Jeff Abbott - Panic

Not enough time. Not with Evan. She thought of him in that first moment of talking with him, him buying her coffee: But you bought a ticket, teasing her about paying to see his movie. He had told her that he loved her first, but she’d known she loved him weeks before he said the words.

Carrie leaned against the car. A pall of smoke rose from the direction of Kensington Church Street. She had nowhere to go in London, no one to trust.

Evan. She shouldn’t have left him alone. She should have stayed at arm’s length. Her face ached with unshed tears. I’m sorry, sorry for what I’ve done, sorry for what has been lost, Evan, what have I done?

Carrie made her decision. Run and hide. Wait for Bedford’s call. She wiped Pettigrew’s car of prints, out of habit, and walked away from it.

She did not see the men following her from across the street, staggered apart by thirty yards, all three closing in on her.

E van caught Thomas Khan’s jacket sleeve just as the explosion ripped apart the bookstore. Air rushed forward, blown down the throat of the brick way by heat and force. The blast hammered Evan into Khan, shoved them both off their feet, and they sprawled onto the ground. Dust misted and heated the air.

Evan scrambled to his feet, pulling Khan with him.

‘Let me go!’ Khan tried to jerk free. Evan tightened his grip and dragged Khan to the street behind the bookstore. Coughing, they stumbled into a mad dash of shoppers, clerks, tourists, and neighborhood residents. A pillar of fire and smoke rose behind them. Khan twisted away from Evan’s grip, but Evan manhandled him by both arm and neck and hurried him down the street. He pictured where he had left Pettigrew and Carrie. Down a block, then up another two blocks, and they would come up behind Pettigrew’s BMW.

‘This way,’ Evan said.

‘Let me go or I’ll scream for help,’ Khan said.

‘Go ahead. Be an idiot. I’m with people who can protect you.’

‘You fucking bombed my store!’

Rage seized Evan. He gripped Khan by the throat. ‘You were involved in my mother’s death.’

‘Your… mother?’

‘Donna Casher.’

‘I don’t know any Donna Casher.’

‘You’re connected to Jargo, you’re involved.’

‘I don’t know any Jargo.’

‘Wrong. You just ran when you heard his name.’

Khan tried to pull free.

‘Just walk home, Mr. Khan.’ Evan released Khan’s throat. ‘Go on. I’m sure the police will have lots of questions as to why your business was bombed. Get your answers ready. I’ll be happy to talk with them, too.’

Khan stood still.

‘You’ve got both Jargo and the CIA after you, Mr. Khan. But I’m here right now, and if you don’t help me, I guarantee I will kill you. But if you help me, you’re safe from everyone who could hurt you. Decide.’

‘All right.’ He held up his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll help you.’

Evan seized the older man’s shoulder, hurried him along the street. They rounded a corner, raced up toward Kensington Church Street where Pettigrew was parked, fighting against a fleeing crowd.

‘Who sent you?’ Khan asked.

‘Me, myself, and I,’ Evan said.

They reached a block and Evan saw the CIA BMW tear out, backward, Carrie at the wheel.

‘Carrie!’ Evan yelled. ‘Here!’

But in the chaos of noise, the rush of people and cars, she didn’t see him. She spun the car and roared, awkwardly, down the street and out of sight, narrowly avoiding running pedestrians.

Evan groped for his cell phone. Gone. He’d left it in the car with Pettigrew. He shoved Khan against the brick wall of a building. ‘Jargo killed my mother. Your son wanted me to do a documentary about Alexander Bast and it got back to Jargo, and he panicked and started killing people. Now, you’ll tell me everything about my parents and Jargo, or I’ll drag your sorry ass back to the flames that was your bookstore and throw you inside.’

Khan’s eyes were wide with terror and Evan thought, I really could kill him.

‘Listen,’ Khan said. ‘We have to get off the streets. I have a place where we can hide.’ He closed his eyes.

Evan considered. Pettigrew wasn’t at the wheel, didn’t appear to be in the car. Carrie looked hysterical. Where was the CIA officer? Dead in the street, killed by the blast? Evan looked down the wrecked street but couldn’t see in the haze of smoke.

The day had gone horribly wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to haul Khan back to the CIA safe house. Evan knew Khan’s offer could be a trap. He had no gun, no weapon. And no choice. He couldn’t let Thomas Khan simply walk away. Evan stayed close to the man, keeping a firm grip on his arm. Khan no longer appeared inclined to run. He walked with the frown of a man dreading his next appointment.

As they walked south to Kensington High Street Khan said, ‘May I hazard a theory?’

‘What?’

‘You came to my bookstore with the CIA. Or maybe MI5. And surprise, you’re supposed to be dead, along with me.’

Evan gave no answer.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Thomas Khan.

‘You’re wrong.’ No way, Evan thought. No way Carrie could have been involved if the bomb was meant for him. She could have killed him at any point in the past few days if she were against him, and he knew she wasn’t. But Bedford – he didn’t want to think the old man had set him up. Pettigrew. Maybe he was in Jargo’s pocket. Or he was one of Jargo’s Agency clients, a shadow who wanted Jargo protected.

Evan said, ‘Take me to Hadley.’

Khan shook his head. ‘We talk in private. Keep walking.’ Khan ran across the street, Evan still clutching his arm. Khan pointed toward a small bistro. ‘We need transportation. I have a friend who owns that business, he’ll be sympathetic. Wait here.’

Evan tightened the grip on his arm. ‘Forget it. I’m coming with you.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Khan smoothed down his hair, straightened his suit jacket. ‘I need you, you need me. We have a common enemy. I’m not running off.’

‘There’s no way I can trust you.’

‘You want a sign of my good faith.’ He leaned close to Evan, his jaw touching Evan’s, whispering into Evan’s ear, ‘Jargo’s clearly after me now. I am a loose end. So are you. We have a mutual interest.’

He thinks the bomb was planted by Jargo. Not the CIA. Or at least he wants me to think he blames Jargo. ‘Why are you sure it’s Jargo?’

‘I protected him long enough. But no more. Not when he’s after me now. He wants war, he gets war. Wait here.’ He shrugged free and Evan knew he’d have to fight Khan, here on the street, to keep him close, and it would attract attention. He watched Khan hurry and vanish into the cafe.

Evan waited. Panicked Londoners jostled past him, a hundred people passing him in a matter of minutes, and he had never been so alone in his life. He decided that he had made a huge mistake in letting Khan walk free. But moments later Khan drove up to the curb.

‘Get in,’ he said.

T homas Khan headed southeast on the A205. Evan flicked on the radio. The news was full of the explosion on Kensington Church Street. Three confirmed dead, a dozen injured, firefighters battling to bring flames under control.

‘Where is Hadley?’ Evan said.

‘Running and hiding, just like you and me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve hidden Hadley from Jargo. I thought my influence with Jargo could survive our… recent problems. I was wrong.’

‘What problems?’

‘Once we’re safe.’

Khan exited in Bromley, a large borough of suburban homes and businesses. He navigated a maze of streets and finally steered into a driveway of a good-sized house. The driveway snaked behind the home and he parked where the car couldn’t be seen from the street.