Rules of Vengeance

“Lucky you,” said Kate. “I’ve been plucking mine since I was thirty. Detective Chief Inspector Ford.”

“I figured as much.” Dodd moved his rugby ball off a chair and motioned for Kate to sit. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, beer, diet soda?”

“Water would be fine.”

Dodd picked up a cell phone and called the scout with his order. “Sorry about the getup,” he said afterward. “Coming from a practice. Season’s almost here. I’m only a coach, but I like to stay in shape.” He took up position, leaning against his desk. “Anyway, let’s talk about Robert.”

“You knew him well?”

“I was his tutor,” said Dodd. “I supervised his doctoral work. We met twice a week for three years. We kept up contact since. I’d say I knew him well enough to know he’d never commit suicide. I take it you’re not convinced either.”

Just then Tom Tower stroked the hour of six. Dodd’s eyes shot to the window, and the two of them sat waiting for Great Tom to stop tolling. As the last bell died, he turned his gaze to her.

“No, Professor Dodd,” said Kate. “We’re not.”

“Call me Tony. How can I help?”

“I’m interested in learning a bit about Lord Russell.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” said Kate. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

Dodd granted her permission with the wave of his hand. Kate pulled her notepad and pen out of her jacket. She did not carry a purse. Purses were for girly girls, and she’d never been one of those. Everything she needed-her badge and identification, her phone, her wallet, and her gun-she carried on her person.

“Robbie came up in ’96,” Dodd began. “He was an Old Etonian. But he was different. Humble, not arrogant. He was smart enough to know he didn’t know everything. You don’t see that often, not from that kind of family. The Russells go all the way back to the Domesday Book. They fought with William the Conqueror at Hastings. But Robbie didn’t care about that. He was of the here and now. He put his nose to the grindstone from day one. He had a remarkable mind.”

“How so?”

“He saw past the facts. Oh, he could memorize with the best of them.” Dodd tapped his forehead. “He had an encyclopedia up there. But he went a step further. He saw patterns where mortals saw shadows. He identified trends long before they were anything but random events. He divined intentions. He even dared to predict. And he was right every damn time.”

Kate nodded politely. Patterns. Trends. Intentions. This kind of talk was beyond her. Blather, she called it. She was an O-level girl who liked mayo with her chips and her Gui

“What exactly did Russell study?”

“Twentieth-century Russian history. Postwar, primarily. His dissertation was titled ‘The Case for a New Authoritarian State: Benevolent Despot or Totalitarian Czar?’ He was not optimistic about the course that Russia is taking. He studied the language as well, though that was with another tutor. He spent some time in Moscow doing some work for a bank. He came back afterward and we took him on as a don.”

“And is that what he taught? Russian history?”

“At first, yes.”

“And now?”

Dodd rose abruptly and began pacing the office, cradling the rugby ball in his hands. “I’m not sure what he was up to lately, to be honest.”

“But I thought you said you’d remained friends?”

“We are. I mean, we were. I can’t bring myself to believe that he’s gone.”

“Did you see each other regularly?”

“Not for the past year.”

“Do you recall the last time you saw him?”

“A month, maybe three weeks ago.”

“Did he seem in any way distracted?”

“How should I know?” Dodd turned to her, his eyes wet and angry. He paused, and the rage left him. “We weren’t close anymore. Robbie had his projects. I had mine. I’m in love with the past. He had his eyes on the future. We didn’t talk shop.”

“What about his students?”

“He didn’t have any students. Not anymore. Robbie stopped tutoring a year ago.”

“Then what exactly was his position at the university?”

Dodd stopped pacing and put the ball down. “You mean you don’t know?” he asked, suddenly wary, off-balance. “Didn’t they send you up here?”

“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Kate.

“I thought you’d been cleared for all this. I mean, don’t all of you speak to one another?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Dodd stepped closer to Kate, and when he spoke, his voice had quieted and grown deadly serious. “Look, DCI Ford, it’s like this. Robbie’s work wasn’t a matter fit for public inquiry. I thought you knew that.”

“Was he doing something that might have jeopardized his life?”

“You’re putting me in a hard spot.”

“Am I?” asked Kate.

Dodd didn’t answer. He stood looking at her, shaking his head. Up close, she could see the lines spreading from the corners of his eyes. She no longer found it hard to believe that he was forty.

“Would it surprise you if I told you that we have proof Lord Russell was murdered?” she asked.

Dodd turned away and moved toward the window. “Robbie knew what he was getting into.”

“And what exactly was that?”

“The game.”

“What game?”

“There’s only one, isn’t there?” Dodd glanced over his shoulder. “Now, would you go? I can’t help you with this end of things.”

“I can’t find out who killed Robert Russell unless I know why someone wanted him dead. Please.” Kate paused and guardedly met his eye. “He was your … student, after all. I think he’d want you to help us find who took his life.”

Dodd considered this a moment, then looked away. “ Five Alfred Street,” he said. “That’s where you’ll find them. But don’t expect them to talk to you. They’re a secretive lot. It’s the nature of the business.”

“Who are they? What business are you talking about?”

“OA. Oxford Analytica.”

Kate ran the name across her tongue until she was certain that she’d never heard of it. “What do they do?”

“What Robbie did best.” Dodd’s eyes drifted away from hers, to the open window and the looming form of Tom Tower. “They guess the future.”

9

Emma is in London .

Jonathan pulled himself out of the window and hit the pavement at a jog. She was here. She had come to see him. He continued along Park Lane, then turned left onto Piccadilly. The sidewalk was teeming with pedestrians, tourists and locals mixed together, all appearing to be in every bit of a rush as he. Slow down, he told himself. They’re watching. But who? Where?

According to Blackburn, two of them had been keeping an eye on him at the reception, but it was difficult to imagine anyone being able to follow him through this crowd. He trimmed his gait to a brisk walk, weaving through the oncoming legion. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. If they were there, he didn’t see them.

Just ahead he saw the sign for Green Park Underground station. He descended the stairs recklessly and in the main concourse purchased an All-Day ticket, allowing him twenty-four hours of unrestricted travel on the tube. He was jogging again, and this time he didn’t care who saw him. He didn’t want to allow one more train to pass without his being on it. He followed the signs through the white-tiled tu

A breath of wind, a mounting roar, and the train bulleted toward the platform. He entered the last car and stood near the door, sweating despite the powerful air conditioning. He measured the journey in the beats of his heart. Why don’t I feel happy? he wondered as the train lurched out of the station. Six months had passed since he’d seen Emma. By rights he should be thrilled. After all, Emma had told him she would contact him when the moment was right, and only then. But if anything, he was frightened. What was she doing in London at the same time as he? Why was she showing herself if she knew he was being followed? And he realized then that he wasn’t frightened for himself but for her.