Littel got up and raised his hand for silence.
‘It’s just… it’s that…’ Staughton stammered.
‘It’s what, man? Spit it out.’
Except for Littel, everyone in the room was holding his breath. What the hell could Barnes be doing that his agent couldn’t pass him the telephone?
‘He’s on the direct line with the White House.’
Everyone turned red except Littel, who saw his thinking rewarded. He looked at Sebastian Ford, careful not to let his inner smile show. It was always good to see those who think the worst of others have to retreat with their tails between their legs and eat their words.
‘Excellent, Agent Staughton,’ Littel continued. ‘Tell your superior to call me as soon as the call from the White House is over.’
‘Okay, sir.’ Staughton’s voice recovered its confidence. Maybe someday he’d even get used to receiving these calls.
The call ended on the American side, leaving a heavy silence in the air. Everyone chose a neutral or indistinct point on which to fix his eyes. Most preferred the mahogany table, the phone in second place. Littel was the first to stir the waters, as he ought to be. The time for thinking was past.
‘It’s obvious the situation has escaped our control,’ he asserted sadly.
‘In an alarming way,’ Wally Johnson concluded.
‘Sebastian,’ Littel said. ‘Prepare the crisis committee.’
‘When?’
These politicos could only deal with appointments and schedules.
‘Within a half-hour,’ Littel answered curtly.
Ford went out with his two assistants, who’d been seated at his side.
‘Colonel?’ Littel turned to Garrison this time. ‘Who do we have in Russia?’
‘Nestov and Litvinenko.’
‘Didn’t Litvinenko die of poisoning?’ Wally Johnson was astonished.
The colonel and Littel looked at him with disdain.
‘There is more than one Litvinenko in the RSS,’ the old soldier explained.
‘Try to contact them. This is going to get hot, and we have to be prepared.’
The colonel wheeled himself back and then was helped by an assistant around the table and into the hallway. Littel, Priscilla, and Wally Johnson remained. Littel and Johnson exchanged looks silently, and immediately burst into laughter, leaving Priscilla astonished.
‘Get us two coffees, please, Cil,’ Littel asked, wiping his eyes from laughing. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’
Priscilla went out to fulfill their request, leaving the two men alone.
Wally was the first to break the silence.
‘What do you think the president wants with Barnes?’
‘A recipe for cod in sauce,’ Littel responded seriously, provoking a laugh from the soldier.
‘How does it happen that that son of a bitch Keys gets himself killed so far away and in a bathroom?’ Wally Johnson wanted to know.
‘That is what we have to find out. The idea of collateral damage doesn’t convince me.’
‘Do you think anyone suspects?’
‘No,’ Littel answered, without a shadow of doubt. ‘It’s going to be a bombshell.’
30
A door saved Simon Lloyd from certain death. That irony was lost on those whose steps echoed in the dark hallway, disturbing the silence that had fallen since night began. This was the orthopedic wing of the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, and moans caused by iron staples that pierced the flesh and fixed the bones couldn’t be heard only because the doors were reinforced and closed. So Sarah’s loud footsteps and John Fox’s quieter ones at her side left no impression on the patients stretched out on beds who could be seen inside the rooms, where they tried to endure another night of pain, hoping for a better day soon.
Sarah avoided showing the weakness she felt. It wasn’t a good time, walking next to an SIS agent, although John Fox acted reasonably friendly. Simon Templar preferred to stay in the car, thus his absence — better to stare at the steering wheel than serve as a lady-in-waiting for the Portuguese woman.
As soon as the coroner had taken Grigori Nestov’s body out of the ruins of Sarah’s house, Agent John Fox had tried to excuse her. Enough things had happened, enough surprises, for one day. They could call her if they needed to make further contact. Conscious that the orders she’d received from JC were very explicit, she decided to go to Waterloo International, the train station, and catch the first Eurostar for Paris. Once there she would call her father. She remembered her duty to visit Simon Lloyd. It was the least she could do for all he’d gone through. So she decided to visit the hospital, close to her house, before heading out for Waterloo. She asked John Fox for someone to go with her, and he offered to do it himself, as we see. It was a way of checking on Simon Lloyd’s condition for giving a statement. By coming with Sarah, he would gain Simon’s confidence sooner and be able to arrange a visit the next day.
Sarah’s worried expression didn’t leave him unmoved. He sympathized with what he had seen of her, not just as a woman but also the mystery she carried within her. This woman knew a lot, although he didn’t know what or how. He had read the articles she wrote for the paper, sometimes of great help to various SIS departments, as well as foreign agencies, he well knew. It was as if Sarah were sending messages to the various factions, Western and East European, as if she knew them all, their true, secret identities. She would be a valuable asset as an ally; for that reason, John didn’t understand Simon Templar’s suspicions. Was it because it was a woman who possessed the information they all would like to have? It didn’t matter. He, John Fox, was ready to invest in this contact, not pressure her, show himself a friend. Later he’d see. Good things could come out of artifice.
‘Don’t worry,’ he tried to calm her. ‘He’ll be all right.’
‘I hope so.’ Sarah took a deep breath and answered with a timid smile.
But it’s not him I’m thinking about, she confessed to herself. Her mind went back over the past year, remembering everything. He was at her side, the protege, in spite of his irritating tendency to not tell her anything, or tell things in bits and pieces according to a logic only he understood. How much she missed him at moments like this. She felt alone, unprotected, although she didn’t feel truly in danger despite all the deaths around her, some close enough she didn’t want to think about them, as with the explosion in her house, JC’s alarming call, and all that. Not like that night a year ago when they’d broken into her house and put a gun to her head. Maybe today’s bad guys, whoever they were, knew she was with SIS agents. That was obvious. The short ride to Waterloo International would be tense, since she didn’t plan to accept John Fox’s amiable company again. They couldn’t find out about her intention to leave London.
‘What’s the room number?’ Sarah had forgotten in her nervousness.
‘Twenty-five,’ John Fox told her. ‘We’re almost there.’
Their steps closed the distance to the room, where, according to the reception desk, the patient from emergency number 259475, listed under the name Simon Lloyd, was assigned. They passed 19, 20. Unconsciously Sarah slowed her pace, feeling defensive about what she was going to find.
She breathed deeply…
21…
Breathed deeply…
22…
She hung back even more, letting John Fox get a few feet ahead.
23…
She let herself close her eyes for a few seconds. Why was this happening all over again? No one should have to go through this twice, or once, for that matter. Simon Lloyd, another victim of the power of men who didn’t care what means they used. All because of her, her father, his past… last year…
