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“What is it, Lance?” Kate asked.
“Tom Riley, London station chief, is on the phone with something important.”
Kate reached for the phone near her and pressed the line button and the speaker control. “Good morning, Tom. We are assembled at the regular morning briefing. Everyone is here. What’s happening?”
A large flat-screen monitor flickered to life and revealed a man in his late forties with an iron-gray, old-fashioned crew cut. “Good morning, Director, everybody. Local TV news is running a breaking news report of a large explosion at a Porsche dealership just off Berkeley Square. One of our people was lunching at the Connaught and saw the foreign secretary leave the dining room perhaps three minutes earlier. A Jaguar that might well be his official car was passing the dealership when the explosion took place, and anyone inside the car is now dead. We’re awaiting the running of the plate number, which begins with FO, indicating a Foreign Office vehicle.” News footage of a burning car filled the screen.
“Tom,” Kate said, “if the foreign secretary was in the car, do you have an opinion as to whether this was intended as an attack on him or if he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“I’m afraid that would be much too large a coincidence to be credible,” Riley said. “Hang on, I’ve just had confirmation that the number plate belonged to the foreign secretary’s car, and our own man reports seeing the man get into the car in front of the Connaught.”
“Any thoughts on the perpetrators?” Kate asked.
“Too many possibilities to make an educated guess at this point, but we’re on it, and we have good sources at New Scotland Yard, so we should have an idea soon.”
“Anything else, Tom?”
“Not at this time, Director.”
“Keep us posted, then.” She pressed the button, and the screen went dark. “Not every day we have the assassination of a cabinet member in a major European ally,” she said to the table at large. “Lance? Anything?”
“Nothing that would have led us to anticipate such an event, Director,” Cabot replied. “Not a peep. I find it interesting that the perpetrators decided to take out a building and God knows who and what else at a corner of London’s most famous square, in an effort to take out one man. I think there’s a statement there.”
“Director,” Holly said, “given the timing, there must have been an operative on or near the site to set off the explosion.”
“Good point, Holly,” Kate said. “Will you call Tom back when we’re done and ask him to get every possible angle of surveillance footage from New Scotland Yard? London has thousands of these cameras. I’m sure Special Branch is already reviewing the recording, but we might be able to spot somebody not in their files.”
“Yes, Director,” Holly said, making a note. As she did, Holly had a thought, but it was too soon to bring it up, and certainly not in this meeting.
“Did I detect something just now, Holly? An idea?”
“Just a wild guess, Director. I’d like to run it down a little before I make an ass of myself.”
That gained a chuckle from the dozen men and women present.
“Oh, go on, Holly, I’d like a view into your frontal lobe. Entertain us.”
Holly shrugged. “If you insist, Director. You will recall that, last week, a London asset of ours and his brother were involved in planting bombs at an L.A. location. They are both dead now.”
“For which we can thank the appropriate person at this table,” Kate said.
Lance lifted an eyebrow. “Did those two gentlemen have an accomplice we are unaware of, Holly?”
“They had a sister,” Holly said, and the room became very still.
“Ah, yes,” Lance said. “Remind us.”
“Jasmine,” Holly said, “the youngest of the three Shazaz siblings.”
“Whereabouts?” Kate asked, looking at Lance.
Lance merely shook his head.
“Holly? A guess?”
“Her two brothers lived in London,” Kate said. “Perhaps she did, too.”
“They had a rather elegant house, as I recall. Where was it?”
