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Holly and Stone had dinner on the Gulfstream G-450, and she managed to get a few hours of sleep before the flight attendant woke her in time to shower and change before landing.
When she was back in her seat, the flight attendant came back to brief her. “There’s fog in London,” she said, “but the pilot says the ceiling is eight hundred feet, so we shouldn’t have a problem landing. The approach is steeper than at most airports and the runway shorter, so be prepared for that. An embassy car will be waiting on the ramp for you.” She went back to the front of the airplane and buckled in.
“Excuse me,” Stone said, rising from his seat. “I want to watch this approach from the jump seat.” He went forward.
Holly could see nothing but gray outside the windows. As the flight attendant had warned, the approach was steep, and they broke out of the clouds in time to get a good look at the Thames. On touchdown, the reverse thrusters came on, and the pilot braked hard. A moment later they were turning off the runway and onto a ramp.
Stone came out of the cockpit grinning. “That was exciting,” he said.
The attendant opened the door, and they descended to the ramp, where a car was waiting that looked much like the presidential limousine.
“They’ve sent the ambassador’s car,” Holly said, when they were inside. “This is embarrassing.” The door shut with a soft clunk, and they could barely hear the sound of an aircraft taking off from the runway.
“I could get used to this,” Stone said, stretching his legs.
“I can’t believe they sent this car,” Holly said.
“In the circumstances,” St
one said, “I think they wanted you transported in something bombproof.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”
She dropped off Stone and her luggage at the Connaught, then the car continued the short distance to the embassy. She was met by two Marine guards at a side entrance on Upper Brook Street, and whisked to the top floor.
“The ambassador wants to see you,” one of the guards said as the elevator stopped. A moment later she was in a large office being greeted by a gray-haired, well-tailored gentleman.
“Ms. Barker,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Ambassador Walters. I just wanted to say hello before you go down to the Agency floor, and extend my condolences for the death of Tom Riley. He was a good man, and I relied on him completely.”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Holly replied. “I’m grateful for your condolences, and I’ll pass them on to the director when we speak.”
She was escorted back to the elevator by the two Marines, then down a couple of floors. They emerged from the elevator into a small lobby. A receptionist stood and indicated a steel door, which was electronically opened. After that it was just offices, like everywhere else.
She was escorted to a large conference room, where Ann Tinney, a tall, handsome woman in her fifties, introduced her to a dozen men and women around the table, then offered her the chair at the head.
“Good morning,” Holly said. “I’m glad to meet you all, and I want to tell you how sorry I am for your terrible loss of Tom Riley. I knew him pretty well and admired him.
“The director has appointed me acting station chief until things become more … regular. I understand that I’m not Tom Riley, and I’m going to need the help of each of you to get through this.”
Holly turned to Ann. “Now, I’d like to be briefed on exactly what happened, the casualties, and the damage. I’ll have to report to the director shortly, and I want to be prepared.”
Ann Tinney operated the video equipment from the seat next to Holly. “We’ve put together clips from a dozen surveillance cameras to give you a graphic idea of what happened.” She brought up the first video.
“Here we have the DSL van, stolen, of course, pulling up to the barrier at the Upper Grosvenor Street end of Burnes Street. You’ll hear the police constable call in the driver’s request to deliver a large box, addressed to Tom Riley, with a return address of Langley.” The audio played, and the barrier was removed so that the crate could be wheeled to the back door.
“Stop,” Holly said.
Ann stopped the footage.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Holly said. “Why would Tom leave his office and go downstairs to receive a shipment, even if it was from Langley?”
“We’re embarrassed by that,” Ann replied, “but as you heard, the delivery required his signature, and since it was from Langley, Tom thought it important enough to go downstairs himself. There is nothing in our security protocol that would prevent him from signing personally.”
“Let’s get the protocol amended immediately to cover that situation.”
“Certainly. Shall I continue?”
