house. That’s top priority. Understood?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Of course he’d been understood. ‘Is there news about Jack?’
‘On my part, nothing,’ Thompson said with some frustration. ‘Payne is a stone in our shoe and knows how to irritate us.’
‘Not much,’ Staughton replied with some confidence. ‘We’ve located a reservation for a Mercedes Vito van rented out at Fiumicino and left at Schiphol.’
‘Amsterdam,’ Barnes said out loud to himself. He sat down again looking thoughtful.
‘The reservation was made in the name of Rafael Santini,’ Staughton continued.
‘Rafael Santini?’ Thompson asked. ‘Do you think that could be him?’
‘It’s him,’ Barnes affirmed with certainty. ‘His real name, it seems.’ Anger rose in his voice.
‘Why haven’t we discovered this before?’ Thompson asked curiously. The individual had always caught his attention.
‘Because he hasn’t wanted us to,’ Barnes clarified. ‘A good double agent, infiltrated, a traitor, a son of a bitch, only reveals himself when it’s good for him.’ He turned to Staughton. ‘Where is he?’
‘We don’t know.’ He looked down.
‘We don’t know?’
‘No. He’s been seen in Antwerp, Dunkirk, and we’ve lost all trace of him after that.’
Barnes raised his hand to his chin, thinking.
‘He’s heading this way,’ he said at last.
‘What?’
‘How?’
‘He’s coming here,’ Barnes repeated. ‘He picked up the van in Amsterdam, went for the bodies, was seen in Belgium and France. He’s coming here, and I want a welcoming committee to meet him when he arrives. No mistakes.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ the ever-calculating Staughton asked.
‘Because of something we don’t have the luxury to fight at this time.’
‘What?’ his assistants wanted to know.
‘The fact he’s scattered the clues so we can easily pick them up. That bothers me. He wants us to find him.’ Barnes changed the subject. ‘Go to the hospital and see what condition the injured man is in. I want a thorough interrogation. His mouth can’t be injured. Make him spill everything. It’s time to satisfy Langley.’
‘What about the White House? Anything worth mentioning?’ Thompson asked. He had held that question back since he came into the office, waiting for the right moment… this one.
Barnes took a last swallow of Carlsberg before answering.
‘A weapon of mass destruction, my friends. A weapon of mass destruction.’
32
‘Who… who gave you that?’ She couldn’t look at anything but the bottle. ‘Can I see it?’
Sarah took the bottle from his hand before Simon could reply. She analyzed it in detail. Even the provenance was identical, Real Companhia Velha. It couldn’t be.
‘My better half.’ Simon was puzzled by his boss’s behavior. Sarah was a woman full of mysteries. One of them was the way she was examining the gift bottle. ‘Does it remind you of Portugal? I didn’t realize you were so sentimental,’ Simon teased, discreetly, fearfully. Little by little he was regaining confidence. Little by little.
I wish it were just sentimentality, Sarah thought. With the bottle in hand she went to the door and opened it a little. She looked around the hallway with all senses alert. No one. No John Fox. Panic gave her goose bumps. She closed the door slowly and confronted Simon, who looked at her inquisitively.
‘Your girlfriend gave you this bottle?’ she asked again. ‘You’re sure?’
‘You could say that,’ Simon answered, beginning to react, still puzzled.
‘Either she did or she didn’t.’ It was not worth getting annoyed with him. She had to remain cool in order to think logically. Quick thinking meant staying alive.
‘It was… not my girlfriend.’
‘You said it was from your girlfriend,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘So who was it?’ The hell with this guy not getting to the point. It must be the medication.
‘I know what I said… He’s my boyfriend,’ he explained reticently.
Fear thickened in Sarah. That explained a lot.
‘You have a boyfriend?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he gave you this bottle?’
‘I’ve already told you yes.’ Simon observed Sarah for signs of disapproval, but didn’t detect any. Only confusion… in both of them.
‘Simon, do you trust me?’
‘Of course,’ he answered without a trace of doubt.
‘Good.’ She looked at him seriously. ‘Get up and let’s go.’
‘What?’ What a ludicrous suggestion. ‘When?’
‘Now.’
‘Sarah, what’s going on?’
Sarah went over and put her hand on his shoulder to encourage him.
‘Simon, trust me. Our lives are in danger. If we don’t get out of here right now, we’re going to die. I don’t know how else to say it.’
Simon was unable to say a word. Doubts swept through him, making him collapse back on the bed. Sarah would have to explain better than she had.