Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [107]
Vaughan had been thinking about that too. “We should take it as a good sign that we’re still here. As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance we’re going to get out of this. We’re all married, so let’s focus on our wives and children.”
“Way to ruin it for me,” said Davidson.
“Come on. Your wife can’t be that bad.”
“When we get out of here, you can stay at my house for a week with her and her two dogs, okay?”
Vaughan smiled beneath his hood. “Think about fishing then.”
“I have been. And I’ve been thinking about how I’m never going to take my cell phone on vacation again.”
“If it makes you feel better to blame me for all of this, go ahead.”
“When the turban fits.”
“By the way, who were you really fishing with when I called? I know you didn’t threaten to kill your priest.”
“You should hear the kind of stuff he threatens me with.”
Vaughan still didn’t believe him, but he laughed anyway.
“I’ve been thinking about my wife,” Levy interjected, his tone morose. “We had an argument yesterday. A bad one.”
“You’ve got to stay strong, Josh,” said Vaughan. “We’re going to make it.”
“What if we don’t?”
“We will.”
“How? Nobody knows where the hell we are. We don’t even know where we are.”
“I guarantee you that our wives are raising holy hell right now,” replied Vaughan. “The fact that Paul and I are cops means that CPD will be working extra hard to find us.”
“I didn’t tell my wife where we were going or who we were surveilling,” said Levy.
There was silence. Finally, Davidson admitted, “I didn’t give my wife specifics either.”
Beneath the darkness of his hood, Vaughan could feel the other men’s eyes shift toward him. He knew what they wanted to hear. He knew what they needed to hear and so he said, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I told my wife everything.”
The other two didn’t respond. They knew he was lying.
CHAPTER 51
LONDON
Talk to me, Bob,” said Harvath as the Lynx flew over Westminster Bridge and decreased its speed as the pilot awaited further instructions.
“We had a flurry of activity and then everything stopped,” Ashford replied. “Somebody pinged the cell members’ phones from different numbers and when they didn’t respond, whoever it was began trying to activate the detonators on the explosives. We had the caller traced to a one-block area.”
“How many buildings are we talking about?”
“The caller wasn’t in a building. He was outside, moving.”
“Was he in a vehicle or on foot?”
“We don’t know,” said the MI5 man.
“How about CCTV cameras? Were there any in the area?”
“Yes. Rita has already pulled the footage and we’re rolling it back to the time the calls were placed. The first filter is people visibly using phones. The next is headsets or earbuds. If someone is seen using more than one phone or changing SIM cards then obviously we …” the MI5 man’s voice trailed off.
“Can you repeat?” said Harvath. “I didn’t get that last part.”
Marx’s voice came back over the radio. “I think we have our man. Arab male, early forties. Approximately two meters tall and eighty kilos.”
Harvath did the conversion in his head—six feet and around 175 pounds.
“He has short black hair and a goatee,” Marx continued. “He is wearing a brown sport coat, a blue jumper, khaki trousers, and dark shoes.”
“What happened to Bob?”
“He seems to be having trouble with his radio,” said Marx.
“You’re sure this is our guy?”
“Positive. We have footage of him operating three different devices.”
“Where is he and which direction is he headed?”
“We ID’d him off of footage from several minutes ago,” said the woman from Scotland Yard. “We need to reacquire him. We’re sorting the live feeds now. Stand by.”
Harvath turned to the pilot. “Where can you set us down?”
“There’s a helipad at the London Hospital in Whitechapel,” he replied, pointing down at his map.
“Too far,” replied Harvath, who then hailed Ashford again. “Bob, I need to know which direction the subject was heading.”
“North, but as best we can tell, he doubled back,