Christopher Reich - Rules of Vengeance

“Be that as it may homicide needs to stay involved.”

“Out of the question. If you don’t like it, take it up with the PM. The Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms are sitting right now. Because the bomb went off so close to Whitehall, they’re trying to decide if it was an attack against government or simply a one-off to take out Ivanov. The home secretary is considering asking for an evacuation of all government offices in Westminster. It’s far beyond homicide.”

“I brought this case to you,” said Kate, slowly and clearly. “I have every right to stay involved.”

“As I recall, I contacted you. It was me was standing in your kitchen this morning.”

“Because of the work my team had accomplished. You knew I was onto something and you wanted my help.”

“I’d say things have changed considerably in the past twelve hours.”

“But Jonathan Ransom can’t help you. Can’t you see that he was telling the truth?”

“Actually, I can’t. All the plastic explosives residue we found on his clothing must be blinding me. After Ransom gets cleaned up, we’re going to make a tour of the spots where he claimed to have met his wife. If he isn’t more forthcoming, I’m taking him back to Hereford to have a full and frank exchange of views with some of the lads from the regiment.”

“You’re going to beat it out of him? That will get you precisely nowhere.”

“We would never touch him, and you know it. But we might do our best to scare him.” Graves peeled back the window sheers. “You see, DCI Ford, I think our doctor is lying,” he said, gazing out over Hyde Park. “I’m convinced that he knows precisely where his wife has run to. I’ve got this theory: the reason Ransom was running toward his wife wasn’t to stop her from blowing the bomb. It was to make her blow it more quickly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ivanov was in the first Mercedes, not the third. Ransom saw him as he passed by and was trying to warn his wife to blow the device earlier.”

“The windows on those cars were dark as night,” retorted Kate. “No one could see through them. Ransom couldn’t have known who was in what car.”

Graves turned, his arms crossed. “I think we’re finished here.”

But Kate stood her ground. “It’s the murder angle that will get you to Emma Ransom before Ransom and all of your intelligence snooping.”

“Will it?” Graves spoke over her shoulder as he walked to the door.

“We must find the woman who sent Russell the video transmission. It was her source that tipped off Russell about Victoria Street. That means her information came from within the organization that was planning the attack. I’d wager somewhere close to the top. It’s all that nonsense about TINs, trusted information networks. If we can find out where she got the tip, we’ll know who gave Emma Ransom her marching orders. The woman holds the key to this.”

“But we’ll never find her. The odds of tracing the message back to its source are nil. I’m sticking with Ransom. You know the saying, A Yank in the hand…’” Graves paused, his fingers curled around the doorknob.

“In the meantime, you’re free to pursue the case as you wish, but it will be independent of my office. We run Jonathan Ransom ourselves.” He opened the door to the hall. Two plainclothes officers ducked their heads around the corner. Graves waved the all-clear.

“What about Reg Cleak?” asked Kate.

“Who?” Suddenly Graves remembered, and his face hardened. “Oh yes, I’m sorry about your partner.”

“When I leave here, I am going to his home. I plan on telling his wife that I’m personally assuming responsibility for finding the individuals and the organization or government responsible for his death. It would help my investigation immeasurably if I could add Five’s resources to my own.”

“Goodnight, DCI Ford.”

“For Reg’s sake,” argued Kate.

Graves moved his face closer to her, so that she could see the brown flecks in his blue eyes, and the conviction behind them. “This is the black world, DCI Ford. We don’t do favors.”

Jonathan stayed in the shower until Graves threw open the door and told him to get the hell out. The intelligence officer stood a body’s length away, watching Jonathan dress, murmuring “Hurry it up” and tossing the monitoring bracelet from one hand to the other. Jonathan took his time, resisting the proffered underwear and pants until he was good and ready. He shaved and combed his hair, then left the bathroom to find a clean shirt.

But all the while he was sending himself the same message. Emma wasn’t finished. The bombing was just another step along the way. It didn’t matter whom she was working for, or why, or whether their objectives were justified. He knew, and that was enough. Her acts of crime had become his. In the eyes of the law and his own, he was Emma’s lifelong accomplice. There was only one way to clear his name. He must stop her. He must find Emma before the authorities did.

It was then that he noticed that the suite was empty but for the two of them.

“Where’s Detective Ford?” Jonathan asked, unsettled by the silence and isolation.

“Detective Chief Inspector Ford was called away.”

“So I can get changed out here?”

“And about time,” muttered Graves. “Get a shirt and a jacket. Come on, then.”

“Will I be coming back?”

“That depends on you.”

Jonathan looked at Graves, at the bulge under his left arm that was undoubtedly a pistol, at the electronic bracelet clutched in his hand. He noticed for the first time that Graves was actually smaller than he, and thinner without the armor of his suit. His hands were slim and manicured, almost ladylike. He also noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the slackening of his earlier ramrod posture. It was a look Jonathan recognized all too well. He’d seen it countless times glancing in the mirror after a day and a night in surgery. Graves was exhausted.

Jonathan went about his business with a newfound alacrity. It was just the two of them. Outside there were more. There’d been two on the door when he’d entered. No doubt there were a half-dozen posted downstairs, too. There would be more joining the group wherever he might travel. But for now… for these next few minutes, there were just the two of them.

Jonathan grabbed a button-down from the closet and put it on. He took a windbreaker, too, and threw it over the back of a chair. It was still warm outside, but he wasn’t thinking about now. He was thinking about six hours from now, or twelve, or, if there was any luck remaining on his side of the ledger, longer. He snatched his wallet off the dresser and slipped it into his back pocket, then grabbed a pair of socks out of the drawer.

Graves was pacing like a guard dog, cell phone to his ear. “And what did the ERT find in Hampstead? Nothing? Impossible! My man said the car was parked there. Saw it with his very eyes. Check again. There’s got to be some residue inside the garage. Any cameras on the street? Then ask the neighbors -someone had to see them going in and out of the house. The owners were on vacation. In Immingham? No one takes a vacation in Immingham.”

He snapped the phone closed and glared at Jonathan. “Seems to be a hole in your story, Doc. Problem with that residence north of town where you claim to have seen your wife grab the car. I’m wondering whether I should deliver you forthwith to the Inquisition or if I should follow my hallowed rule book and offer you a second chance to come to Jesus.”

But for all Graves’s urgency, Jonathan affected not to notice. He stood with his back to Graves, head bent, groaning.