She checked her watch. It was after eleven, about 5 a.m. in the States. She wondered how Katie was doing. Her daughter had always loved the outdoors, camping, canoeing, cooking dinner over a bonfire or, more likely, a gas burner. It seemed odd to be thinking about her daughter away in New Hampshire when she was in London trying to stop a terrorist attack from taking place on U.S. soil.
During the next forty minutes, Rees-Jones took a call from a Middle Eastern sheikh and agreed to provide a cadre of bodyguards for his upcoming trip to London. The sheikh wanted only former SAS men, and Rees-Jones gave him her word. A second call dealt with a failed kidnapping negotiation in Colombia. The victim’s company had agreed to pay $2 million. The kidnappers had wanted $5 million. The victim was now dead and his family was threatening to sue GRAIL.
Major James Salt called back at high noon. It quickly became clear that he’d been doing some checking on his own.
“You’re sure she’s on her own?” said Rees-Jones. “So what? It doesn’t matter whether New York sent her or not. She’s here and she knows about Lambert’s ties to you…No, I don’t know where she went…She arrived this morning on a private jet…Gatwick…no, I don’t know what kind…wait, it was a Gulfstream…a description…brown hair, shoulder length, rather pretty, athletic. Clothes…why?…We bloody well do have a choice…I won’t be party to that…I won’t and that’s final…Do I have to be afraid, Jim? Jim? Are you there?…Bastard.”
Alex placed Chris Rees-Jones’s business card on the table and dialed the company’s main number.
“GRAIL. How may I direct your call?” The operator was a man, and his accent pegged him as working-class, probably from northern England.
“This is Jane Greenhill from the U.S. embassy for Major Salt.”
“Major Salt no longer works on the premises. May I direct you to a voice mailbox?”
“My apologies. I forgot about the shakeup. Do you have his direct number? The ambassador would like to speak to him on an urgent matter.”
“Of course, Mrs. Greenhill. I do note, however, that you’re not calling on the embassy’s main line.”
“I’m sorry. We’re in a bit of a tizzy here this morning. I’m not at my desk. Would you prefer if I call you back?”
There was a pause, and Alex assumed that the operator was checking the embassy directory for a Jane Greenhill, who was in fact the ambassador’s secretary, and a friend of hers.
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Greenhill. I’m happy to let you know where to reach Major Salt.”
Alex jotted the number onto her pad. “Is that his home, office, or mobile? As I said, it’s regarding an urgent matter.”
“His home. I’m not permitted to give out another number.”
“Do you happen to know if he’s there at this hour?”
“Major Salt usually begins the day at his club.”
“The Royal Automobile Club?”
“Good God, no. White’s, on St. James’s Street.”
“Know him well, do you?”
“I served under him in the regiment, yes, ma’am.”
“Major Salt is a good man. The ambassador likes him very much. Thank you, Mr…”
“Nolan.”
“Mr. Nolan. Goodbye.”
Alex folded the newspaper, slipped it into her bag, and was on her feet ten seconds later. The rain had stopped, and once on the street, she hurried to the curb to hail a taxi.
“Where to, ma’am?” asked the cabbie.
“White’s.” Alex jumped into the back seat. “And an extra fiver if you can get me there in ten minutes.”
67
“Pull over.”
Alex spotted him standing under the awning at the entrance to White’s. He was tall and trim and rigid, with sandy hair going to gray and a jaw that could break through walls. Reports put his age at fifty, but Alex thought he looked ten years younger. Dressed in a blazer, gray slacks, and a crisp white shirt, Major James Salt was still every inch the officer.
“He’s a friend,” she said. “I want to surprise him.”
The cabbie caught her gaze. “If that’s the way you look at friends, I’d hate to think how you look at your enemies.”
Salt handed a ticket to a car attendant and stepped to the curb.
“I’d like you to follow him for a few blocks,” said Alex.
“Your coin, ma’am. I’ll follow him all the way to Glasgow if you like.”
Alex sat back, her eyes never leaving Salt. It was her first break, and she was grateful for it. A navy Aston Martin came out of the car park and halted in front of the club. Salt clapped a banknote into the attendant’s hand and slid into the driver’s seat. The Aston Martin roared from the curb. The cabbie took the sports car’s speed as an insult and pressed his foot to the floor. The taxi shook and shuddered as it picked up speed. Piccadilly was a long, straight road, and Alex counted only two more traffic lights ahead before it passed Hyde Park. After that, she wouldn’t have a chance.
Ahead the first light turned yellow. The Aston Martin didn’t slow for an instant.
“Go,” said Alex.
The cabbie kept his foot on the pedal, sliding through as the light went to red. He could do nothing to keep up with the Aston Martin. Alex balled her hands into fists, her jaw clenched so tight she thought she might crack a tooth. The sports car widened the distance. Alex stared at the final signal. Beyond it, Salt would open up the engine and let fly (exactly as she would). Any opportunity to confront him would be gone.
“Can’t you go any faster?” she asked.
“Trying, ma’am. Only have four cylinders. Your friend’s got twelve. Not a fair fight.”
The light turned yellow, then red. The Aston Martin didn’t slow. Alex waited to see its brake lights bloom, praying for Salt to stop at the signal.
A flash of red.
Salt came to a stop. Ten seconds later, the taxi drew to a halt two cars behind him. Alex thrust her fist through the transom in the partition. “Here’s twenty.”
“But-”
Alex was out the door, running up the street, passing one car, then the next, her eyes on the traffic signal, ordering it not even to think of changing. The Aston Martin was still a stride away when the light turned green. Alex lunged for the door. Her fingers grasped the handle and she flung open the door as the car began to gain speed. With a last effort, she pulled herself into the car as the Aston Martin barreled through the intersection.
“What the hell?” said Major James Salt. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You know who I am,” said Alex. “Keep going.”
Major James Salt looked askance at her. “She said you were a hard little bitch.”
“She was right.”
“I could shoot you here and now and be within my rights.”
Alex didn’t detect a gun on Salt’s person, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one close by. “I don’t need a gun, and I couldn’t give a shit about rights. Just drive.”
Salt hit the accelerator. “What the hell do you want?” he asked.
“Everything. Names. Targets. Timing. Mostly I want to know who’s behind it.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“How did you find me?”
“I’d prefer it if I ask the questions.”
“You’re interrogating me in my own car?”
“Major Salt, you’re in serious trouble. I’d say cooperating is your best bet.”
“Your office didn’t even send you. So what if Lambert served under me once? That was years ago. You’re on nothing but a wild-goose chase.”
“I know you recruited Lambert. I know he was sent to Namibia for training. I know that you paid GRAIL a fee to help you. I think we’re way past a wild-goose chase.”
“You listening in?”
“And it’s all on tape.”
“No court of law will ever admit it,” said Salt. “You can take your tape and shove it up your cute little ass. Why the hell should I talk to you?”