Reading Residence
Whitehall, London, England
“I
wish I could go with you.”
Hugh Reading shook his head at Spencer. “No, you’ve got your job. Besides, there’s nothing you could do there. I don’t need anybody watching my back. I just need to get down there and figure out why my two best friends in the world are animal rights activists who just massacred over sixty people.”
His phone rang and he glanced at the call display. “It’s Michelle.” He answered. “Michelle, tell me the good news.”
“I’ve got approval for us to represent Interpol.”
His eyes narrowed. “Us?”
“Us. There’s no way I’m letting you go down there on your own in your emotional state.”
He grunted. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. When do we leave?”
“Not until morning. The last flight left hours ago.”
He stared at the suitcase he’d been packing in a rush. “Bloody hell.” He sat on the corner of the bed. “Anything new?”
“I’ve been monitoring all the reports. All we know so far is that it appears the terrorist leader survived the blast, but he’s in surgery right now. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Normally, I’d be rooting for him to die, but he might be the only one who can prove that Jim and Laura had nothing to do with this. Anything else?”
“You wouldn’t believe the list of billionaires and millionaires and Hollywood types that are dead. It’s like a who’s who from the society pages.”
“Anybody I actually care about?”
“Knowing you, probably not, but so far Jim and Laura are not on that list of dead or survivors, so the chances of that footage being fake are next to none now. They seem to have a body count that is pretty close to the number that matches the invite list.”
“What about the guy who invited them? Did he survive?”
“What was his name?”
He cursed. “I can’t remember. Oh, just a second.” He pulled up a text message from Acton. “It’s Professor Yves Marchand.”
“Give me a moment…oh, here he is. He’s in surgery. Wife and daughter expected to survive. The wife was seriously injured, and his son is missing.”
“We need to talk to him. See if you can arrange it for when we arrive.”
“I’m on it. See you tomorrow.”
He ended the call and turned to his son. “I’m sorry we missed the end of the game.”
“No worries, Dad, I think you’ve got a pretty good excuse this time.”
Reading sighed as he thought of his friends. “I guess I do.”
