Daredevil Riders

Illness

Herbertsaw the Walther PPK pistol hanging from her black leather shoulder holster revealed through the gap between her jacket and shirt.

He inclined his head at the pistol. “Tough trigger pull, isn’t it?”

“You get used to it.” She paused, swirling her remaining coffee with a wooden stirrer. “Let’s face it, this has been a c**k-up from start to finish. The Americans have so many agencies I can’t get a straight answer from any of them. My boss feels the same way. However, America is our chief ally and we intend to do nothing to disrupt that relationship, of course. But it was our PM put at risk and we have an obligation to see it through.”

“And you’ve come to me? Why?”

“James Mr. Green trusts you. Ergo, I trust you. And you were there last night. That makes you valuable.”

“Maybe. But Iran was a long time ago, Agent Anthony.”

“Some things don’t change. Mr. Green said you were one of them.”

“That’s assuming that I really am John Carr.”

“Oh, you are, I have no doubt of that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“When I was here earlier I lifted a set of your prints from a glass in your loo when I went to take a pee. With my boss’s weight behind me, I was able to get a priority search on NIC’s database. Still, it took passing through eight levels of security, a few burned-out computers and two high-level authorizations before the hit came back.” She hiked her eyebrows. “John Carr. Of the CIA’s late and lamented Triple Six Division.”

“Which officially never existed,” he said quietly.

“No matter to me. I was just a nipper when it pulled its last trigger, official or not.” She stood. “Ready to go see the man whose life you saved? He really does want to buy you that pint, Mr. Carr.”

JAMES Mr. Green WAS SITTING in his suite at the Willard Hotel when Herbertand Anthony were ushered in. The Brit spymaster was now seventy-four years old, gray and bowed. His substantial belly poked through the front of his jacket. When he rose from the chair, his arthritic knees quivered a bit, yet the man’s roaming and intelligent eyes clearly showed that while age had decimated him physically, his mental agility remained completely intact. Though he was once over six-two, gravity and infirmity had shaved a couple of inches from his frame. His hair was thinning and slicked back, revealing lines of pink flesh underneath. Flecks of dandruff clung to the shoulders of his blue jacket.

When he saw Stone, his eyes lit up. “You haven’t changed a jot,” said Mr. Green. “Except your hair is white.” He lightly smacked Stone’s flat, hard belly before extending his hand and then gripping Herbertin a bear hug. “And I’m fat and you’re not.”

When they separated, Mr. Green waved them both into chairs. “How the hell have you been, John?”

“I’ve been,” said Herbertsimply.

The Brit nodded in understanding, his expression growing somber. “Yes, I actually have some knowledge of what you mean by that. Events became particularly trying for you.”

“One way to describe it.”

Mr. Green’s eyes narrowed. “I heard about… you know. And I’m sorry.”

“More than I got from my own side. But thank you.”

Anthony looked at Herbertand Mr. Green and said, “Care to share, sir?”

“No,” said Stone. “He wouldn’t.”

Mr. Green didn’t take his gaze off Herbertbut said to her, “John and I are of a generation that will carry our professional secrets to the grave. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she replied quickly.

“John, will you join me for a drink?”

“Little early for me.”

“But it’s already quite late in London, so let’s pretend, shall we? Special occasion and all? Two old friends.”

An attendant brought drinks for all three. Herberthad a beer, Anthony a Beefeater martini and Mr. Green a slender finger of scotch. He looked at Herbertover the rim of his glass. “Gallstones. b****y things driving me mad. But it’s said a small measure of good scotch can kill them dead. At least I believe I heard that somewhere. In this case a rumor will suffice.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

They all drank and Mr. Green dabbed his mouth with his pocket kerchief.

“The PM?” prompted Stone, and Anthony drew a little straighter in her chair as she bit into a fat olive from her drink.

Mr. Green looked pained, rubbed his side and nodded in a perfunctory manner. “Yes, the PM. Solid chap. I actually voted for him. Between you and me he’s a bit dodgy on some things, but what politician isn’t?”

“Dodgy enough to be blown up?” asked Stone.

“Don’t think so, no. Not homegrown, in other words.”

“Lot of enemies out there.” Herbertglanced at Anthony. “Our closest ally. It’s put a bull’s-eye on your little island.”

“Quite so, yes. But we soldier on, don’t we?”

“Who knew he’d be walking across the park?”

“Limited circle,” answered Anthony as Mr. Green continued to rub his side while finishing his scotch. “They’re all being checked out as we speak.”

Mr. Green looked uninterested in this detail, and Herbertwas quick to pick up on that. “Another theory?”

Mr. Green sniffed. “I’m not sure it actually rises to the level of a theory just yet, John.”

“I go by Oliver now.”

He looked chagrined. “Of course you do. I read the briefing papers. Afraid my memory’s just not what it was. Well, Oliver, it’s just a thought.”

“Which is?”

Just as Herberthad done earlier, Mr. Green held up four fingers of his right hand. “A quartet of people in the park last night.” He lowered one finger. “Our man was the one whose tooth you were briefly in possession of.”

“Agent Anthony told me he was one of yours and that he was patrolling the park. But why, if the PM wouldn’t be there?”

“No elaborate explanation. He’d been assigned to patrol the park when the old walk-through plan was still in place. When the PM turned his ankle, we simply left him there to provide a wider berth of security.” Mr. Green held the three fingers up even higher. “But the b****y thing is, John—excuse me, Oliver—the b****y thing is my counterparts over here can tell me absolutely nothing about the other three.”