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Jasmine dug a cell phone out of her tote bag and began to dial a number.
The assault squad ran up the steps of the house, six men in black uniforms with helmets, heavy armor vests, face protection, and automatic weapons. The front door was locked; a team member carrying a heavy horizontal sledge swung it at the lock, and the door came open. The six men crowded into the hallway.
“Flat door unlocked,” one man said, trying the knob. The team flooded into the flat, weapons raised, shouting.
Jasmine pressed the last number.
As Mason watched from across the street, the front of the building blew out. He flung himself into the corner behind him as the window blew in, filling the room with glass and debris.
The estate agent began to rise from her seat, then she was struck by something heavy and sat down again. When Mason looked at her, most of her head was gone.
He pressed a speed dial number. “Major explosion at subject house. Many dead or wounded. Full immediate response!”
From down the street he heard the Klaxons of backup vehicles coming.
Holly finished the last of her to-do list and looked at the clock: later than she thought, and she was hungry. She packed her briefcase and shut it, then reached for the phone to call Stone. It rang.
“Holly Barker.”
“It’s Felicity Devonshire,” she said, and she sounded weary and dejected.
“It’s very late there,” Holly said.
“We’ve had a major flap,” Felicity replied. Then she gave Holly a brief account of what had happened.
“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “Casualties?”
“Six of our people are dead, and one collateral.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Exactly. We’re not sure what went wrong yet. We circulated the photo I sent you to a wide intra-government list, and one of them spotted her. We had people there in twenty minutes, but apparently Jasmine had gone. And she left a very large surprise behind her.”
“Anything at the site that might help?”
“We’re still sifting through the rubble. We had to prop up the building. It’s listing alarmingly and will have to come down. Fortunately, in the early afternoon the other occupants were at work.”
“Why was your spotter there?”
“She and her husband had only recently moved in. They met there at lunch to look at some fabrics together, and it turned into a matinee, or she would have been back at work when Jasmine came home.”
“How on earth did Jasmine know she had been spotted?”
“We’re not sure, but when we interviewed the woman at the FO she had a ministry ID clipped to her collar. Jasmine might have spotted it.”
“This is just going to get harder now, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Can our London people be of any help?”
“No, now we have Special Branch involved, and, of course, our colleagues at MI-5 are on the job, furious that they weren’t consulted before our raid. I’m putting out bureaucratic fires everywhere.”
“You have my sympathy,” Holly said. “I’ll see that the photo is circulated at the embassy. Who knows, somebody might spot her somewhere.”
“That can’t hurt, I suppose,” Felicity said wearily.
“Get some sleep, Felicity, you’ll have new ideas in the morning.”
