46
LONDON, ENGLAND —25 NOVEMBER
It was three minutes before 7 a.m. as Maxim turned left onto Averill Street.
By the time he slowed his cab to a stop, the Sullivans were already coming out the red front door. Meryl entered first with a cheery “Morning!” Giles climbed into the backseat after her, somewhat surly, his face buried in his smartphone.
“The usual?” Maxim asked, already pulling away from the curb.
“Actually, no,” Meryl said, taking a sip from the to-go mug in her gloved hands. “Could you be a dear and drop me off at the U.S. Embassy, then take Giles on to Broadcasting House?”
“Of course, ma’am. Whatever you need.”
Maxim looped around and got back on Fulham Palace Road, heading toward Putney Bridge. “Is that General Evans bloke still coming?” he asked, looking back in the rearview mirror. “I figured with what the Palestinian leader has been saying, the trip would be off.”
“Me, too, but he’s still coming,” Meryl said before taking another sip. “I all but begged the embassy for the first exclusive interview in which he will articulate the American reaction, and they’ve said yes.”
“Brilliant, ma’am —good for you.”
“Well, we’ll see. I’m having breakfast with the ambassador in a few minutes to nail it down.”
“For tomorrow?”
“Most likely.”
“Wouldn’t that be exciting?” said Maxim. “Will you need my services? I can clear my schedule and take you and your crew anywhere you need.”
“That would be marvelous. Let’s see how this breakfast goes; then I’ll ring you.”
Mohammed al-Qassab was about to lose it.
He could think of nowhere he wanted to be less just then than a breakfast meeting in Canary Wharf with a room full of Chinese CEOs. One of the partners had been droning on for a good ten or fifteen minutes about exchange rates. All the Syrian could think about was the fact that he was currently responsible for three of the most complicated operations of his life, all officially sanctioned by Kairos, all with a very high chance of failure. If they did fail, his freedom, and likely his very life, were in danger. Yet there he sat, trapped in a twenty-fifth-floor conference room with people he didn’t know, preparing to make a presentation he cared nothing about.
Just then, his smartphone vibrated.
read the text.
“Excuse me,” he said, catching everyone in the room by surprise. “I wonder if we might take, shall we say, an environmental break?”
Smiles of recognition broke out all around the room. Al-Qassab got up and moved quickly out of the conference room, down the hallway, and into the stairwell at the far end. He bounded up the steps two at a time, then spilled out into a smartly appointed vestibule two flights up. He fished a set of keys out of the pocket of his trousers and unlocked the door, which opened to a rooftop lounge. It could be rented for parties and meetings by tenants of the building. At the moment, it was devoid of another soul. Punching in a series of numbers on his phone from memory, he paced nervously as he waited for the call to go through. Then he heard Dr. Ali Haqqani on the other end.
“We have a problem,” the Pakistani blurted out.
“Not exactly the best time to chat,” al-Qassab replied, hoping the tone of his voice would remind the surgeon that they were on an unsecured line.
“It cannot be helped. I’m leaving tonight.”
“Leaving?” al-Qassab asked.
“A friend has a home in the country. He won’t be there for several weeks. I thought I might go there for a break.”
“What about your staff?”
“I have given them the next two weeks off.”
“What about your patients?”
“We are rescheduling all of them.”
With that, the call was over. Al-Qassab stared at the phone, then out over London. This was an ominous development. The two men had discussed the possibility of Haqqani leaving the country before the operation was complete. Yet in the end they had concluded that leaving might draw undue attention. The better play was for Haqqani to stay put, go about his daily routine, and act horrified and bewildered when the bomb went off.
Why, then, the sudden change of plans?
Maxim’s mobile phone rang.
Meryl Sullivan’s number came up on the screen. “Maxim?”
“Yes?”
“We’re a go.”
“You got the exclusive?”
“I did.”
“Brilliant. How can I be of service?”