TREVOR DIALED HIS mobile one-handed. Shelby set her clasped hands on the table. He noticed the fine trembling. Moving over next to her, he covered her hands with his free one. She attempted a smile.
“Danby.”
“It’s Carswell.”
“Give me an update.”
He filled the brigadier in on everything that had happened since they’d last spoken. “I’ll be going out to the Burwell Estate. I could use additional men. My men. My team.”
“I’ll send backup. Havanaugh and the rest of your boys are in Libya doing some mop-up work, so it’ll be another SAS team, a couple of MI-5 blokes, and me.”
“Very good, sir. I also need you to contact the Magistrates’ Court. Push for the search warrants, as we discussed, but see if you can swing an arrest warrant for Whitcomb. I realize evidence is lacking at this point—”
“I’ll do what I can,” Danby interrupted. “I know what I’m asking of you, Trevor. This operation has always been considered high risk. If you succeed, there will be a medal and a promotion for you.”
Trevor chuffed out a laugh. “If I fail, I’ll be dead, and you can pin your bloody medal on yourself.”
Danby’s voice grew stiff and disapproving. “You’re a military officer, Major. Please remember to whom you are speaking.”
Trevor rubbed his forehead with his thumb, breathing deeply. “My apologies, Brigadier. I’ll brief you on my plan once it’s solidified. Oh, and there will be a man on location called Simon Rosenfeld. He’s with me.”
“Very good.”
He disconnected. Shelby had risen and paced around the room, arms crossed over her stomach. He pocketed the mobile.
“Come here,” he murmured, walking toward her. “How are you holding up?”
She met him halfway, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m fine,” she said, then shook her head. “You’re headed right into danger. Of course I’m worried.”
“What are you on about?” he teased gently. He nudged her chin up with a forefinger. “This is big, strong he-man stuff. I’ve got it handled.”
She gave the ghost of a smile. Truthfully, more things could go wrong than right, and they both knew it.
“Are you two through with the mushy stuff?” Lark said, blowing a raspberry. “Jeez. You totally forgot I was in the room, didn’t you?”
They broke apart, laughing a little.
“Sitting here with nothing to do is boring.” She wandered to the door and cracked it open. A security guard straightened from his slouch against the opposite wall.
“Sorry, miss. Mr. Rosenfeld requested you stay inside until his return.”
“But I have to go to the bathroom.”
The guard didn’t blink. “He’ll be back shortly, miss.” He reached for the knob and gently closed the door in Lark’s face.
“We’re prisoners.”
Trevor frowned. “I don’t think you realize just how much Simon’s going out of his way to help us.”
“You,” Shelby said. “He’s helping you. And don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. I can’t believe he’s going with you.”
How could he explain it? “Operators recognize other operators. We’re a specialized bunch. It’s kind of a brotherhood. I’d do the same for him.”
“Just like that?”
He smiled. “You can bet he’s already thoroughly vetted me. He probably knows more about me than Lark does.”
“Okay.”
He took her hand, turning it over to examine her palm. His thumb rubbed gently over it. “After this is over, what do you say we go away? Maybe Hawaii? Sip mai tais on the beach. Snorkel. Or I can teach you to scuba dive.”
“I’d really like that,” she whispered.
He let out a breath, the tightness in his chest easing. “Good. That’s . . . good. Let’s do that.”
Shelby squeezed his hand before pulling hers free. “I know how to get Max to the Burwell Estates.”
It took him a second to switch gears. “How?”
The door opened and Simon walked in, a sheaf of papers and a roll of tape in his hands. “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way,” he said. We don’t have a printer big enough for blueprints.”
The four converged on the table.
“How?” Trevor asked Shelby again. It was the one part of the plan he hadn’t been able to figure out.
“Olga Berkowicz said she and Max were in contact regularly for quite a while,” Shelby explained. “She helped him with his research. What if she were to call him, tell him she found some critical piece of information? Tell him there’s a hidden compartment in the grandmother clock. Tell him the data is on a microdot or something.”
He felt a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re bloody brilliant, Shel. Do you know that?”
Simon set the printed pages on the conference table. “I won’t put her in any danger. But I’m willing to make the call. The decision will be hers. Okay?”
“Fair enough.”
“Make yourself useful,” Simon said to Lark. “This stack is an aerial map of the estate, and this one is the blueprints of the house. Do you think you can piece it together?”
Her chin lifted. “I can tape the shit out of this.”
“Good.” Simon stretched. “Trevor, come with me. I have a pair of pants that should fit you.”
The Mossad agent took him to a small locker room. Two sets of combat uniforms hung neatly inside. Trevor accepted one of them, changing into olive-drab combat pants and brown boots. He swapped out his footballer’s jersey for a plain brown T-shirt.
Shelby did a double-take when he walked back into the conference room, but didn’t say a word. She and Lark had set the copy paper out in rows, taping each sheet with the next until they had covered a third of the table.
“I’ll make the call to Dr. Berkowicz.” Simon moved to the far corner, mobile up to his ear.
Trevor eyed the two sets of maps. “Nice work.”
“If the most we can contribute is taping pieces of paper together, then that’s what we’ll do,” Shelby said.
“That’s my girl.”
Her face flashed surprise, then doubt. She clearly thought he used the term generically, in place of a “well done.” But that conversation would have to wait.
“She’s willing,” Simon said. “Once I give the signal, she’ll make the call.”
“Simon, can we call the clock museum and have it evacuated? I don’t want anyone caught in the crossfire,” Shelby said.
Trevor shook his head. “If we do that, Max will know it’s a trap.”
Shelby frowned, clearly unhappy. “All right.”
“The Bedlamites so far have broken in after closing. The building will be empty.” The whole plan hinged on everything appearing normal.
She took a breath. “Can we at least call the curator? Have him make sure no one stays late that night?”
“Odds are he’d ring the police straightaway.”
She just shook her head.
For the half hour, the four of them studied the blueprints of the manor house. Trevor and Simon marked entry and egress points, discussed possible places for cover or concealment, and noted potential blind areas for security cameras. Both had years of experience; they quickly fell into a rhythm, talking in shorthand as they learned one another’s style and mindset.
“It’s like you’re speaking another language,” Shelby observed.
He grinned at her. “But one we both understand. All right. The plan is we get in, secure the premises, and detain Max when he arrives. Now let’s talk contingencies.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shelby pull Lark to the other end of the table. She probably didn’t want to hear about all the things that could go wrong. He couldn’t blame her for that.
Simon pointed to the centralized great hall, just beyond the entrance vestibule. “This is where he’ll stage.”
“Agreed. From there, he’ll send his men in teams of two, if he’s smart, out into the museum. He’ll start downstairs.”
“It would help if we knew what was in each room.”
Trevor grinned. “Clocks.”
Simon just shook his head. “Any idea how many he’ll bring with him?”
“No. That’s the biggest variable. I only know of five. But Eric hinted there were others, so let’s assume twice that.”
“Or more.”
From the aerial photographs, Trevor learned that the terrain around the estate was mostly an open expanse of grass. A cluster of some sort of trees abutted the manor house, behind a wall that looked to be at least fifteen to twenty feet high.
“All right,” he finally said, pushing away from the table. “That’s about as much as we can do in the time we have.”
“Time to assemble our toys.”
Simon grinned. “Come with me.”
“Toys?” Lark muttered. Shelby shrugged.
Simon took them to the back of the embassy, through a functional hallway. He stopped at a reinforced metal door with a cipher lock. Punching in the code, he twisted the handle and led them into the armory.
Trevor looked around, hands on his hips. A variety of weapons lined two walls. The third contained flak vests, handcuffs, batons, and riot shields, as well as other tactical equipment. A surgical steel table in the center supported a contraption with continuous tracked wheels and a robot arm. Lark made a beeline for it.
“It’s a bomb robot, isn’t it? I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes. Don’t touch it.”
Trevor examined the arsenal, moving from the wall-mounted shotguns to the scoped rifles. He stopped in front of the assault rifles. Three Uzis, several Ace carbines, and a sniper rifle.
“Yours?” he asked Simon.
“Yup.”
“Nice.” He ran an admiring finger over the barrel, then chose one of the Uzis and slung it over a shoulder. Moving on to the neatly mounted pistols, he selected two Jericho semiautomatics. “I’ll leave my assortment of crap here, if that’s all right.”
“Good call.” Simon nodded to one corner of the room, where Trevor saw Shelby’s hold-all and Lark’s computer bag. “My weapons are in pristine condition.”
“Knives?”
Simon intercepted Lark’s hand as she reached for a shotgun, gently pulling her away from the wall. “In the case next to the bomb robot.”
Trevor was pleased to see a curved folding knife. He picked it up and flicked it open.
“What’s that?” asked Lark.
He slipped his index finger into the finger guard and flipped it so the blade pointed downward from the bottom of his fist and curved forward. He flipped it out and back several times to get a feel for it, then sliced it through the air in a figure eight, then a spiral. “It’s called a karambit. Good slashing weapon.” He looked to Simon for permission, then pocketed the knife when he nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Any chance you can get your hands on some C4?”
Simon laughed. “Just where do you think you are? Beirut? Gaza? No. No explosives.”
He took one of the carbines and a semiautomatic, then unlocked a standing cabinet. Passing Trevor several boxes of ammunition, he also grabbed extra magazines for them both. Trevor opened the box and started loading the magazines.
Simon added a couple of radios, two flak jackets, and a roll of duct tape to the pile. “Can never be too careful.”
He slipped the flak vest on and tightened it down, then strapped the holsters for the semiautomatics to his thighs. He and Simon looked at one another.
“We’re set.”