“We have to spray them with insecticide and disinfectant before they are allowed into Saudi Arabia. They don’t want Mad Cow disease or some other airborne pathogen brought in—every country makes that mandatory now,” Gibb said.
“Leave them open,” Hickman said, “and give me the keys to the containers.”
Gibb nodded and handed Hickman the keys.
“When are the workers due back from holiday?” Hickman asked.
“Monday, January second,” Gibbs said, following Hickman, who was walking back through the machines toward the lobby area again.
“I’ve got some guys from the U.S. coming in to help. We’ll make those a top priority,” Hickman said as they neared the lobby and front offices. “Now, can you show me to an office where I might use a telephone?”
Gibb pointed to stairs that led to a glass-enclosed office overlooking the shop floor. “You’re welcome to use mine, sir. It’s unlocked.”
Hickman smiled and reached out for Gibb’s hand. “Mr. Gibb,” he said easily, “why don’t you get back to your family. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Gibb nodded and started for the door, then stopped. “Mr. Hickman,” he said slowly, “would you like to come over this evening and celebrate the New Year with us?”
Hickman was halfway to the stairs and turned back to look at Gibb. “That’s a kind offer,” he said, “but for me New Year is always a time for quiet reflection.”
“No family, sir?” Gibb asked.
“I had a son,” Hickman said quietly, “but he was murdered.”
With that, he turned and walked toward the stair.
Gibb turned and walked through the door. Hickman was nothing like the newspapers said. He was just a lonely old man, as ordinary as white rice. Gibb might reconsider his plans to retire—with Hickman as owner, big things might be afoot.
Hickman entered the office and reached for the telephone.
CABRILLO ENTERED THE lobby with Meadows and Seng in tow. A blond man dressed in a black suit and polished shoes approached immediately.
“Mr. Fleming has cordoned off a quiet area of the dining room so you can meet in private,” the man said, referring to the head of MI5. “It’s right this way.”
Seng and Meadows headed for the front door. Like magic, several men in the lobby reading newspapers rose and followed. They would not be alone for their reconnaissance.
Cabrillo followed the blond man into the dining room. Taking a hallway to the left, they entered a private room where a man was seated at a table with a pot of tea and a silver platter of pastries.
“Juan,” the man said, rising.
“John,” Cabrillo said, reaching out to shake hands.
“That will be all,” Fleming said to the blond-haired man, who walked back through the door and closed it behind him.
Fleming motioned to a chair and Cabrillo sat down. Fleming poured Cabrillo a cup of tea and waved his hands over the platter of pastries.
“I’ve eaten,” Cabrillo said, taking the cup of tea.
Fleming looked over into Cabrillo’s eyes and held them for a minute. “Well, Juan,” he said, “what the hell is going on?”
IN THE CONFERENCE room on the
“Here’s the situation right now,” Hanley began. “We believe we have the location of the bomb pinned down to the general area of the West End of London. Mr. Truitt has checked out the apartment building that the principal, Nebile Lababiti, has secretly rented, and he managed to observe Lababiti and another man coming home late last night. After they entered the apartment, Mr. Truitt swept the area outside the door with a Geiger counter but found no traces of radiation. You six will be going in as support for Mr. Cabrillo, who is already present along with Mr. Meadows and Mr. Seng. Mr. Truitt also placed a locator on Lababiti’s Jaguar, and as of right now, there has been no movement.”
“What do we think the timetable is?” Ross asked.
“We still think the plans call for a midnight New Year’s Eve attack,” Hanley said, “as a symbolic gesture.”
“Will we receive our actual assignments once we’re in London?” Murphy asked.
“Correct,” Hanley said. “Mr. Cabrillo will be coordinating with MI5. They and Mr. Cabrillo will assign your actual duties as they unfold.”
Hanley’s beeper vibrated, and he removed it from his belt and stared at the readout.
“Okay, people,” he said, “Mr. Truitt has arrived to take you into London. He’s in front right now. Be sure and take the crates of supplies that Nixon has prepared along with you, they are stacked alongside the gangplank. Any other questions?”
No one spoke.
“Good luck, then,” Hanley said.
The six filed out and down the hallway.
CABRILLO FINISHED BRIEFING Fleming then took a sip of tea.
“The prime minister will have a problem keeping the public in the dark about this,” Fleming admitted.
