Rules of Vengeance

Meadows’s face dropped like a stone. “For real? The police?”

“You heard about the car bomb today?”

“Bloody savages,” said Meadows. “London’s not safe to walk in any longer.”

“I was there. That’s where I got these cuts. Flying glass. Debris. In fact, you could say I was part of it.”

“You’re joking.” But there was no mirth in Meadows’s voice.

“I wish I were.”

“What were you doing there?” asked Meadows. “I mean, why… how?”

“I can’t tell you. Believe me, you don’t want to know. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“Safe? You’re on the run from the police and you come to my house where my children are asleep. Don’t tell me about safe. If you’re dragging me into something, I want to know what it’s about.”

“I can’t. It’s not just about hiding from the police, either. There’s more to it than that.” Jonathan stood and made to leave. “I’m sorry I came. I see now that I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t thinking.”

Meadows lumbered to his feet. “Wait just a second. You haven’t been arrested, have you?”

“No,” said Jonathan. “Not officially.”

“You didn’t set off that bomb, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m not harboring a bloody serial killer?”

Jonathan couldn’t stop from smiling. “No. You’re good there.”

“All right, then. Offer holds. You can stay as long as you like. But I’ll have to tell Pru. Not all, mind, but at least some of it. You can have Fra

“The couch downstairs is fine,” said Jonathan, standing.

“Wouldn’t hear of it. Can’t have the best surgeon I’ve ever known busting his back on that monstrous contraption. We’ve got to take good care of those magic hands. Keep them in good stead until they can save some more lives.”

“Thank you, Jamie. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“But what are you going to do?” asked Meadows.

“Right now? I’m going to sleep.”

“I mean tomorrow or the next day. You can’t run forever.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Then what?”

Jonathan threw a hand on Jamie’s meaty shoulder and gave a pat.

Magic hands.

The words hit him like a hammer. Emma had used the same words to describe his surgical skills last night.

It had to be a coincidence, he thought, looking into Meadows’s eyes. Surely it was a common enough expression. But no amount of mental cajoling, no calls on camaraderie or loyalty could fool him. A surgeon might have gifted hands or supple hands or healing hands, but “magic hands”? He’d never heard the expression before.

Jonathan stared harder at Meadows. Now that he thought of it, the mention of his magic hands wasn’t the only coincidence. Jamie’s first posting with the National Health Service had been in Cornwall. Emma’s cover story had her growing up in Penzance, also in Cornwall. Jamie had been up at Oxford. Emma claimed to have graduated from there, as well.

And what about the agenda downstairs? Prudence Meadows had said in no uncertain terms that they had been pla

There is no such thing as coincidence. It was practically Emma’s mantra.

“This way to Fairyland,” said Meadows. “Come, good Oberon.”

Jonathan followed him into the bedroom. After saying goodnight, he waited a few minutes, then crept into the hallway. The corridor was dark and silent. Meadows had gone back downstairs. His voice could be heard talking urgently on the phone in the kitchen. No doubt he was calling Division, letting them know he had Emma Ransom’s husband in captivity and asking for instructions.

Jonathan padded into Meadows’s study. By the light of the desk lamp, he searched for a weapon. His eyes landed on a letter opener. It was long and sharp, with a carved ivory handle. More of a dagger than an office tool. He picked it up.

Silently he descended the stairs.

Meadows was sitting at the kitchen table. He looked up abruptly. “You scared me.”

Jonathan approached cautiously, the letter opener pressed against his leg. “Who were you talking to?”

Meadows tried on a smile. “Oh, that… nobody.”

“Who, Jamie?”

“My nurse. Have a special case in the morning. I’d just remembered that we needed some extra meds.”

“You said I had magic hands.”

Meadows considered this, confused. “Did I?”

“Emma used the same expression when I saw her yesterday. I was wondering how it came up between the two of you.”

Meadows peered at Jonathan, mystified. “The two of us? Me and Emma? It didn’t. I’ve never met your wife.”

“I just thought it was an odd coincidence. I mean, I’ve never heard it put that way before, and then here you are talking on the phone about me. It was about me, wasn’t it, Jamie?”

“Of course it wasn’t. I told you, it was my nurse.”

Jonathan went on. “What time is it in Washington, anyway? Let’s see… it must be just about five in the afternoon. All the staff still at their desks? Emma said Division works twenty-four/seven. Lights always on.”

Meadows was shaking his head. “I wasn’t talking to D.C. I was talking to my office.”

“At eleven o’clock?” Jonathan registered his disapproval. “I’d grade your story as weak, Jamie. Not up to Division standards.”

Meadows smiled uncomfortably. “What the hell is this ‘Division’ you keep talking about?”

“You tell me. After all, you’ve been there long enough. I am curious: did they bring you in before Oxford or after? Did you point Emma in my direction? That’s one thing I’ve always wondered about.”

“Would you stop this nonsense? Actually, Jonathan, you’re frightening me.”

“What did they want you to do? Keep me here until they show up? Kill me or just follow me?”

“Kill you?” Meadows’s eyes widened. “I think you’d better leave. You were right. It isn’t safe.”

“You worked in Cornwall,” said Jonathan.

“At Duchy Hospital. So what?”

“That’s near Penzance, where Emma said she was from. At Oxford, you were at Brasenose before medical school. So was Emma. And then there’s the matter of the couch.”

“The couch?”

“I guess that’s just good tradecraft. You couldn’t let me sleep there. It’s too near the front door. I could up and go without your knowing it. You needed me upstairs, where you could keep an eye on me until your friends come.”

A sheen of sweat had popped out on Meadows’s forehead. “Friends? What friends? Jesus, Jonathan, get a grip! It’s me, Jamie, you’re talking to.”

But Jonathan wasn’t listening. He knew about Emma’s training. It was all about cover. He glanced toward the front door. “Are they coming now?”

It was then that Meadows discovered the letter opener. “Don’t do it,” he said, his voice rising. “Whatever it is you have in mind. Don’t. I’m not with Division. I’ve never met Emma. Swear on my children’s lives. Whole magic hands thing-coincidence. Something I must have heard somewhere. Pure chance.” He was rising from his chair, hands in front of his body. The sweat was coming now, gathering in his bushy eyebrows and sliding down his pink cheeks. “Pru!” Meadows began to call, but Jonathan was around the table and on him before he could get the name out. He clamped a hand over Meadows’s mouth and pressed the tip of the letter opener against his neck. “Quiet,” he said.

Meadows nodded furiously.

Jonathan lowered the blade, then removed his hand from Meadows’s mouth. “I need some money.”

“In my wallet. It’s on the counter by the key basket. Take whatever’s there. Should be several hundred quid. Take the ATM card, too. PIN’s one-one-one-one. Please, no lectures. It’s too easy, I know already. You can have my car, too. It’s a Jag. Fast as all hell. I won’t call the police. Not right away, anyway. I mean, later I’ll have to. Insurance and all that. The thing cost a fortune.”