British Embassy, Washington, DC
The mood was subdued as the embassy staff ambled out of the meeting room. Filler had pushed the briefing back twice – once as he awaited more details from the police and then again as he awaited the arrival of Detective Jon Chang from the DC Metro Police. Chang had insisted on talking to the embassy staff in person, in his capacity of liaison officer. He gave the basic facts as he saw them – Smith had been shot by a gunman while visiting a friend’s apartment. Chang stated that a two-man DC team would return to the embassy in the morning to interview all staff.
‘We need to talk,’ Chang announced.
‘We can go to my office,’ Filler replied and led the way.
Once all three men were seated, Chang addressed Filler and Hunter. ‘I didn’t want to say this in front of the rest of your staff. We now believe this was a professional hit.’
‘What makes you think that, Detective?’ Filler asked, barely suppressing his surprise.
‘The shooter used a high-calibre round from a silenced weapon,’ Chang stated bluntly. ‘He wasn’t a gangbanger, and this wasn’t a home invasion or a crime of passion. This was a serious weapon, used in a professional manner. This was an assassination.’
Hunter’s mind raced. Diplomats had died in accidents or been murdered in robberies, but this was the first time for decades a British diplomat had been assassinated. It was unthinkable. ‘If this was a “hit”, the killer knew where to find Smith.’
‘Exactly,’ Chang said.
Hunter understood the implications. ‘Smith must have been under surveillance. Which means a team, not a lone gunman. Which hints at who? A terrorist group or a foreign intelligence service?’
‘I hope it was terrorists.’ Filler blew out his cheeks. ‘The last thing we need is a shooting war with anyone!’
‘But we have to look into all possibilities,’ Chang confirmed. ‘Now, can you tell me where your ambassador is?’
Filler shook his head. ‘I can’t.’
Chang quizzically raised a heavy eyebrow. ‘You can’t or you won’t?’
Filler shot Hunter a glance before he replied. ‘We can’t. We have not been able to contact Ambassador Tudor since yesterday.’
‘What?’ Chang was incredulous.
‘We don’t keep him on a lead.’
‘But you have protocols?’
‘Yes, we do.’ Filler folded his arms. ‘The ambassador always has both a mobile and a satellite phone with him. He informs us when and where he is going. On this occasion he said he was going away for the weekend. The issue is that we can’t raise him on either of his phones.’
‘He’s a high-value target if there ever was one,’ Chang stated, flatly.
‘Which is why,’ Hunter declared, ‘I wish to officially request that your department help us find him.’
‘You want to file a missing person report, now?’
‘Yes.’ It was something he and Filler had discussed; it was not like Anthony Tudor to be incognito for so long. Not only were his phones unanswered but the name of the guesthouse he was apparently staying at did not exist.
‘Of course.’ The detective tried to hide his irritation with a thin smile. ‘Let me go back to my car. I think I have the relevant form in my briefcase. If not, I’ll run along and get one.’
College Park Airport, Washington, DC
Li Tam had never met the huge Russian before, but the man had presented himself at the correct address. He had hefted a heavy-looking, man-sized package into the trunk of Tam’s taxi. It was obvious to Li Tam what the bag contained, but he made no comment as it meant nothing to him.
The pair had not spoken at all during the journey across the city. The Russian had used Tam like a taxi driver, which he ironically did not like. Tam reversed the taxi into a space directly outside a hangar. The Russian clambered out of his seat, popped the trunk, collected his heavy cargo, and left without saying a word. Tam watched in the rear-view mirror as the Russian was let inside and the door quickly shut behind him.
Tam knew that the hangar, and the adjoining one, were leased by a Chinese-owned company. It was one of many such places that dotted the United States to be used, when required, by his real employer. He knew neither why he had gotten in bed with the Russians nor why he had been loaned to them. He only understood that his orders were to follow all instructions from his Russian contact, or risk being recalled to Beijing. The life he had adopted in the US was far more comfortable than any he could expect in his native China, so he complied. In the US, he was treated by many as just another immigrant in a cosmopolitan nation of immigrants, and although he knew he was being watched by his own people, he felt a sense of freedom in his actions and activities. At least he had until his current orders had arrived.
Tam yawned; he was old and exhausted. Checking his watch he realised he’d been working now for twenty hours straight. If he did not rest soon, he’d be a danger behind the wheel; he had to protect his cover as a taxi driver. Tam chuckled to himself and rubbed his face with his hands. No, he actually no longer had to protect his charade. Come daybreak, no one would care if he was a real taxi driver or not. No one would pay any attention to how he drove, just that he had a vehicle that could be driven.
He lifted his iPhone and called his Russian contact again. It rang out without affording him the opportunity to leave a voicemail. It was a quarter to ten in the evening. Tam wet his lips as he pondered his situation. So be it; if he had no further instructions, he would sleep in the car until he was needed. It would not be the first time and the back seat was surprisingly voluminous. Tam started the engine. He’d find somewhere nearby to park, out of the glare of potential passers-by or surveillance cameras. He didn’t want to draw any further attention to the hangar.