Andrew Britton - The Assassin

Kharmai interpreted quickly. Nodal points were visual markers on the human face. The markers could be nearly anything distinctive: the width of the mouth, the distance between the eyes, the spacing of the cheekbones. The human face contained eighty nodal points, but for the software to make a match, only fourteen to twenty-two points were needed, with twenty-two rated at 100 percent. Ninety-five percent was encouraging; it meant that twenty-one nodal points had linked the file photograph of Will Vanderveen to the shots taken in London. “And this was when? Two days ago?”

“Al-Askari died two days ago, but we didn’t get the match until yesterday.”

“Huh.” Naomi thought about it, unsure of how this information could help. They didn’t have any hard evidence, but Ryan was certain that Vanderveen had set the trap for them in Ruhmann’s apartment, and Naomi agreed. London was old news.

Then something hit her. “Wait, you said there were two faces?”

“That’s right,” Peterson replied. “The second is a woman, but she didn’t come up on the database. We have no idea who she is, but she was definitely moving with Vanderveen. They’re close together in all the shots, and in one, you can see that she’s holding his arm. According to the report, al-Askari entered the Savoy and stayed inside for approximately thirty minutes. We don’t have shots of Vanderveen entering the hotel, but we managed to get hold of some footage from the Savoy’s CCTV cameras. He was there, and the woman was with him inside the hotel as well.”

Naomi instantly thought back to the night before. She’d been dazed shortly after the explosion, but she could remember the thick smoke rising up from the ground floor. If Vanderveen was shooting from across the river, who had started the fire? It seemed strange that she hadn’t considered it earlier.

“Liz, do me a favor and send me those shots through Langley. We’ll run them through our own database and see if we can’t come up with something more.”

“Already done,” the other woman said. “When I called looking for you, I was put through to a man named Harper. He has the photographs, and you’ll have the security tape from the hotel tomorrow. I just wanted to tell you in person.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it. When are you coming back?”

Naomi sighed, thinking about her recent dismissal. The States didn’t feel much like home at the moment, and London definitely had its perks. She was a British citizen, after all, and MI5 was always looking for experienced people. Maybe Peterson could pull some strings.

“I don’t know,” she finally replied. “But I’ll be in touch. Don’t forget about me, okay?”

“Not a chance.”

Naomi was ushered into the chief of station’s office a few minutes later. Ryan was already there, seated in front of the other man’s desk and looking decidedly unhappy. Ken Fichtner was shouting into the phone, his face blotchy, his tie loose and stained with some unknown substance. He looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. He scowled at Naomi as she walked in, then turned back to the single window behind his desk. Naomi took a seat next to Ryan and pulled her chair close to his. In a low voice, she relayed what Liz Peterson had just told her.

Kealey nodded thoughtfully when she was done. “You’re right… There must have been somebody else to start that fire on the ground floor.”

“He couldn’t have done it himself?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been thinking about this, Naomi. That IED in Ruhmann’s office was very sloppy. We were barely out of the office when it went off. It should have killed us both. Then there’s the fact that he missed us on the roof. That probably means he didn’t have a night scope, or maybe it means he didn’t have time to sight in. Either way, we shouldn’t be here right now.”

“What’s your point?”

“The point is, I don’t think he was well prepared. I think we caught him off-guard. He picked an electrical gate because it was the only thing he had time for. Because he could set it off with a rifle. In other words, he didn’t have time to rig something more sophisticated for the stairs. Certainly not something he could trigger remotely.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She paused. “Of course, there’s always the question of how he knew we were coming in the first place.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Kealey said, remembering Samantha Crane’s unexpected visit to his room at the Hotel Washington.

“Any ideas?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“What do you think about the woman? Do you think we’ll have a record on her?”

“I doubt it,” Kealey murmured, aware of Fichtner’s building irritation. “MI5 has a huge database. If they don’t know who she is, I doubt we can do better.”

Fichtner suddenly slammed down the phone and turned to them without warning. “Okay, you two. You don’t deserve to know this, but since you’re here, I’ll fill you in. According to the preliminary coroner’s report, Thomas Ruhmann died of multiple gunshot wounds to the head. The gun used was a. 22. The body of his assistant, a man named Karl Lang, was discovered in the master bath. He also sustained gunshot wounds, two to the chest, but the gun that killed him was different than the one used on Ruhmann.”

“Well, sir, that fits into what I just-”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Fichtner shouted, slamming a hand onto his desk. Naomi shrank back into her chair, and he continued, his voice turning dangerously low. “You two cost me one of my best officers. I don’t give a shit what you have to say.” He shifted his gaze. “And I don’t care about your theories, Kealey. You can’t prove that Will Vanderveen killed Ruhmann, just as you can’t prove that he set the trap in the office. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done nothing but cause problems since you landed on German soil. You’re lucky it isn’t up to me. Frankly, I’d like nothing more than to call the local police and let them know about your little part in last night’s disaster.”

He paused to catch his breath, then said, “You know what was found in the apartment? You know what you got for your trouble? Nothing. Not a damn thing. No incriminating papers, no hard drive… nothing. In a matter of hours, the Germans are going to figure out who Shane Bennett really was. When that happens, the shit is going to hit the fan, and it won’t help to have you two hanging around. Jonathan Harper wants you back in the States. You’re already booked on a flight to D.C. The plane leaves in two hours.”

Kealey and Kharmai nodded in unison; they hadn’t expected anything less.

Fichtner shuffled some papers on his desk. “A car will pick you up downstairs in ten minutes. They already have your baggage and passports.” He reached for the phone, ready to tackle the next problem. “Now get the fuck out of here. I’m done with both of you.”

It was raining when they stepped outside a few minutes later, though the weather had calmed substantially since the previous night. The vehicle was already waiting for them, a black Chevy Suburban. Kealey went up and knocked on the passenger-side window. When it came down with a light whir, he leaned in and said, “You’re here for us?”

The driver nodded. The frown on his face seemed to indicate that he knew they were no longer welcome in Germany. “Your stuff’s in the back. Got everything you need?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They climbed in, and the vehicle started to move. They passed through a number of checkpoints on the Neustadtische Kirchstrasse before leaving the embassy district. Before long they were racing north on the A111. The driver flicked through the channels on the radio incessantly, finally settling on the latest teenage pop sensation. He hummed along tunelessly as the wipers flicked light rain from the windshield. In the back, Naomi stared out the opaque window, her mind going in a thousand different directions at once. It was hard to believe that they had come this far for nothing, but she felt as though she was missing something, something Bennett had said the day before. She tried to clear her thoughts, knowing it wouldn’t come if she tried too hard, but it didn’t hit her until they reached the airport.