From Russia Without Love

12

Chris checked the GPS map on his smartphone. Because of the one-way streets, the driver would have to circle around to Hyde Park and the Achilles statue before taking a more direct course to Buckingham Palace. The Queen’s Gallery at the Palace was well within walking distance of Victoria Station, which seemed like a great point of egress. If someone later asked the driver where he took his passengers, he’d only be able to tell them Buckingham Palace, and it’d be difficult to figure out where Chris and his companions went after that. “You can drop us off at the Queen’s Gallery,” Chris told the driver.

Chris had been so focused on their immediate survival he’d ignored the old man, who’d closed his eyes and balled up in the corner of the cab, his mouth moving without opening. “We’re not going to hurt you, sir,” Chris said.

The man’s mouth stopped moving.

“We just need a ride to the Queen’s Gallery, and then we’ll disappear.”

The elderly man opened an eye, but when he saw Chris looking at him, he closed it again.

As they neared the Achilles statue, Chris felt his heart rate pick up before he scanned to see if any of the Russian thugs were lingering in the park. When no signs of the thugs appeared, he managed to take in deep breaths, calming his pulse.

Within minutes, the driver stopped near the Queen’s Palace, and Hannah paid him before parting company and melting with Chris and Sonny into the surrounding crowd. They examined the grounds for anyone who might’ve followed them, but there were no signs of surveillance.

When their taxi vanished, Chris said, “I’ll take point to Victoria Station.”

They strolled southwest like other sightseers leaving the palace. “The hotel room was ours for a week, right, Chris?” Hannah asked. He nodded, and she continued. “So that should give us time to get someone in there to make sure we didn’t leave anything behind and check out for us.”

“Someone from the Agency?” Sonny asked.

“The London chief is too much of a chair-hugger to send a cleaner for us,” Hannah said. “Avoids espionage like the plague, but he attends to all the brown-nosing opportunities.”

Sonny huffed. “Then who can help us?”

“I know a guy who might be able to clean up the hotel mess,” she said with a faraway gaze. She pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

As they walked by Grosvenor Park on the way to the station, images of Evelina bleeding in the stairway flooded Chris’s mind. She was untrustworthy and had tried to kill him, but guilt still gnawed at him. A number of the enemies he’d shot, he’d never spoken to, but in Evelina’s case, he’d interacted with her on more than one occasion. Instead of becoming desensitized to killing her, he’d become sensitized. He wondered what exactly her role in all of this was and what she hoped to gain by shooting him. Hannah nudged him as she hung up her phone and put it away.

“You okay?” she asked.

He gave her a tight smile and nodded. None of these feelings or thoughts were conducive to accomplishing the mission, so he needed to pack them in a box, push them into the warehouse of his mind, and stack them with the others. But then he remembered something: he had Evelina’s phone. Maybe thinking about her wasn’t all for nothing.

He put his hand in his pocket, confirming it was still there.

They descended the steps to the Victoria subway station, and Hannah quickly bought tickets and handed them out. “I contacted an old acquaintance, William Teach. He used to work for the Circus,” she said, using a nickname for MI6. “But now he works for himself. He said we can stay at his house, and I’m hoping he’ll be able to help us, too.”

While they rode the Tube, Chris pulled out Evelina’s phone and searched for intel. In her web search history there was UKP’s website and another link for a map of the area around UKP. Then he connected to Young’s website, so he could gather more information from Evelina’s phone and analyze it. Chris shared what he’d found with Hannah and Sonny, and they agreed her web search history supported the theory that Xander’s next target was UKP headquarters.

After five minutes, the train stopped, and the SOG trio exited at South Kensington Station, where Hannah led them on a walk several blocks to a house on Queensberry Place. Parked in front was a red Ferrari. Behind the car stood a six-story white stucco Victorian. A small set of outdoor stairs led to what the British called the “ground” floor. Below was a basement, and above the ground floor were the first, second, third, and fourth floors. The building shared walls with the houses on either side and had no front yard, but in this upscale neighborhood of London, the house was probably worth over twenty million dollars.

Hannah spoke quietly as she led them to the front door. “This place is a far cry from where William’s foot soldiers live, mostly in the slums of World’s End. And it’s doubtful his neighbors know how connected he is to the underworld, if it all.”

She rang the doorbell, and a man dressed in suit and tie answered the door, introducing himself as William’s assistant. After Hannah gave her name, the man showed them in to a reception room and offered them a seat while he left to inform William they’d arrived.

They sat, and Chris studied the reception room. Three of the walls were brown with a leaf pattern and one wall was black and white with a leopard design. The furniture was a dizzying mix of colors and styles — classic Victorian, hip sixties, and two twisted lamps that appeared to be descended from outer space. The whole room shouted nouveau riche and made Chris’s head ache.

Footsteps sounded, and William appeared, wearing a neon suit jacket and white shirt with the collar opened wide. He had black hair, a tan complexion, thick moustache, and an unlit cigar in his mouth. His strong, husky build seemed soft around the edges, like a former dockworker who now enjoyed a few too many fine dinners.

“Welcome!” he said with a big smile and outstretched arms.

Seeing the outstretched arms, Chris remembered last year when a duplicitous Agency bastard named Jim Bob welcomed him with outstretched arms. Jim Bob had nearly killed Chris and Hannah. Chris didn’t trust William. Not yet. The man would have to earn it.

Chris and Hannah stood at William’s greeting, but Sonny remained seated.

Hannah smiled and gave the man a hug. A knot formed in Chris’s gut, and heat rose up his neck. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous. No one else’s hands should be on her, but he had to contain himself. He took a deep breath and unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d formed.

“It’s been awhile,” she said.

“I thought I’d never see you again — especially not here in London. How are things?” he asked.

Hannah got other people to reveal themselves, but she revealed little, and often what she revealed was just another cover story, like layers on an onion. “This is Chris. And Sonny,” she said with a smile that appeared to disarm William.

“Welcome,” he said.

Chris reached out and shook his hand. “Hi.”

Sonny had a sour look on his face like he’d eaten a lemon. “You said welcome twice.”

William’s smile began to fade, but Hannah laughed just in time. “Don’t pay Sonny too much attention. He’s like that with everyone. Sometimes he likes to stir things up a bit.”

“Have a seat,” William said, gesturing, “please.”

Chris and Hannah returned to their spots, William following suit. He lit his cigar and offered some to the others, but only Sonny accepted, his frowning face lifting.

“Sounds like you’re still getting in trouble,” William said as he settled his gaze on Hannah.

“Same old, same old,” she said.

He took a puff on his cigar. “Have you seen Maximilian lately? What was his last name… Wolf-something?”

“Wolf is dead.”

“Dead? That’s terrible… How?”

“It happens,” she said matter-of-factly, not elaborating. “Speaking of business, yours seems to be doing well.”

He took another puff on his cigar. “Always the tight-lipped woman of mystery,” he said with a grin. “There’s a lot of contract work to be done: Europe, Middle East, Africa.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I got tired of gardening. Well, I wasn’t very good at it, either. All my tomatoes died.”

Sonny took his cigar out of his mouth and tapped it on the edge of the ashtray. “So now you’re a mercenary.”

“Same things I did in the Circus, gathering intel, acting on it, except now my work isn’t as difficult and I get paid more. People with experience like us can make up to ten times what our governments paid us.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of money,” Hannah said.

“You saw the Ferrari out front,” William said.

She shrugged. “I like my car.”

William looked at Chris and Sonny, but they didn’t say anything.

“Now I get paid what I’m worth,” he went on. “And I don’t have to answer to a ringleader. Hannah, you and I would make a most smashing team.”

“Are you trying to take Hannah away from us?” Chris asked, unable to push down the aggression rising in his voice. “Break up our act?”

William casually blew smoke in the air. “Not break up the act. Merely offer a better contract.”

Hannah shook her head. “Always the charmer.”

“I’m serious,” William said.

She looked at Chris and Sonny. “I already have a team.”

William smiled. “If you can vouch for them — which I’m sure you can, otherwise they wouldn’t be with you — I could use them, too.”

Sonny blew cigar smoke at William. “We’re not for sale.”

Hannah shot Sonny a glare, but he was unfazed.

William changed the subject. “So you need a place to stay? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” she said with an even smile.

William grinned back. “Anything you need.”

Chris didn’t like the hungry way he looked at her, like he was eyeing dessert.

“I need a cleaner, too,” she said.

He tapped his cigar on the ashtray. “That won’t be free.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” She paused. “And I need to find someone.”

William stopped smoking on his cigar. “I can arrange for the cleaning, but I can’t find someone for you. I don’t do that for governments anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a sly smile. “I thought you worked for anyone. Anywhere.”

“Not for anyone. Not anymore.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Not enough money and too much risk.”

“You can clean up, but you can’t find out where a person is?”

“I can clean up what’s already been done,” William clarified, “but I won’t be a part of what’s about to be done. Not for governments.”

“I’m not asking you for my government. I’m asking you as a personal favor,” she said.

William smiled and shook his head. “You look amazing. It’s so good to see you again.”

Hannah flashed him a petawatt smile.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.

“Xander Metaxas,” she said.

William stroked his chin with a finger. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Code-named Lullaby.”

The mention of Lullaby caused William’s whole being to darken.

“So you know him.” Chris said.

“Know of him,” William said.

“What do you know?” Hannah asked.

William shifted his gaze to the carpet. “More than I care to.”

“He took a hostage in Athens, the White House Chief of Staff’s son-in-law. When the hostage tried to escape, Lullaby killed him.”

“Maybe the hostage is lucky to be dead,” William said.

“I’ll advance you the money for expenses,” Hannah said, “and if your expenses run higher, you know I’ll cover them.”

William shook his head. “I already told you I can’t.”

“Can you tell me what you know about Lullaby?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Like his aliases or his mode of operation.”

William’s mouth became taut. “His mode of operation is like Ebola. He destroys everything. And he stays low under the radar until he starts infecting people.”

It seemed the man knew more than he was letting on, so Chris piped up again. “Why does the mention of his name trouble you?”

William let out a sigh, still looking down at the floor, as if he were scrolling through his memories. Then he leaned forward in his seat. “Troubled doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about Lullaby. When I was in the Circus, we had a top agent in Greece. Lullaby found out the agent was spying on one of his people, so he had one of the agent’s relatives castrated. Then Lullaby sent the severed organs to the agent. After the agent had some time to reflect on matters, Lullaby put a bullet in the same relative’s skull. The agent continued spying for us, so Lullaby had another of the agent’s relatives killed, sending body parts to the agent again. The agent finally hung himself. Then Lullaby sent a message to our embassy saying the same fate awaited any future spies.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to mess with Lullaby.”

Chris leaned forward in his chair and pitched his voice low. “Oh, but I do want to mess with Lullaby.”

“Dead or alive,” Hannah said.

“Preferably dead,” Sonny said.

William slumped in his seat as if suddenly shouldering a massive burden. “Be careful what you wish for.”