Teeth of the Tiger

about the best thing that can be said about airline food — and so was the movie selection: Brian picked Independence Day while Dominic settled for The Matrix. Both had enjoyed science fiction since childhood. In the coat pockets of both were their gold pens. The reload cartridges were in their shaving kits, packed away in their regular luggage somewhere below. It would be about six hours to Heathrow, and both hoped to get some sleep on the way.

'Any second thoughts, Enzo?' Brian asked quietly.

'No,' Dominic replied. 'Just so it all works out.' The prison cells in England lacked plumbing, he didn't add, and, no matter how embarrassing it might be for a Marine officer, it would be positively humiliating for a sworn special agent of the FBI.

'Fair enough. 'Night-night, bro.'

'Roger that, jarhead.' And both played with the complex seat controls to settle back to a nearly flat surface. And so the Atlantic passed beneath them for three thousand miles.

* * *

Back in his apartment, Jack Jr. knew that his cousins were gone overseas, and though he hadn't exactly been told why, their mission didn't require a spectacular leap of imagination. Surely Uda bin Sali would not live out the week. He'd learn about it from the morning message traffic out of Thames House, and he found himself wondering what the Brits would be saying, how excited and/or regretful they might be. Certainly, he'd learn a lot about how the job had been done. That excited his curiosity. He'd spent enough time in London to know that guns were not done over there, unless it was a government-sanctioned killing. In such a case — if the Special Air Service dispatched someone especially disliked by No. 10 Downing Street, for example — the police knew not to press too deeply into the case. Maybe just some pro forma interviews, enough to establish a case file before slipping it into the UNSOLVED cabinet to gather dust and little interest. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure those things out.

But this would be an American hit on British soil, and that, he was sure, would not be pleasing to Her Majesty's Government. It was a matter of propriety. Besides, this was not an action by the American government. As a matter of law, it was a premeditated murder, upon which all governments frowned rather severely. So, whatever happened, he hoped they'd be careful. Even his father couldn't run much interference for this.

* * *

'Oh, Uda, you are a beast!' Rosalie Parker exclaimed as he finally rolled off her body. She checked her watch. He'd gone late, and she had an appointment just after lunch the next day with an oil executive from Dubai. He was a rather dear old fellow, and a good tipper, even if he had told her once that she reminded him of one of his favorite daughters, the nasty old bugger.

'Stay the night,' Uda urged.

'I can't, love. I have to pick up my mum for lunch and then take her shopping at Harrods. Good Lord, I must be off,' she said with well-feigned excitement, springing to an upright position.

'No.' Uda reached for her shoulder and pulled it back.

'Oh, you devil!' A chuckle and a warm smile.

'He is called 'Shahateen,'' Uda corrected. 'And he is not part of my family.'

'Well, you can wear a girl out, Uda.' Not that it was a bad thing, but she had things to do. So she stood and got her clothes off the floor, where he tended to throw them.

'Rosalie, my love, there is only you,' he moaned. And she knew that was a lie. It was she who had introduced him to Mandy, after all.

'Is that so?' she asked.

'Oh, that one. She is far too skinny. She doesn't eat. She's not like you, my princess.'

'You're so nice.' Bend over, kiss, then put the bra on. 'Uda, you are the best, the very best,' she said. It was always good for the male ego to be stroked, and his ego was bigger than most.

'You just say that to make me feel good,' Sali accused her.

'Do you think I'm an actress? Uda, you make my eyeballs pop out. But I have to go, love.'

'As you say.' He yawned. He'd buy her some shoes the next day, Uda decided. There was a new Jimmy Choo store close to his office that he'd been meaning to check out, and her feet were a spot-on size 6. He rather liked her feet, in fact.

Rosalie made a quick dart into the bathroom to check the mirror. Her hair was a fright — Uda kept messing it up, as though to mark his property. A few seconds with a brush made it almost presentable.

'I must be off, love.' She bent down to kiss him again. 'Don't get up. I know where the door is.' And a final kiss, lingering and inviting… for the next time. Uda was as regular as regular could be. And she'd be back here. Mandy was good, and a friend, but she knew how to treat these wogs, and, best of all, she didn't have to starve herself like a bloody runway model. Mandy had too many American and European regulars to eat normally.

Outside, she hailed a cab.

'Where to, dear?' the cabby asked.

'New Scotland Yard, please.'

* * *

It's always disorienting to wake up on an airplane, even in good seats. The window shades went up and the cabin lights came on, and the earphones played news that might or might not be new — since it was British, it wasn't easy to tell. Breakfast was served — plenty of fat, along with no-shit Starbucks coffee that was about a six on a one-to-ten scale. Maybe a seven. Through the windows to his right, Brian saw the green fields of England instead of the slate black of the stormy ocean that had passed during his thankfully dreamless sleep. Both twins were afraid of dreams right now, for the past they contained, and the future they feared, despite their commitment to it. Twenty more minutes and the 747 touched down gently at Heathrow. Immigration was a gentle formality — the Brits did it much better than the Americans, Brian thought. Baggage was on the carousel quickly enough, and then they walked out to the cabs.

'Where to, gentlemen?'

'Mayfair Hotel on Stratton Street.'

The driver took this information with a nod and headed off east toward the city. The drive took about thirty minutes with the start of the morning rush hour. It was the first time in England for Brian, though not for Dominic. The sights were pleasant for the latter, and both new and adventurous for the former. It seemed like home, Brian thought, except that people drove on the wrong side of the road. On first inspection, drivers also seemed more courteous, but that was hard to gauge. There was at least one golf course with emerald green grass, but aside from that, rush hour here wasn't all that different from the one in Seattle.

Half an hour later, they were looking at Green Park, which was, indeed, itself beautifully green, then the cab turned left, two more blocks, and right, and there was the hotel. Just on the other side of the street was a dealership for Aston Martin cars, looking as shiny as the diamonds in the window of Tiffany's in New York City. Clearly an upscale neighborhood. Though Dominic had been to London before, he hadn't stayed here. European hotels could teach lessons to any American establishment in terms of service and hospitality. Six more minutes had them in their connecting rooms. The bathtubs were large enough to exercise a shark, and the towels hung on a steam-heated rack. The minibar was generous in its selection, if not in its prices. Both twins took the time to shower. A check of the time made it a quarter to nine, and since Berkeley Square was only a hundred yards away, they took the moment to leave the hotel and head left for the landmark where nightingales sang.

Dominic elbowed his brother and pointed left. 'Supposedly MI5 used to have a building that way, up Curzon Street. For the embassy, you go to the top of the hill, go left, two more blocks, then right, and left to Grosvenor Square. Ugly building, but that's the government for you. And our friend lives right about — there, on the other side of the park, half a block from the Westminster Bank. That's the one with the horse on the sign.'

'Looks pricey here,' Brian observed.

'Believe it,' Dominic confirmed. 'These houses go for a ton of money. Most of 'em are broken up into three apartments, but our friend Uda keeps the whole thing for himself, a Disneyland for sex and dissipation. Hmm,' he observed, seeing a British Telecom van parked about twenty yards ahead of them. 'I bet that's the surveillance team… kinda obvious.' There were no people visible in the truck, but that was because the windows were plastic- treated to keep the light inside. It was the only inexpensive vehicle on the street — in this neighborhood, everything was at least a Jaguar. But the king of the hill, auto-wise, was the black Vanquish on the other side of the park.