Monday 2100 Washington
(Tuesday 0200 London, Tuesday 0300 Paris)
Samantha read between the lines.
It would be easier to send me to break up the Paris Mastermind given it’s only an hour by plane from London, she thought. But no, Mitch is bringing me home, getting me away from Adam. She threw her luggage on the floor of her apartment and headed for the kitchen, flicking on the kettle. Then, after a thirteen-hour flight, I get stuck with the Center Intelligence Division guy who’s the biggest skeptic on the planet! Three hours to convince him that Mastermind’s for real. For chrissake! Just wait until I tell Mitch about that guy.
Samantha exhaled, and stretched, moving her head from side to side. She felt a tinge of pain. Here I am, doing my first job by myself and I never wanted to work by myself. Plus, I have to deal with a dickhead at CID. Samantha looked at the time. Mitch is probably asleep … I’ll try anyway. She dialed his number.
Mitch groaned, turned on his side and opened his eyes to read two a.m. on the clock. He closed his eyes again. If I could just get to sleep, I’m over tired. His phone rang and he jumped to get it, feeling for it in the dark. Samantha was talking before he had a chance to say hello.
“If that CID agent calls me ma’am one more time, I’m going to kill him,” Samantha told him.
“Keep those lethal weapon hands to yourself, ma’am,” Mitch whispered trying not to wake Nick and Adam in the next rooms. He raised himself on his elbows and glanced at the time again.
“We’ve got to get these time zones right,” he stifled a yawn. “You’re five hours behind us. So it’s two in the morning here.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not,” Mitch said, “you’re getting back at me. Lucky for me I was half awake.”
He heard her suck in a breath.
“Why would I be getting back at you?”
“Because you think I’m punishing you for sleeping with Adam. So, instead of sending you to Paris, which was closer to you, I’ve sent you back to D.C.,” he finished with a sigh dropping back on the bed. Again, he waited for her reply.
“Well, maybe.”
“Hmm.” Mitch closed his eyes. “Tell me what happened with our guy on the ground?”
“When he finally decided I wasn’t making the story up or a nut case, he got excited,” Samantha said. “His name’s Sebastian Roe. He’s about forty-five, and seems to be well respected. Do you know him?”
“Not in the flesh. John’ll know him.”
“He found the whole Mastermind thing surreal at first …”
“Yeah, well, you can’t blame him for that,” Mitch interrupted.
“Sure, but he can’t afford not to take it seriously. He wanted to call you or John to verify it.”
“He did call, I spoke with him earlier.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Sam, you’ve got to expect that,” Mitch explained. “People at a certain level, like to talk with others at the same level. It’s not a male versus female thing. I’ve had people who want to talk with John before they’ll deal with me. Pisses you off, but deal with it!”
“How many times has that happened to you?”
He heard the skepticism in her voice. “Sam, stop testing me.”
“I’m sorry, Mitch, I’m just frustrated. Anyway, he’s on board, so we’re meeting at eight in the morning. He’s bringing some of his best people, as he calls them, to work out a plan.”
“Good,” Mitch sighed. “John’s working on Daniel. He’s not giving anything up, he’ll keep us posted.”
“I’m meeting with John tomorrow after I meet with Roe. It would be good though if Daniel spilled something—what time they’re planning the heist, where they intend to enter, how they’re going to do it—I’ll take anything.”
“Fingers crossed. Call me tomorrow after your meeting with Agent Roe,” Mitch instructed her.
“Sure, sorry to wake you, Mitch.”
“Yeah, really?” Mitch noted the insincerity in her voice. “Listen, Sam, for the record, I sent Ellie to Paris because …”
Samantha cut in.
“You don’t have to tell me, I’m not questioning your orders.”
“Yes you are. You’re just not questioning them out loud,” he yawned again. “I sent Ellie to Paris because she speaks French.” Mitch hung up.
Tuesday 0700 London
(0800 Paris, 0200 Washington)
Early Tuesday morning, Adam and Mitch arrived at the headquarters of the London Metropolitan Police in New Scotland Yard, Westminster. Adam led Mitch through the building on a quick tour, sensing Mitch was keen to get to the armory.
“OK, niceties over. This way.” He led Mitch downstairs into a high-security area. “This is the home of a specialist operation branch, SO19. These guys will be with us on site. They’re the best, the equivalent I guess to your SWAT teams; they know what they’re doing. They’ve also agreed to issue us with some weapons, which I had to offer my first born to get, but it was worth it.”
He noticed Mitch looked surprised.
“Our guys don’t carry guns,” Adam explained, “they’re issued batons and incapacitant spray. So getting weapons comes with a truckload of paperwork.”
Gaining clearance through several more areas, Adam led Mitch into an enormous armory stacked with everything from combat gear to missiles. He pulled out a list.
“I’ve organized for six men to be assigned to us: one in sniper position, two outside at the entrances, one on the platform, two on board, plus our team of four – or five, if Sam makes it back on time.”
Mitch pulled out his detailed map of the Canary Wharf line.
“So, covering both sides of the platform of the Canary Wharf tube, we’d locate them like this,” Mitch placed crosses where the manpower would be.”
“Yep. That enough manpower?” Adam asked.
“I think so. When can I get them?”
“From four that morning for the run through, and from five-thirty on the evening of the handover.”
“Perfect.”
Adam continued. “I’ve ordered these,” he pushed the list to Mitch, then turned and pulled guns out for Mitch to inspect.
“I’ve got one, or in some cases two firearms per person,” Adam elaborated. “There are two of these .224Boz modified 10mm Glocks. They were part of the .224BOZ ammunition project. Heard of it?”
“Yeah.” Mitch held the small handgun. “Enhanced ammunition.”
“Right. Basically the barrel of the original weapons is exchanged for a more powerful, ballistically-matched barrel. It makes it pretty potent for a small gun with the added benefit that it can penetrate body armor.”
“Almost unfair, isn’t it?” Mitch said.
“I know what you mean,” Adam smiled. “They’ll go to the two officers, Skinner and Watson, who’ll be on board the carriage with you. I’ve booked two of these Super Magnums for our sniper team in the ceiling. They’ll be good for long range platform use and will achieve a first-round hit at six hundred. They’re superbly accurate.”
“Nice,” Mitch checked them out.
“Got five of these L85s. These produce an amazing volume of fire, about seven hundred rounds per minute. They’re good at long range.”
Mitch felt their weight. “Around ten pounds. Not bad at all.”
“We don’t need this, but check out this Under-slung Grenade Launcher,” Adam pulled them out, watching Mitch’s face light up.
“Excellent!”
“They’re great,” Adam agreed. “They’re designed for mounting beneath the barrel of each individual weapon. They can fire explosives and smoke if you need to destroy or obscure anything.” Adam put the weapon back. “I’ve got several SIGARMS P226 semi-automatics for your team to conceal somewhere on their bodies. They’re accurate and reliable.”
Mitch nodded.
“Or you could stick with the Glocks you guys brought over with you,” Adam continued.
“We won’t be able to move for weapons,” Mitch handed back the Super Magnum. “Has everyone on the team used these weapons?”
“Them or some version of them,” Adam assured him. “And then there is the gear.” Adam pulled out the combat clothing. “Interceptor body armor … we’ve got the tactical vest with a Kevlar weave that will stop 9mm ammo. You can stick extra protective inserts in if you want to – I suggest we go for throat and chest inserts.” Adam tapped on one. “It’s pretty hard material and can stop or catch any fragments up to a 7.62 mm round with a muzzle velocity of nearly three thousand feet per second.”
Mitch repressed a smile.
Adam gave him a sheepish look. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands to study this stuff. It’s the usual – flame resistant, infrared reflection, thermal signature. They’ll be worn under civvies for those of us meant to look like passengers. I’ve also ordered four transmitter-receivers. It’ll only be a few of us that can wear them to communicate without risking breaking cover.”
“Great job Adam, thanks,” Mitch said, fitting a slung grenade.
“Hey, check this out, Mitch …” Adam continued.
“Get the guns?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, Adam’s got it under control; I left him there to finish the paperwork. What did you find out?” Mitch asked.
“Well, according to the receptionist, all of Lawrence’s directors featured in the current annual report are still on the payroll and while she wouldn’t tell me exactly which ones would be at the meeting, she did say several of them were away on ‘special project work’,” Nick said, cupping his hands around a cigarette and lighting it. He pushed several torn out pages from an annual report to Mitch. “There’s a photo of them in there.”
Mitch stirred his coffee as they sat on a bench in Canada Square Park, several blocks from Lawrence’s building and their apartment block. He looked at the photos.
“So, that’s the Andrew Kenny who ordered Anthony Jenkins to be bumped off. Weak bastard. Not one of these guys will stand up to Lawrence when it comes to right or wrong.”
“They either genuinely agree with him or are shit scared.”
“Or just spineless.” Mitch’s eyes moved to Daniel’s photo. “Well, Daniel’s career is over at least. How did you get the receptionist to talk to you about the directors?”
“I played the part of a cranky shareholder who was coming to town for the Company’s General Meeting and I wanted to know who would be there.”
“Works for me,” Mitch nodded.
“We used to get them calling all the time when I was working for FedEx. It’s usually retired folk with plenty of time on their hands who attend – I guess it’s an outing.”
“Geez, that’ll be us one day … cranky shareholders going to meetings to keep the directors honest.”
“And to have our free sandwich and cup of tea,” Nick laughed.
“Yeah? There’s something to look forward to,” Mitch joked. “Hey, if you were off flying FedEx’s planes, how did you know shareholders were calling?”
Nick shrugged, “I was sleeping with the receptionist for a while.”
“Figures.” Mitch pointed to the photo of Brian Davies, “this guy is the one they had the conference call with after the Monaco Mastermind project.”
“He’s due back in the next few days, according to the receptionist.”
“Did you get time to check out the entrance?”
“Uh-huh,” Nick exhaled smoke. “One camera above reception, two security guards at a desk to the left. Courier deliveries go directly to the security counter. Three companies have come in so far; Rightway Express, Fast-track and City Bike Couriers. I’m thinking I’ll slip on a reasonable imitation outfit to the City Bike Courier driver and do the delivery so I can get in closer.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Mitch looked around to make sure he couldn’t be heard. “I’m a little wary after the way they handled the kid. For chrissake, be careful.”
“I’ll be in and out before you know it. Besides, how else could we do it? Letters and email are too risky. I’ll keep my head low and wear a baseball cap so I don’t get caught on the camera. It’s the best way.” Nick stubbed out his cigarette.
“Probably.”
They finished their coffees in silence, watching a variety of people passing through the park grounds. Mitch checked his watch. “Let’s pick up Adam, and go play on the trains.”