“Mrs. Farnsworth — Gillian. You need to be calm for Cassie’s sake. Anna’s people are tracking her and have a rescue plan.” He hoped. “I can’t reach Alex either, but I’ll keep trying and call you when I do.”
“All right,” she said, perceptibly calmer.
“We don’t want the media involved. Suggest to the headmistress it’s likely a kidnapping for ransom. Swear her to silence. Can you do that for me?”
“Of course. You needn’t speak to me as if I were a child, Mr. Dugan.”
“You’re right. Forgive me,” he said, relieved at the steel in her voice.
“Anna’s guys will deal with the police,” Dugan said, looking at Harry, who nodded and dialed his own phone. “You best go home. I’ll call when I know anything.”
“See that you do,” she said, again in control. “Good-bye, Mr. Dugan.”
Dugan hung up and waited for Harry to finish his call.
“Cops say they went out the toilet window,” Harry said as he hung up. “A two-man job. Braun must be along.”
“His plan is in motion,” Dugan said. “Burning the office cuts him off from the attack ship or ships and prevents us from searching for it. Which means—”
“We have to take the bastard alive,” Lou finished from behind the wheel.
They sat, digesting that. Harry broke the silence.
“You handled the Farnsworth woman well, Yank.”
“Maybe in gratitude you can describe the rescue plan I assured her we had,” Dugan said.
Farley laid on his horn.
“Are you trying to attract attention, you idiot?” Braun said.
Farley sulked. Traffic was worse than anticipated. They had cutout vehicles in multiple locations, but they’d yet to reach the first one. Braun decided to forgo multiple switches and go to the safe house after the first change.
The shadow flickered again, and Braun leaned out to see a helicopter high overhead. He drew in and studied the traffic. The left lane was moving well as cars turned left to escape the accident ahead.
“Turn left on Saint Georges Road.”
“But we’re almost past the jam.”
“Do it.”
The car pulled to the curb in front of Anna. The agent in the front passenger seat jumped out and got in back, yielding his seat to Anna. Anna got in, and the driver laid on his horn and forced his way back into traffic.
“This is a bloody balls-up,” Anna said. “Was watching one young girl too taxing for you two?”
The driver shot a sheepish glance over his shoulder, deferring to his partner in the back. After a long pause the man in back spoke. “Anna—”
“Stow it. There is absolutely nothing you can say to help yourselves. Now give me the damn radio,” she said, holding out her hand.
The agent in back passed over the radio, and Anna took charge.
“Control. This is Walsh. I’m now in the chase car at Lambeth Road and Pratt Walk. Do you have the link with all units yet?”
“Affirmative, Walsh. You’re Chase One. Chesterton is Chase Two. Chopper is Air One. Target is east of your position on Lambeth, near the War Museum.”
“Chase One to Air One. Do you have an ID?”
“Negative, Walsh. I can’t separate him yet,” the chopper pilot said.
“Chase Two, did you copy? What’s your location, Lou?” Anna asked.
“I copy Anna,” Lou said. “We’re across the bridge, east on Westminster Bridge Road. We’ll parallel you in case he breaks north. Where do you want the police?”
“Out of sight,” she said. “When the chopper IDs him, we’ll fake an accident in his path. When he stops, we’ll surprise him.”
“Got it,” Lou said, then added, “Anna, have you seen Kairouz?”
“Negative. He’s disappeared.”
“Understood,” Lou said.
She wondered briefly about Alex, then cursed traffic. At least Braun was trapped too.
Traffic moved faster on Saint Georges Road, most turning east on to Westminster Bridge Road back toward Saint Georges Circus.
“Make the right. Stay with the eastbound traffic,” Braun said, leaning out again.
As Farley complied, Braun pulled his head in. “Still there,” he said.
“Who?”
“The helicopter that’s tracking us.”
Farley tried to look up through the windshield.
“Eyes on the road,” Braun snapped.
Farley shot Braun a glare, then stared ahead.
“Interesting,” Braun said. “The police couldn’t have found us. Even if someone saw an IPS truck at the school, there are hundreds in the city; that’s why I chose it. They’re tracking us somehow. It can only be the girl. She must have a tracking device or an implant.”
“Christ, the flu jab,” Farley said. “It seemed legit. She whined all the way home. Even missed school the next day, which now that I think on seems a bit of a carry-on for a jab.”
“Right under your bloody nose,” Braun started, then contained himself. First things first.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s take stock. Our opponents coerced a doctor, have remote surveillance and a helicopter. That says authorities.”
“Shit. Cut out the implant and toss it. Better yet, toss her out as a diversion.”
“And do what, you idiot? Magically speed through the snarl in this brightly colored shoe box? No, I have plans for our little simpleton. They obviously haven’t identified us, or they’d have attempted something. We’re still only a signal. Just drive while I think.”
It came to him as they neared Saint Georges Circus.
“Take London Road to New Kent,” Braun said. “Most of these cars will stay with us, and an IPS van headed to the terminal is normal.” He laid out the rest.
Later on New Hope Road, Farley purposely caught the light near a B&Q Super Center.
“OK,” Braun said, “the loading dock in ten minutes. And Farley, do act like you belong.”
Farley gave an affirmative grunt as Braun left the truck to melt into the crowd.
Anna swore. Braun’s lead had widened.
“Target is stationary at New Kent Road and Balfour Street,” Control said.
“Copy that,” the chopper pilot said. “An IPS van and two cars caught the light. It’s one of those. Wait; someone is leaving the van. Damn. I lost him in the crowd and—”
“Air One, stay on the signal,” Anna said. “We’re a mile back. Lou, location?”
“A quarter mile behind you, Anna.”
“The cars are turning,” the chopper pilot said, “but the van’s going straight for the terminal.”
“This is Control. Signal is still on New Kent Road.”
“Bingo!” the pilot said. “Positive ID on IPS truck.”
“Brilliant,” Anna said. “Lou, have the police close to two blocks while we work out how to engage.”
“Will do, Anna.”
She leaned forward as if to speed traffic by force of will just as squealing tires preceded a loud bang ahead, and a wave of flashing brake lights rippled toward her.
Clive Carrington-Smythe, managing director and majority shareholder of Sudsbury and Smythe, stared at the case uneasily. If generations of Smythes and hyphenated Smythes had learned anything, it was that one’s reputation was all, and this felt dodgy. But he couldn’t refuse. Thanks to Braun’s appearance months ago, Phoenix Shipping was his largest account, and Braun never questioned charges. Almost like halcyon days of old when family fortunes were managed by gentlemen far too polite to question fees. But it was a great deal of money, he thought again, looking at the oversize case.