“But who’s the target?” Vail asked. “Anyone and everyone who works for the security service?”
“Could be Buck,” Reid said. “The director general pushed hard for the new counterterrorism legislation. He said some bloody inflammatory things during his testimony before Parliament, not exactly challenging the terrorists, but fairly close. The PM was miffed, almost cost Buck his job. But it could’ve made the bloke a target. For that matter, same goes for the Home Office. They were closely involved in that legislation.”
“Secure both buildings,” Vail said. “They could be going after one or both. We think they’re rigging the Home Office’s ventilation system.”
“And from what I can see online,” Uzi said, viewing what looked like commercial property listings, “there’s about 500,000 square feet in that building. It’s huge. That’s a lot of dead people in a very short time.”
Reid sighed audibly. “You sure about this?”
“Stop asking that,” Uzi said. “We’re sure of very little of this. You’re getting our best guess.”
“If I had time, I’d run it up the ladder, cover my arse.”
Vail slapped the steering wheel. “The Clive Reid I know does what he thinks is right and doesn’t worry about the consequences.”
“So what you’re saying is that yeh want me to stake my career on a guess. And yeh want me to take it to my guvnor and my guvnor’s guvnor and yeh want me to dae all this — and safely evacuate two massive buildings in twenty-five minutes.”
“That sums it up pretty well,” Uzi said.
“You know your accent gets more pronounced when you’re stressed?”
“Shite.”
Vail genuinely felt sorry for him. And she hoped to god they were right. “Good luck, Mr. Phelps.”
41
By the time Vail and Uzi arrived at the Home Office, the clouds had broken enough to allow the sun to stream through. That would make surveillance easier in some respects, more difficult in others.
DeSantos switched places with Uzi, who continued on with Fahad to Thames House. The buildings were close — blocks from one another — but this was MI5’s ballgame. Their role as covert operatives, DeSantos explained, was to observe from a distance for any unusual activity — and capture Yaseen or Aziz, or both.
Defined more specifically, “unusual activity” consisted of a terrorist with a sniper rifle or several glass bottles of osmium tetroxide.
“You’re not serious.”
“Stranger things have happened,” DeSantos said. “But no, these guys are smart — and skilled. I don’t think they’re as dumb as the idiot serial killers you chase, the ones who get pulled over for a busted taillight with a body in the trunk.”
“If you think my job’s so easy, why don’t you try doing it for a month?”
“I’d be too bored.”
“Another time, I’d take that personally.” She turned right and glanced around the street. “I don’t think we should even be here. We’ve done our duty. All we needed to do was the right thing — and that was to notify the British authorities. The Security Service is now doing what they’re supposed to be doing.”
“So you want to leave.”
“I think that’s what I just said.” Vail found a spot to park the car and pulled to the curb. “We’re not welcome in this country. No, that’s not true. It’s worse than that. We’re considered enemies of the country. If we’re caught, we’re in deep trouble. This area, with a ton of government buildings around, blocks from MI5 headquarters no less, is filled with surveillance cameras. Police cameras. Not private cameras that the Met has to jump through hoops to access.”
DeSantos nodded slowly, as if seriously considering Vail’s comments.
She kept her gaze on his face but his eyes were scanning the streetscape. “So why aren’t we leaving if you agree?”
“Because I don’t agree. We’re after Qadir Yaseen and Tahir Aziz. We know from visiting their flat and hacking their computer files that they’re hitting one or both of these buildings. If our mission is to secure these two bastards — and the documents their organization’s holding — why would we leave?”
Dammit. I can’t argue with that.
Her lack of an answer apparently gave DeSantos all he needed because he nodded and said, “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“What are the probabilities that senior guys like Yaseen and Aziz are going to be executing this attack? Wouldn’t they have underlings doing it?”
DeSantos shrugged. “Don’t know enough to say. This isn’t a serial killer case where if you guess wrong, another two or three or five people die. If we guess wrong, thousands will die. In some cases, hundreds of thousands.”
“That’s the second time you dissed my unit.”
“Not disrespect. Simple mathematics. The scale is just different.”
She stepped onto the curb. “Where we headed?”
“There’s a Caffè Nero around the block, right opposite the building. One of us can hang out there and keep an eye on that entry point. The other can go around the other side and try to look inconspicuous.”
“I’ll take the coffee shop.”
“Figured you would.”
“You realize this is a needle in a haystack thing.”
“Let’s say you’re right,” he said as they headed toward the café. “That means fewer important people will be inside pulling the strings, releasing the toxin. You’re the leader of the op, wouldn’t you be nearby to make sure all goes according to plan?”
“Too risky.”
“You’re thinking like a cop chasing a killer who doesn’t want to die. These guys don’t care. Success is what matters. I think they’re going to be nearby quarterbacking the op.”
Vail parsed that as they walked. “Maybe you’re right.”
“We may get nothing. Or we may get our men.”
Vail spent longer than she wanted inside the café ordering. In reality it was only about twenty seconds, but she felt intense pressure to get back out, to get eyes on the target. She loosened her navy muffler, the warmth inside the store causing her to perspire.
She checked her watch: nine minutes.
Her flat white was ready and she carried the “takeaway” cup outside to the small patio out front. There was one vacant table and she sat down in a chrome and wicker seat. Two blue Caffè Nero banner signs stretched between metal stanchions, separating the sidewalk from the small inlaid glass-block piazza.
The Home Office building across the narrow street in front of her was divided into two distinct sections. On the left was a near-all glass modern structure, architecturally pleasing with a large curving corner. The right portion, connected to its adjacent cousin by a multistory glass bridge, was its design opposite: flat, rectangular, and fronted by metal framework that in itself was ugly but when taken in its totality gave off an artsy sensibility. It was topped along its roof by large rainbow colored glass panels: blue, white, and orange hues were dominant. The edifice was best considered an attractive sum of disparate parts.
Her eyes roamed the exterior as people moved about, many dressed well and moving purposefully toward the building’s entrance, about to start their workday. Time check: six minutes. Assuming the terrorists were punctual. Assuming Uzi’s Arabic was not flawed. Assuming they had the target right.