“Get Lia over there,” said Rubens. “She can pick up the trail from there.”
Telach glared at him as Rockman gave the order. It wasn’t that she disagreed — she would have said so — it was that the direction should have come from her.
Not a time to be temperamental.
The green diamond showing Dean began to move to the left of the screen, following the ghosted gray map of the Docklands light-rail line. Rockman brought up a screen showing the line’s path, looking for a place where Lia might be able to get on. She was too far away to get to the rail line quickly enough to take the same train; she’d have to follow along as best she could.
“Get back on the Tube,” Telach said, giving her directions to the line. “Call us when you get to Monument.”
“Dean’s audio’s back,” announced Rockman.
“Conference it,” said Rubens.
The sound of machinery flooded through the speakers, then faded.
“I don’t think so,” said Dean, his voice muffled slightly.
“Oh yes,” said someone with a light German accent. “You will or you will be killed.”
There was a muffled sound, and then the audio died again.
13
Lia jumped from the train, striding quickly to the left up a short flight of stairs that led to the escalators. They were out of order, and the only way to the surface from here was the stairs or the elevators at the far end, which already had a thick queue from an earlier train. She pushed through the doors to the stairway, ordinarily used only in emergencies. Even Lia, who was in exceptional shape, started to lose her breath about midway up the seemingly endless spiral of metal stairs. Her legs started to stiffen, but she pushed on, angry not so much at choosing the steps or even at losing Dean but at being so out of whack about it. If she were just following someone else, even Tommy Karr, she’d be her normal calm, disgusted self. But Dean — she liked the son of a bitch and was truly worried about him.
Loved, maybe.
Lia emerged from an emergency access closet into the station vestibule, striding across the pedestrian tunnel just ahead of a surge from the nearby elevator.
“Well?” she asked Rockman. “Which way?”
“Get on the light-rail. You have to hurry. It’s coming.”
“Which direction?”
“Take a left.”
“I mean, the train.”
“East.”
“How far? Moscow?”
“If I tell you to,” snapped the runner uncharacteristically. Telach or Rubens must be on his back because they’d lost track of Dean.
A bobby eyed Lia as she went to one of the kiosks to buy her ticket. Lia forced herself to smile for the clerk at the window, then sauntered toward the train. The policeman’s interest seemed to wane; obviously his interest had been purely prurient.
“Shuttle bus — he’s going to London City Airport,” said Rockman in her ear.
“Mmmm,” said Lia, silently cursing. The city airport had connections with much of Europe.
“All right, go along. We’ll work up the flight — there’s something up with his com system. We think one of the thugs hit him with a shot of something, because he’s not talking, just breathing.”
“Mmmm,” said Lia again.
Charlie should have gotten the stinking implant.
Sissy. This would show him.
As she turned toward the track area, two women in rather dowdy polyester pants cut her off.
“Excuse us,” said one of the women, pulling out an ID card. “We’d like to speak with you a minute.”
“Oh?” said Lia.
“What?” asked Rockman.
“Who exactly are you?” Lia asked.
“We’ll discuss that with you,” said the other woman.
“I think you ought to do that right now,” said Lia.
“Scotland Yard,” said the woman.
“Oh, bull,” said Lia.
“MI-5,” said Rockman.
The woman on the right took hold of Lia’s purse.
“You’re going to let go of that right now,” said Lia.
“You’re going to come with us,” said the woman.
As they’d been speaking, Lia had shifted her right arm up against her shoulder, which allowed a small canister of pepper spray to slide down her sleeve. She moved her other hand on the bag as a distraction, and when the second woman came close to her, she pulled her right hand up and palmed the dispenser,
Then she raised her arm and nailed the evil sisters in the eyes.
With two strides, Lia reached a small group of tourists. By the time the two British agents reacted to the pepper spray — one screamed; the other cursed and grabbed for the radio in her purse — Lia was almost to the station doorway.
“You hit them with the pepper spray?” asked Rockman.
“Ground decision,” said Lia. “Which way is the taxi stand?”
“Left,” said Rockman.
Lia saw a policeman starting for her as she reached the door. She turned right on the street, took three steps, then broke into a run. Another entrance to the Tube was just ahead, but as she reached it a double-decker bus loomed on the left. Lia leaped onto it.
“Where am I?” she asked the Art Room.
“In the wrong place at the wrong time,” answered Rubens. “Why did you gas the MI-5 people?”
“Because they were there?”
“I don’t appreciate inappropriate sarcasm.”
“I’m here to display initiative, right? Besides, why did they stop me?”
“It appears you were acting eccentrically and caught their attention,” said Rubens. “In any event, they’re our allies.”
“Then you can apologize,” said Lia. “In the meantime, get someone to tell me the best way to the airport.”
14
The blow to the side of Dean’s head had been meant to persuade him to cooperate, not to knock him out. But Dean decided that he might learn more about what was going on by playing possum and had collapsed against the side of the railcar. This generated an argument between his two abductors in what Dean thought must be German. The thug who had hit him propped him up and tried reviving him; Dean remained slumped over even when the car stopped. After a brief discussion, his abductors produced a bottle of whiskey and poured some onto a cloth, rubbing it in Dean’s face. The sharp stench turned Dean’s stomach, and he began mumbling, then decided the time was ripe to come to before they drenched his clothes.
“Cooperate,” hissed one of the men as Dean shook himself. “You won’t be harmed.”
