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“A little after midnight. We have to go pick up Madame Lambert and Josef Serafin. They’ve been driving around for hours now, until I could set this up.”
“It sounds simple enough. Why do you need my help?”
“Why do you always ask questions?”
“Taka told me to. That way you learn things.”
“What if people refuse to answer?”
“You can learn as much from what they don’t say as what they do,” Reno said in as maddening a tone as he could manage. He’d been working on it for a while, and it came naturally to him. Unfortunately, Peter Madsen wasn’t the best subject to try it on.
“You’re going to find out, anyway. There’s a hidden apartment behind the offices, just below this one. It’s totally soundproofed and blocked off, but we’re going to have to keep Serafin there for the time being, until we find out who’s been coming after us.”
“Us?”
“Someone’s targeting Committee operatives, which includes you, so no more sex.”
Reno simply snorted. It hadn’t taken him long to get tired of it; he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for here, and substitutes weren’t fixing the problem. He wasn’t about to admit that to a hard-ass like Peter Madsen, though.
“Whatever,” he said, one of his favorite English expressions, right up there with “holy motherfucker.” “I thought he was going to the safe house.”
“Genevieve’s there.”
Peter wasn’t quite the Iceman he thought he was, Reno observed, keeping his expression blank. “Why?”
“We’ve lost three agents in the last two weeks. I’ve warned Taka, and there’s no way Madame Lambert’s going back to her apartment. Golders Green is safe enough for Genevieve, but I’m not putting someone like Serafin anywhere near her. The more scattered the targets the better our odds.”
“And what did your wife say to that?”
“None of your business,” Peter said, looking harassed. “She wasn’t happy. If she didn’t have some kind of stomach bug I wouldn’t have been able to make her.”
“Stomach bug? You’re certain no one’s poisoned her?”
“Son of a bitch,” Peter muttered, opening his phone and texting quickly, then clicking it shut again. “You ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“For your first assignment. To meet Serafin the Butcher, the most dangerous man in the world.”
“Sounds like he’s got a good PR firm,” Reno said. “And I’ve been ready for days.”
Peter didn’t look happy, Reno thought. But then, he hadn’t looked particularly pleased since he’d first set eyes on Reno at the airport. It must gall him that he’d have to put him to work. Which was just an added bonus for Reno, banishing the last of his temper at being awakened so rudely. Besides, he’d gotten rid of Lucy or Angela, so everything was fine.
“Just follow orders and don’t make the mistake of thinking for yourself,” Peter said in a tight voice. “Serafin’s an unknown quantity, and God only knows what’s been happening to them.”
“Unless Madame Lambert has changed, she probably has him on a leash and collar,” Reno said.
“You’re young,” Peter said dismissively, annoying him. “You shouldn’t take people at face value.”
“You mean Madame Lambert isn’t a coldhearted bitch who could take down an army single-handed?”
“Meaning Isobel Lambert isn’t as invulnerable as she likes to think she is. None of us is.”
“Not even you?” Reno asked mockingly.
“No, kid. And not even you.”
The Kensington streets were empty when they stepped outside the white stone building that looked just like all the other white stone buildings. It had taken all Reno’s concentration to recognize it in the first couple of days—whoever had built this upscale area of London hadn’t had much imagination. The street was lined with parked cars, and he picked out the milk truck immediately, heading for it.
