Panic

“It’s gone lunch time, have you eaten?” asked Cooper, turning his head toward Leopold.

“Not in a while. I’d prefer to wait until we’ve been briefed before thinking about a meal, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Mary.

“No problem, sir,” said Cooper. “We should be there in forty minutes or so, traffic allowing. If you have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them on the way.”

Jerome sat forward. “Who knows we’re here?”

“Not too many people,” said Cooper, easing the car out of the line of slow traffic and into the bus lane. “The superintendent, the commissioner, and a few guys from the FBI who recommended you are all aware of your flight plan. Other than that, I don’t have the clearance, so I couldn’t tell you.”

“You’ll draw too much attention using this lane during busy traffic,” said Jerome. “What if we’re stopped?”

“The number plate, sorry – license plate, is linked to the Met police database. Any problems and my clearance flashes up. Don’t worry, I’ve been trained to keep you safe.”

“Where do you keep your firearm?” said Jerome, ignoring Cooper’s last comment.

“Not licensed to carry, I’m afraid,” said Cooper. “Which reminds me, while you’re on British soil you’ll have to go without a gun. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

Leopold felt Jerome tense slightly and could have sworn the temperature in the car fell by a few degrees.

“I keep a Taser with me at all times,” continued Cooper. “If we run into any trouble, there’s enough power in one of those to put down a baby elephant.”

“Fine,” said Jerome, his voice flat. “I’ll need to conduct a full security assessment before we go out in the field, if you could arrange that for us upon arrival.”

“No problem,” said Cooper, easing the car forward a little faster. “Won’t be long now.”

The rest of the journey passed in silence, other than the occasional question from Mary regarding the scenery as they passed through the suburbs and into the heart of the city. Leopold noticed most of the famous landmarks as they reached the Thames river, and Cooper filled in the gaps where Mary pointed out buildings she didn’t recognize.

They eventually reached Westminster, where they left the highway and joined the line of traffic that snaked through the upmarket streets, lined on either side with glass-fronted office buildings, Georgian apartment blocks, and gleaming department stores flying the Union Jack flag at full mast. The black Audi sailed past most of the stationary vehicles, slowing only as they were joined by the epitomic red double-decker buses that shared the empty lanes. Cooper pulled away from the main road as one of the bus drivers sounded his horn in irritation, steering the car down one of the side roads that led up to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police.

Leopold spotted the iconic New Scotland Yard triangular sign, familiar from countless news reports, spi

“Might not be here much longer,” said Cooper, peering through the gloom for a parking space. “The Met is considering selling the place next year and moving us to Whitechapel. Probably quite fitting, given the current situation.”

Leopold nodded absent-mindedly and pointed out a free space near the elevators. “Will superintendent Swanson be with us soon? It’s been a long trip.”

“Oh yes, he knows you’re here,” said Cooper, lining up the car and reversing into the space. “I’ll take you up to his office straight away.”

Leopold stepped out into the parking lot and followed Cooper to the elevators, where the four of them rode up to the sixth storey offices. Cooper led them through the stuffy corridors until they reached Swanson’s office, where Cooper knocked and opened the door.

Superintendent Swanson was sat behind a large, wooden desk, and was scribbling something on a piece of notepaper as Leopold stepped through into the office. Swanson was middle-aged, perhaps forty-five, and almost completely gray-haired, including his substantial moustache. He wore a smart suit and stood up as Cooper closed the door behind him.

“Ah, Mr Blake and companions,” said Swanson, his thick voice booming across the room. “So glad to finally meet you.”

Leopold shook Swanson’s hand, who gripped a little harder than expected, before taking a seat opposite the superintendent, across the desk. Cooper offered Jerome and Mary a seat on the small sofa at the back of the office, where they would still be able to join in the conversation.

“Thank you, Cooper,” said Swanson, taking his seat. “I’ll update you later.”

Leopold saw Cooper nod politely and leave the room. Swanson’s office was large enough to seat a half-dozen people, and had a generous view of the quiet street outside. The thick, reflective windows filtered the light somewhat, giving the outside world an odd hue that somehow made the interior of the building feel as overcast as the city outside.

“I understand you haven’t yet been briefed,” said Swanson, interlocking his fingers.

“Not yet,” said Leopold. “But I have a few theories as to why we’re here.”

“Really?” said Swanson, leaning forward. “I was told about your particular talents. I’d be interested to hear what you’ve managed to figure out already.”

Leopold heard Mary shift her weight on the sofa behind him, and knew without looking that she was probably rolling her eyes.

“With pleasure,” said Leopold. “The Metropolitan Police are among the finest in the world, with access to almost unlimited resources. However, like many organisations, they will happily outsource where they feel it is required. In this case, you’ve involved the FBI which suggests you believe a foreign involvement.”

“Good, good,” said Swanson. “Go on.”

“Naturally, the FBI are woefully under-resourced and decide to use one of their consultants instead of sending out a team. That’s where I come in.”

“Very astute,” said Swanson. “Anything else?”

“It’s unlikely the FBI would get involved for anything less than a homicide case,” said Leopold. “So I had assumed we would be assisting with a murder enquiry. Once Ms Jordan got involved, my suspicions were confirmed. The NYPD don’t send out their top homicide detectives without reason, even if they do want to keep an eye on me.”

Leopold turned to look at Mary, who was shifting uncomfortably on the sofa next to Jerome, whose large frame took up most of the space.

“Very good, Mr Blake,” said Swanson, beaming.

“I’m not done yet,” said Leopold, raising a finger. “Your man Cooper isn’t what he seems.”

“What do you mean?” asked Swanson, his smile fading.

“A transfer from another police force to assist with a particular case is unusual, especially for someone with a sergeant’s rank. His car was brand new, a luxury model, which someone on his salary would never be able to afford. It’s not a rental, either. His accent was a little jumbled, suggesting someone who had lived away from home for several years, not a person who had just arrived in the last few weeks. All of which suggests to me that Cooper doesn’t work in your department. What’s his involvement with this case?”

Swanson sighed heavily. “Cooper doesn’t work for me, at least not directly. I can’t tell you more than that.”

Leopold sat in silence for several seconds before replying. “I’m sorry, superintendent. I can’t assist if you won’t be fully honest with me.”

Leopold stood and turned to leave.

“Okay, wait,” said Swanson, getting to his feet. “Please, sit down.”

Swanson gestured to the empty chair and Leopold sat down again.

“We picked up a message from the FBI that one of their persons of interest had landed on British soil two weeks ago, on the first of June,” said Swanson, settling back into his chair. “He’s wanted for questioning in co