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His days as an inside man were over.
“Did you get the information on the medical conference he’s supposedly attending?” he asked.
“They’ve posted a website on the Net,” said Erskine. “I downloaded the essentials. Take a look.”
Co
“He’s a keynote speaker. He’s set to deliver a speech tomorrow morning.”
Co
“Dorchester Hotel.”
“Not bad,” said Co
“In London? Four, but one of them is on leave.”
“Four? You’re kidding me.” Co
“Sure thing.” Peter Erskine was thirty, pale, and ru
Co
“I checked with the conference organizers,” said Erskine. “Ransom was invited three months ago. They’re paying his plane fare and his hotel expenses.”
“No,” said Co
There was no need to mention a name. “Her” was Emma Ransom.
Co
“She’s there, Pete. It wasn’t his idea to go to some highfalutin conference in London. He hates that kind of thing. It was Emma’s doing.”
“With all due respect, sir, I can understand her wanting to see her husband, but why would she choose London? It’s the most heavily watched city on earth. They have over fifty thousand closed-circuit television cameras set up around the city, and those are just the ones belonging to the government. The average Joe gets his picture taken fifty times just walking along Oxford Street. It’d be like going into a shark tank with a bloody nose.”
“Sounds just like her,” said Co
It was Emma Ransom who’d blown the operation in Switzerland and all but brought down Division. She figured number one on Co
“What about Ransom’s phone?” he asked.
“His cell? The number we have on file is registered to Vodafone.”
Vodafone was the largest cellular phone carrier in Europe.
“We know anybody in their London office?”
“Not anymore.”
Co
“Three days from now.”
“Three days? So he’s keeping a day free.”
“Technically, yes, but…”
“But nothing. She’s contacted him. She wants a meet.”
“But why?” persisted Erskine. “She’d never risk a meet. Not there. Not now. Not after what happened in Italy in April. She knows we’ll spot her husband coming into the country. She’s better than that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Co
Co
“I need a jet.”
“Sorry, Frank. No can do. You’re not on the list anymore.”
“Forget about the list. This one’s off the books.” Co
“Is this about her?”
“One-way to London,” Co
“How the hell did you know-?”
“Fueled and ready in an hour.”
“Frank, you’re not making this easy.”
Co
Silence filled the line for ten seconds. “I can’t give you the director’s bird, but there’s a Citation at Dulles that’s fueled up with a crew on standby. Only thing is, it’s on FlightAware, the FAA’s tracking list. You’ll be on the radar. That cause a problem?”
Co
“Oh, and Frank…”
“Yeah?”
“I can throw in a flight attendant.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Co
The second call was placed on a secure line to a private number in England. Area code 207, for the center of London.
“It’s me,” he said when the party answered.
“Hello, Frank. Still handing out pink slips?”
“Finished for the moment. In fact, I’m calling to offer you a way back in… if you’re interested.”
“You know I am.”
“Have any plans for tonight?”
“Nothing I can’t break.”
“Good. There’s a cocktail reception I want you to go to. Dorchester Hotel. Six p.m. It’s for a bunch of doctors, so you’ll fit right in. Listen up.”