51

Several of the reporters asked about Meryl.

The utter implosion of the American peace plan even before it had been publicly unveiled was a huge story. It wasn’t like Meryl to be late. Where could she be?

Maxim kept his mouth shut. He was just supposed to be a cameraman, after all. Amina took the lead. In her nearly flawless English, she explained that she had no idea where Meryl was but that she fully expected the veteran correspondent and her crew to be there any moment. She even pretended to text the woman several times to figure out where she was.

Meanwhile, Maxim was growing more anxious by the minute. One of the heavily armed bobbies was eyeing him suspiciously. How long would it be until someone came over and interrogated him and Amina and blew their covers? Amina could see that he was growing anxious. She patted him gently on the arm and whispered that everything would be fine.

“Stand by!” a protocol officer suddenly shouted.

A moment later, a black BMW sedan with red-and-blue flashing lights mounted in the front grille pulled up Downing Street from their right, followed by two black, armor-plated Suburbans. The motorcade stopped about twenty yards from Number 10. Out of the front passenger door of the BMW emerged a tall man wearing a dark suit, sunglasses, and a small earpiece. Maxim knew him immediately to be Agent Geoffrey Stone, head of General Evans’s security detail. Kairos had sent him dossiers on everything that was known about the detail and their procedures, and Maxim had memorized the entire file. Beside Stone now stood a rather striking woman of Indian extraction. This had to be Agent Kailea Curtis, Maxim told himself. Both agents swept the faces in the crowd. Then Stone opened the back door of the BMW, and out stepped the U.S. national security advisor, a broad smile plastered on his face.

“General Evans,” shouted one of the reporters from Sky News. “What’s your response to the Palestinians’ rejection of the president’s plan?”

“What do you have to say to Chairman Ziad?” shouted another.

“Has President Clarke betrayed the Palestinian people?” yelled a third.

The general smiled and waved to the press corps as he helped Susan Davis out of the backseat of the BMW.

Maxim was riveted as he stared through the viewfinder of the video camera at the two walking the twenty yards up to the famous black door marked Number 10 and stopping. So far everything was going as planned. The Chechen was not surprised that Evans and Davis were standing there without their security detail, nor that Agents Stone and Curtis were standing behind the BMW, nearly out of view of the reporters. It was, after all, the first of two photo ops. DSS agents were never supposed to be in the picture. Maxim had watched at least a hundred videos on YouTube of various world leaders visiting this famous house, and rarely if ever had he seen bodyguards in close proximity to their protectees.

Maxim had been explicitly instructed by al-Qassab not to detonate the bomb until Evans and Davis reemerged from the building with the British prime minister at their side. The PM was the primary target, the Syrian had said, and chances were good that he would accompany Evans and Davis outside after the meeting and smile at the cameras. But Maxim simply could not wait. He was now sweating profusely, even in the November cold, and increasingly terrified that he and Amina would be found out and that all their painstaking preparations would come to naught.

This was it, Maxim decided. It had to be now. Besides, Amina was not expecting it. She was calm, relaxed, sure she had at least another hour or more to wait. How much more merciful and efficient, he thought, not to have her even the slightest bit worried?

Slipping his right hand into his coat pocket, Maxim gripped the mobile phone, felt for the number five, which he had covered with a bit of masking tape. The Americans weren’t answering any of the media’s questions. They were just standing there, smiling like imbeciles.

Maxim sniffed. What a perfect moment.

Just as the Americans were about to turn and step inside, the Chechen hit the speed dial and shouted at the top of his voice. “Allahu akbar!”

The massive explosion came a split second later.