hundred fifty pounds for an evening's visit, and two thousand pounds for a complete night. Exactly what her custom was for a full weekend, no one had asked.
They both picked up the earphones to make sure the microphones worked, switching channels to track them through the house.
'He's an impatient sod,' Ernest observed. 'Suppose she'll stay the night?'
'I'll wager she doesn't, Ernie. Then maybe he'll get on the bloody phone and we can get something useful off the bastard.'
'Bloody wog,' Ernest muttered, to his partner's agreement. They both thought Mandy was prettier than Rosalie. Fit for a government minister.
They were correct in their judgment. Mandy Davis left at 10:23 A.M., stopping at the door for one last kiss, and a smile certain to break any man's heart, and then she walked downhill on Berkeley Street heading toward Piccadilly, where she did not turn right at the Boots drugstore for the Underground station on the corner of Piccadilly and Stratton, but rather caught a cab that took her downtown, to New Scotland Yard. There, she'd be debriefed by a friendly young detective whom she rather fancied, though she was too skilled in her profession to mix business of the business sort with business of the pleasure sort. Uda was a vigorous john, and a generous one, but whatever illusions existed in their relationship were his, not hers.
The numbers came up on the LED register, and were saved and time-stamped in their laptop computers — there were two of them, and at least one more at Thames House. On each of Sali's phones was a pin register that noted the destination of every call he made. A similar device did the same for all incoming calls, while three tape machines recorded every word. This one was an overseas call, to a mobile phone.
'He's calling his friend Mohammed,' Peter observed. 'I wonder what they'll be talking about.'
'At least ten minutes of his adventure this weekend, I'll wager.'
'Yes, he does like to talk,' Peter agreed.
'She's too skinny, but she is an accomplished harlot, my friend. There is something to be said for unbelieving women,' Sali assured his colleague. She and Rosalie really liked him. He could always tell.
'I am glad to hear that, Uda,' Mohammed said patiently from Paris. 'Now, to business.'
'As you wish, my friend.'
'The American operation went well.'
'Yes, I saw. How many in total?'
'Eighty-three dead and a hundred forty-three wounded. It could have been more, but one of the teams made an error. More importantly, the news reports were everywhere. All they had on TV today was coverage of our holy martyrs and their attacks.'
'That is truly wonderful. A great blow for Allah.'
'Oh, yes. Now, I need some money transferred into my account.'
'How much?'
'A hundred thousand British pounds should do for now.'
'I can have that done by ten in the morning.' In fact, he could have done it an hour or two faster, but he planned on sleeping in the following morning. Mandy had tired him out. Now he was lying in bed, drinking French wine and smoking a cigarette, watching the TV without getting too involved. He wanted to catch Sky News at the top of the hour. 'Is that all?'
'Yes, for now.'
'It shall be done,' he told Mohammed.
'Excellent. Good night, Uda.'
'Wait, I have a question—'
'Not now. We must be cautious,' Mohammed warned. Using a mobile phone had its dangers. He heard a sigh in reply.
'As you wish. Good night.' And both killed their respective phones.
'The pub out in Somerset was rather nice — the Blue Boar, it was,' said Mandy. 'The food was decent. Uda had turkey and two pints on Friday night. Last night we dined at a restaurant across from the hotel, The Orchard. He had Chateaubriand and I had the Dover Sole. We went out to shop briefly on Saturday afternoon. He really didn't want to go out much, mostly just wanted to stay in bed.' The cute detective was taping it all, plus making notes, as was another policeman. They both were being as clinical as she was.
'Did he talk about anything? The news on TV or in the papers?'
'He watched the news on TV. But he didn't speak a word. I said that it was appalling, all that killing, but all he did was grunt. He can be the most heartless chap, though he's always nice to me. We've still not had a cross word,' she told them, caressing both with her blue eyes.
It was hard for the cops to regard her with professionalism. She had the looks of a fashion model, though at five foot one she was too short for it. There was also a sweetness about her that must have stood her in good stead. But inside was a heart of pure ice. It was sad, but not really their concern.
'Did he make any telephone calls?'
She shook her head. 'None at all. He didn't bring his mobile phone this weekend. He told me that he was all mine and I wouldn't have to share him with anyone else this weekend. That was a first. Other than that, it was the usual.' She thought of something else: 'He does bathe more now. I had him shower both days, and he didn't even complain. Well, I helped. I went into the shower with him.' She gave them a coquettish smile. That pretty much ended the interview.
'Thank you, Miss Davis. As always, you've been very helpful.'
'Just doing my bit. You think he's a terrorist or something?' she had to ask.
'No. If you were in any danger, we'd give you fair warning.'
Mandy reached into her Louis Vuitton purse and pulled out a knife with a five-inch blade. It wasn't legal for her to carry such a thing concealed, but in her line of work she needed one sure friend to accompany her, and the detectives understood. She probably knew how to make proper use of it, they surmised. 'I can look after myself,' she assured them both. 'But Uda isn't like that. He's actually rather a gentle man. That's one thing you get to know in my business, reading men. Unless he's a bloody fine actor, he's not a dangerous sort. He plays with money, not guns.'
Both cops took that pronouncement seriously. She was right — if there was anything a hooker was good at, it was reading men. Those who couldn't often died before reaching twenty.
After Mandy took a cab home, the two Special Branch detectives wrote up what she'd told them, and then e-mailed it to Thames House, where it became another entry in the Security Service files on the young Arab.
Brian and Dominic arrived at The Campus at 8:00 A.M. on the dot. Their newly issued security passes allowed them to take the elevator up to the top floor, where they sat and drank coffee for half an hour until Gerry Hendley showed up. Both of the twins sprang to attention, especially Brian.
'Good morning,' the former senator said on his way past, then he stopped. 'You want to talk to Sam Granger first, I think. Rick Pasternak will be here at around nine-fifteen. Sam should be in any time now. I have to see to my desk right now, okay?'
'Yes, sir,' Brian assured him. What the hell, the coffee wasn't bad.
Granger came out of the elevator just two minutes later. 'Hey, guys. Follow me.' And they did.
Granger's office was not as large as Hendley's, but it wasn't a trainee's cubbyhole, either. He pointed to the two visitors' chairs and hung up his coat.
'How soon will you be ready for an assignment?'
'How does today grab you?' Dominic asked in reply.
Granger smiled at the reply, but overly eager people could worry him. On the other hand, three days before… maybe eagerness was not so bad a thing after all.
'Is there a plan?' Brian asked.
'Yeah. We worked on it over the weekend.' Granger started with the operational concept: reconnaissance by
