The next morning across the U.K, radio broadcasts and the second edition of the Evening Standard were breaking the news of Mastermind, Lawrence Hackett and his untimely death. The story read like a movie in the making. It featured the heroism of the U.K. team, a bit about the American contingent, photos of the wrecked carriages and witness accounts from passengers who spotted the team or heard gunfire.
“Check this out – you guys barely rate a mention,” Adam read from the article. “A crack team of the U.K.’s finest supported by FBI agents … blah, blah, blah.”
Mitch grinned. “Yeah, just autograph that copy for us and we’ll take it home and frame it.”
Adam laughed and read on. “Being an only child, Lawrence Hackett has left his entire personal fortune to charity.”
“Touching,” Nick sipped on a strong coffee and rubbed his lower back.
“Sore back?” Ellen asked.
“Hmm, that sofa wasn’t the best.”
“I slept great,” Mitch glanced at Nick.
“Yeah, you’re welcome. I would have woken you up and sent you packing if I’d known how uncomfortable the sofa was.”
Adam continued. “Goes on to tell us he was a poor little rich kid whose father never had time for him; money can’t buy happiness – it’s lonely at the top,” Adam sighed dramatically, “don’t we know it.”
Mitch rose and stood by the glass doors of the apartment, looking over at Lawrence’s building as he finished his coffee.
“What are you thinking?” Samantha asked.
Mitch shrugged. “I’m guessing Lawrence never expected to walk away alive, nor had he intended for us or anyone on that train to either. It was, as he said, his swansong.”
“That’s fine for him, but he’s left behind a train wreck – the families of the directors and Anthony Jenkins’s will never recover,” Ellen leaned over and read over Adam’s shoulder. “They’ve already charged Andrew and they’re looking for the remaining directors.”
“You wait,” Adam handed the paper over to Ellen. “The paternity claims will be next. Women by the hundred claiming their child is a legitimate Lawrence offspring to get a bit of that fortune.”
“Damn! I should have slept with him,” Samantha shook her head and smiled as Mitch grimaced at her. “For the good of the mission.”
“Of course,” he nodded.
At Heathrow Airport, Mitch shook Adam’s hand firmly.
“Thanks for everything, Adam,” Mitch said. “We couldn’t have done it without you. I’m glad you were on our side.”
“Thank you, Mitch. The pleasure was all mine, really.”
“Look us up when you next come over.”
“I will,” Adam assured him. “Might get another gig together.”
“Yeah, we’ll show you around our turf.”
Nick followed Mitch, extending his hand to Adam.
“Listen buddy, don’t be too concerned about the Porsche’s security … it was hard to hotwire,” Nick said tongue in cheek.
“How hard?” Adam asked shaking Nick’s hand, a grin on his face.
“Took me a good two minutes.”
Adam shook his head. “Go catch your plane, leave me in pain.” He gave Ellen a quick hug and saluted the three as they boarded. Samantha stayed behind to say her goodbye.
Halfway down the boarding tunnel, Mitch waited for her. Samantha fell into stride beside him.
“Did Adam debrief you on what happened on the platform?”
“Yep.”
Samantha swallowed. “What did he say about my performance?”
“Nothing in particular, he said it all went fairly smoothly.”
She nodded. Mitch noticed Samantha looked relieved.
“Why, did something happen?”
“No! I just wanted some feedback.”
“You survived! That was top of my agenda,” Mitch said. They followed Nick and Ellen on board the plane. “You sure nothing happened I should know about?”
Samantha rolled her eyes. “If it did, I’m not telling.”