weren’t any less enticing, but Kori kept focused.
“His name is Quincy,” she said, showing Graham the picture on her phone. She had come to Deacon’s Café alone, figuring Graham might be more open with just her, rather than with her and Anya. The two were seated in a booth by a window. The rain from the night before had stopped, but the skies were overcast. Anya, meanwhile, was back at the hotel on her laptop, sending a current progress report to Rampart HQ.
“I’ll forward you this pic,” Kori continued.
“Don’t bother, Agent Briggs,” said Graham, sprinkling some salt on his fried eggs. “We already know about Quincy.”
“You do?”
“Yes. He’s a nobody.”
“He’s apparently a friend of Grayson’s, Agent Graham. He’s visited him twice, in fact. In private, in the prince’s living quarters. Both times were very recent.”
“And how do you know this, Agent Briggs?”
“I’m an investigator remember? I investigated.”
“I see. Well, as it turns out, Quincy’s presence at the manor is easily explained,” said Graham, lifting a forkful of eggs to his mouth.
“Yes?”
Graham hesitated, taking the time to chew and swallow the mouthful of food. Finally, he continued. “Yes, Quincy is an employee at White’s, you see. The private club?”
“Yes, I know all about White’s.”
“Well, he’s a private security officer of sorts. Grayson got wind of his potential kidnapping. Quincy went to see him to double-check the security of his quarters. And that’s really all there is to that.”
“Uh-huh. So why is this guy Quincy following me around?”
“Who knows? Have you been to White’s?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there you are then. They probably decided to have you followed from there. They’re very careful.”
“Except that Quincy was following me before I visited White’s.”
“Well, they discovered you somehow. White’s takes care of their own. I really have no clue as to how their security operates, to be honest with you, Agent Briggs. It’s not my department. You’ll have to ask them how they came upon your presence here and why they’re following you.”
“So you’re saying you’ve talked to this Quincy.”
“Of course.”
“And how did Grayson ‘get wind’ of the kidnapping?”
“Quincy tells us that on a couple of occasions, the prince felt he was being followed from the club. So, Quincy was sent out to do a security check.”
“He didn’t do a very good job.”
“No, I daresay he didn’t, did he?”
“And how did you find out about Quincy?”
“Through interviews at White’s, of course.”
“You interviewed people at White’s personally?”
“Well, of course, Ms. Briggs.”
“So you met the steward, Mr. Jenkins,” Kori said, throwing out a fake name.
“Yes, of course, I met Mr. Jenkins.”
“Uh-huh. You know, maybe I’ll just go back to White’s and see if I can talk to this Quincy myself.”
“Won’t do you any good, Agent Briggs. They’re very secretive at White’s. I imagine they’ll deny he’s even employed there.”
“What’s Quincy’s full name?”
Graham took a long sip of his tea. “Andrew. Andrew Quincy. Now, listen, Agent Briggs, if that’s all you have to give me, I’m afraid I’ll have to be going.”
“Now wait a minute, Agent Graham. You promised to share some information with me.”
“Well, yes, but the deal was that you had something we could use. And you clearly don’t. If it’s any consolation, Agent Briggs, this lovely breakfast is on me. There. I believe we’re now even.”
“Look, Agent Graham, I know you’ve got your panties in a wad over the fact that your PM brought in some extra help. You’re resentful. I get that. Nevertheless, I’m here. And I’m not going away, so you might as well accept that. You might find this hard to believe, but my agency may actually be an asset for you. We’ve solved a case or two in our time. American intelligence is the best in the world.”
“Debatable, Agent Briggs. I’ll put MI5 up against anyone. And our international agency? MI6? The cream of the world’s intelligence crop. We’ve got James Bond, after all.”
“I’m sorry, who?”
“It doesn’t matter, Ms. Briggs. I have no doubt you mean well, but I really don’t see how you can help us. You’ve been very good about getting us the name of Spenser Burke and I’ve expressed our appreciation for that. But we are quite capable of handling things without your participation.”
“Oh? So where is Burke?”
“We’re looking for him, Agent Briggs, I assure you.”
“Uh-huh. And Newton Dempsey?”
“What is your point, Ms. Briggs?”
“My point is you could use some help. Do you know where the Stewarts are right now?”
“No. Why?”
“Did you know about Prince Grayson’s debts?”
“His debts, Agent Briggs?”
“That’s what I thought. Listen, Graham, if you ever get serious about your so-called investigation, you know where to find me.” Kori reached into her purse and drew out a fifty-pound note. Rising from her seat, she tossed it on the table. “For breakfast, Agent Graham,” she said, and then she strode out of the café.
“He’s top-shelf,” Agent Darren Cooper said. “Twenty-five years with the agency, numerous decorations including medals from the queen herself for gallantry and distinguished service.”
Kori was back at the Savoy in Anya’s room. She’d briefed Anya on the fruitless breakfast meeting and then decided to call Cooper to dig a little deeper into Agent Victor Graham of MI5.
“Really, Coop? I find that all hard to believe.”
“Kori, there’s a reason he’s heading up the investigation into the prince’s kidnapping. You think they’d put someone in charge without the chops to solve the case? It’s the prince, for God’s sake.”
“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, Coop, something doesn’t sit right with me about the guy.”
“I can’t find a thing wrong with him. No reprimands, no censures, not a single black mark in his file. You know that I think, Kori? I think you’re just pissed that he won’t cooperate with you.”
Kori sighed. “Maybe.”
“Screw him,” said Cooper. “You and Anya don’t need MI5. Keep doing what you’re doing. I have a feeling that when this is all over, he’s going to be apologizing to you.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, Coop.”
“Either way, remember—the clock is ticking. You’re down to four days, Kori.”
“I know. Okay, well thanks for checking into him, Coop. Sorry to bother you so early. What time is it there, anyway?”
“Four a.m.”
“Yikes. I owe you a beer.”
“And I plan on collecting.”
Kori hung up and turned to Anya. “Well, Coop vouches for the guy’s authority and credibility. But I can read people, Anya. His whole story about Andrew Quincy smelled like . . . like yesterday’s black pudding. And he flat out lied about being at White’s. He doesn’t even know the steward’s name, yet he claims to have interviewed him personally.”
“Then we need to check out Quincy,” said Anya. “We need to find out who he really is.”
“Agreed.”
“Should we ask at White’s?”
“No, Graham was right about one thing. If Quincy is affiliated with the club in some kind of security role, I doubt they’ll tell us anything about him. I have a better idea. Let’s check him out ourselves.”
“How?”
“By following him.”
“But he is following us.”
“Exactly. So he shouldn’t be too hard to find. Come on. Time’s a wasting.”
The agents walked down the Strand, past coffee shops and bookstores and taverns, cabs and London’s ubiquitous red, double-decker buses passing them on the street. They walked slowly, knowing that Quincy, whoever he was, was probably behind them somewhere and they wanted to give him plenty of opportunity to keep his sights on them. Each agent carried a small gym duffel. Eventually, they came upon Charing Cross train station and went inside. They walked halfway through the expansive station and stopped. Then they turned to each other and embraced warmly, taking their time to make sure Quincy could see them through the crowd. Their ersatz goodbyes said, they set off in opposite directions, each walking toward one of the six rail platforms of Charing Cross.
At a ticket machine, Anya slowly turned around and, through the mass of people around her all traipsing toward their respective platforms to board their respective trains, saw nobody resembling Quincy in her general vicinity. She walked back toward where she’d embraced Kori and soon spotted her fellow Rampart agent in a far ticket line. Ten paces behind her, looking as casual and unassuming as he could, was Quincy.
Anya pulled out her phone. He picked you, she texted.
Kori glanced down at her phone, bought a ticket, and then strode into a women’s restroom adjacent to the ticket machines. Anya watched as Quincy took a position across from the restroom, leaning against the wall under a clock. Women came and went from the restroom, including, eventually, a blond woman in a white, hooded sweatshirt and dark red sneakers. Clutching a Harrod’s bag, she left the restroom and walked unnoticed by Quincy through the crowd and to the other end of the station where Anya was waiting for her.
“You look good as a blonde,” Anya said.
“Oh, yeah?” said Kori. “And what about the rest of the ensemble?”
“The ugly sneakers have to go.”
“Aw, really?”
“Yes. Even you cannot make them work.”
“I guess. So what’s our man doing?”
“He’s still waiting.”
“How long you figure he’ll stand there?”
“Who can say?”
The answer came eight minutes later. From across the station, the agents could see Quincy stepping toward the restroom. He glanced about the immediate area before hesitating and then, mind made up, he darted inside. Fifteen seconds later, he popped back out with at least one woman giving him a dirty look. He raised his head and scanned the area as Kori and Anya turned their backs, Kori shielding her undisguised partner. When they looked around a moment later, Quincy was heading quickly toward the exit, talking into his phone.
“He’s on the move,” Kori said. “The predator has now become the prey. Let’s go.”
They walked toward the exit, careful to remain unseen. Out front, they watched as a dark sedan pulled up. Quincy got into the passenger side and the car pulled away. Kori flagged down a cab and the agents slid in.
“Follow that car!” Kori barked to the driver, pointing ahead. Then, turning to Anya and laughing, she said, “I’ve always wanted to jump into a cab and say that. Can you believe in all of my years of agency work, I’ve never done so?”
“Another milestone,” said Anya. “A classic spy cliché.”
“Indeed. But, driver, seriously. We need you to follow that car. If you’d be so kind.”