‘Carrie. Get ahold of yourself. Right now I want you safe, I want you protected. Pull back. Find a place to hide, a library, a coffee shop, a hotel. You are not authorized to talk to anyone, not even Pettigrew’s superior, until I arrive and debrief you. That’s a direct order. I’ll call you back when I’m on the ground in the UK.’
‘Understood.’ The word tasted like blood in her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I know you cared for Evan.’
She couldn’t answer him. She wasn’t supposed to lose anyone else she loved. He could not be gone.
‘Good-bye,’ she said.
She hung up. She steadied the tremble that threatened to take over her hands.
She wasn’t hiding in a hotel. Not yet.
She got out of the BMW. Cars and pedestrians fleeing the blast area choked the streets. She stopped at an office supplies store near Queen Elizabeth College and asked to borrow their phone book. She found the listing for Thomas Khan.
‘Where is this, please?’ she asked the clerk, pointing at the address.
‘Shepherd’s Bush. Not at all far, west of Holland Park.’ The clerk gave her a look of friendly concern; the news of the Kensington Church Street blast was all over the television and radio, immediately suspected as a terrorist attack, and Carrie was begrimed and shaken. ‘Do you need help, miss?’
‘No, thank you.’ She wrote down Khan’s address. She could break into his house, find if he had any connection to Jargo or to the CIA. It was action. Evan was gone. She could not sit still.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ the clerk called as Carrie ran out the door.
No, Carrie thought, I’ll never be all right again.
But wait. She stopped herself, stumbling along the side-walk, the sirens a constant buzz in the air. As soon as the police identified Khan Books as the bombing site, the police and MI5 would be poring over Thomas Khan’s house. If the slightest connection pointed back to the CIA – if she was found there and questioned by British authorities – it would be a public relations disaster for the Agency. She couldn’t go to Khan’s. Not enough time to search before the police arrived.
Not enough time. Not with Evan. She thought of him in that first moment of talking with him, him buying her coffee: But you bought a ticket, teasing her about paying to see his movie. He had told her that he loved her first, but she’d known she loved him weeks before he said the words.
Carrie leaned against the car. A pall of smoke rose from the direction of Kensington Church Street. She had nowhere to go in London, no one to trust.
Evan. She shouldn’t have left him alone. She should have stayed at arm’s length. Her face ached with unshed tears. I’m sorry, sorry for what I’ve done, sorry for what has been lost, Evan, what have I done?
Carrie made her decision. Run and hide. Wait for Bedford’s call. She wiped Pettigrew’s car of prints, out of habit, and walked away from it.
She did not see the men following her from across the street, staggered apart by thirty yards, all three closing in on her.
33
E van caught Thomas Khan’s jacket sleeve just as the explosion ripped apart the bookstore. Air rushed forward, blown down the throat of the brick way by heat and force. The blast hammered Evan into Khan, shoved them both off their feet, and they sprawled onto the ground. Dust misted and heated the air.
Evan scrambled to his feet, pulling Khan with him.
‘Let me go!’ Khan tried to jerk free. Evan tightened his grip and dragged Khan to the street behind the bookstore. Coughing, they stumbled into a mad dash of shoppers, clerks, tourists, and neighborhood residents. A pillar of fire and smoke rose behind them. Khan twisted away from Evan’s grip, but Evan manhandled him by both arm and neck and hurried him down the street. He pictured where he had left Pettigrew and Carrie. Down a block, then up another two blocks, and they would come up behind Pettigrew’s BMW.
‘This way,’ Evan said.
‘Let me go or I’ll scream for help,’ Khan said.
‘Go ahead. Be an idiot. I’m with people who can protect you.’
‘You fucking bombed my store!’
Rage seized Evan. He gripped Khan by the throat. ‘You were involved in my mother’s death.’
‘Your… mother?’
‘Donna Casher.’
‘I don’t know any Donna Casher.’
‘You’re connected to Jargo, you’re involved.’
‘I don’t know any Jargo.’
‘Wrong. You just ran when you heard his name.’
Khan tried to pull free.
‘Just walk home, Mr. Khan.’ Evan released Khan’s throat. ‘Go on. I’m sure the police will have lots of questions as to why your business was bombed. Get your answers ready. I’ll be happy to talk with them, too.’
Khan stood still.
‘You’ve got both Jargo and the CIA after you, Mr. Khan. But I’m here right now, and if you don’t help me, I guarantee I will kill you. But if you help me, you’re safe from everyone who could hurt you. Decide.’
‘All right.’ He held up his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll help you.’
Evan seized the older man’s shoulder, hurried him along the street. They rounded a corner, raced up toward Kensington Church Street where Pettigrew was parked, fighting against a fleeing crowd.
‘Who sent you?’ Khan asked.
‘Me, myself, and I,’ Evan said.
They reached a block and Evan saw the CIA BMW tear out, backward, Carrie at the wheel.
‘Carrie!’ Evan yelled. ‘Here!’
But in the chaos of noise, the rush of people and cars, she didn’t see him. She spun the car and roared, awkwardly, down the street and out of sight, narrowly avoiding running pedestrians.
Evan groped for his cell phone. Gone. He’d left it in the car with Pettigrew. He shoved Khan against the brick wall of a building. ‘Jargo killed my mother. Your son wanted me to do a documentary about Alexander Bast and it got back to Jargo, and he panicked and started killing people. Now, you’ll tell me everything about my parents and Jargo, or I’ll drag your sorry ass back to the flames that was your bookstore and throw you inside.’
Khan’s eyes were wide with terror and Evan thought, I really could kill him.
‘Listen,’ Khan said. ‘We have to get off the streets. I have a place where we can hide.’ He closed his eyes.
Evan considered. Pettigrew wasn’t at the wheel, didn’t appear to be in the car. Carrie looked hysterical. Where was the CIA officer? Dead in the street, killed by the blast? Evan looked down the wrecked street but couldn’t see in the haze of smoke.
The day had gone horribly wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to haul Khan back to the CIA safe house. Evan knew Khan’s offer could be a trap. He had no gun, no weapon. And no choice. He couldn’t let Thomas Khan simply walk away. Evan stayed close to the man, keeping a firm grip on his arm. Khan no longer appeared inclined to run. He walked with the frown of a man dreading his next appointment.
As they walked south to Kensington High Street Khan said, ‘May I hazard a theory?’
‘What?’
‘You came to my bookstore with the CIA. Or maybe MI5. And surprise, you’re supposed to be dead, along with me.’
Evan gave no answer.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Thomas Khan.
‘You’re wrong.’ No way, Evan thought. No way Carrie could have been involved if the bomb was meant for him. She could have killed him at any point in the past few days if she were against him, and he knew she wasn’t. But Bedford – he didn’t want to think the old man had set him up. Pettigrew. Maybe he was in Jargo’s pocket. Or he was one of Jargo’s Agency clients, a shadow who wanted Jargo protected.
