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“Let’s hope,” Overholt said. “Now on another note, I got a call from the head of MI5 thanking Meadows and Seng for the work they are doing on the nuclear bomb problem. Apparently Meadows located a videotape that gave them a license-plate number they think will lead them to the bomb.”
“I’m glad,” Hanley said.
Overholt paused before speaking again. “Officially they also asked if your people could back off now—they want to handle it from here.”
“I’ll let Meadows and Seng know when they phone in,” Hanley told him.
“Well, Max,” Overholt said, “if I were you, I wouldn’t be in a rush to take their call.”
“I get your drift, Mr. Overholt,” Hanley said as he hung up.
“Overholt says the British want Meadows and Seng to back off and let them handle the stray nuke,” Hanley said to Stone.
“You should have told me,” Stone said. “They just telephoned in to have me run a British motorcycle plate.”
“Did you locate the owner?”
“Name and address,” Stone said.
“What else did they need?”
“I faxed several dossiers to Meadows’s laptop. The land line he used was a number listed in the directory as Pub ’n Grub on the Isle of Sheppey.”
MEADOWS HAD LEARNED long ago that threats only worked when someone had something to lose. The agents from MI5 and the local police had made it clear to the owner of the pub what might happen if he did not cooperate. They forgot to mention what might happen if he did. It’s easy to gather bees with honey. For information, money works better.
“Gold watch, huh,” Meadows was saying as Seng walked inside and nodded.
“Piaget custom,” the owner said.
Meadows slid five hundred-dollar bills across the bar as Seng walked over and sat down at the bar. “What do you want to drink?” Meadows asked Seng.
“Black and tan,” Seng said without hesitation.
The owner went off to draw the drink. Meadows bent down and whispered to Seng, “How much cash do you have?”
“Ten,” Seng said, meaning thousand.
Meadows nodded and slid the laptop around so both he and the owner could see the screen. “Now for five thousand American and our heartfelt thanks, I’m going to scroll through some pictures. If you recognize the man that was with the ship captain, you tell me and I’ll stop.”
The owner nodded and Meadows began going through the photographs of Al-Khalifa’s known accomplices. They had scrolled through over a dozen before the owner shouted to stop. The pub owner stared at the digital photograph intently.
“I think that’s him,” he said at last.
Meadows turned the laptop back around so the owner couldn’t see. Then he unlocked the file showing the pictured man’s personal habits.
“Did he smoke?” Meadows asked.
The owner thought back for a second. “Yes, he did.”
“Remember the brand?” Meadows asked, showing Seng the information, as if they were engaged in a board game and not a life-and-death situation.
“Oh, hell,” the owner said, thinking back.
Meadows pointed to the line that mentioned Lababiti had a gold Piaget watch.
“I got it,” the owner shouted. “Morelands, and he had a fancy silver lighter.”
Meadows folded the laptop closed and stood up.
