Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [112]
Bloom pressed the doorbell and when the door clicked open, ushered his charges inside. Standing in the small, carpeted foyer was a well-dressed man cradling an MP5. They had just entered London’s Special Forces Club.
Harvath’s suspicion that the lunch had been put together by Ashford was confirmed by the fact that there was already a table waiting for them under Bob’s name.
The club’s membership was open to anyone who had a clandestine role in or out of uniform. Its motto was: Spirit of Resistance. Simply put, it was the private club for current and former secret agents, Special Forces operatives, MI5, MI6, and CIA officers in London.
They were led to a large table in the dining room. After they were seated, menus were passed around and the day’s specials were explained. Bloom and Michaels sat at a table nearby.
None of the team felt they were dressed appropriately for a private club, but none of the other members seemed to mind. Perhaps some of the more wily intelligence operatives suspected what kind of work their American guests were up to, but if they did, they didn’t let on.
They were halfway through lunch when Harvath’s cell phone rang. Standing up, he walked back down to the entry hall to take the call. It was Reed Carlton.
“The Israelis broke the Skype transaction for us.”
“You’ve got the regional controller’s location? Where is he?” asked Harvath. “London?”
“No,” replied Carlton. “Amsterdam.”
CHAPTER 54
CHICAGO
Abdul Rashid rubbed the stubble on his cheeks and massaged his eyes with the heels of his hands as he poured more tea. It had been a long night.
It was bad enough the two police officers had happened upon them, but then the third man had come in through the alley door with his shotgun and the shooting had happened. Rashid had been forced to act quickly.
The first thing he had done was to call the police from one of his prepaid cell phones, which he promptly disposed of afterward. He reported shots fired, but gave the location as four blocks away. He also made up descriptions of the shooters, the vehicles they were driving, and the direction they were headed in.
Though the building they used as a mosque was in a largely commercial area and the shots had been fired late at night, there was still a chance that someone might have heard the exchange and reported it. Unless they were looking out a window onto the alley where it happened, they wouldn’t be able to give the police much more to go on than that they heard gunshots nearby. By phoning in a believable account of a gangbanger shoot-out four blocks away, Rashid all but guaranteed where the police would focus their efforts. That, though, would buy them only so much time.
The explosive compounds and all other incriminating materials had to be moved right away, as well as the hostages. Without time to go fetch two of Marwan’s trucks, they had to use the vehicles of the cell members at the mosque.
Pulling the vehicles into the alley, they loaded them as quickly as possible. Rashid personally kept watch for any other surprise visitors.
Once the vehicles had departed, he had one of his men follow him in the police officers’ Bronco, which he abandoned in a rough neighborhood several miles away. With any luck, it had been stolen within minutes.
It looked as if they had dodged a bullet. The only remaining loose end to be tied up was the mosque’s imam, whom Marwan handled with a phone call. Should the police come to question him about anything, he would simply tell the truth; after the faithful had departed following the final prayers of the evening, he had locked up the mosque and had gone home. He knew better than to reveal that things were happening in the basement. If the police wanted to look around, he was instructed to accommodate them. There was no incriminating evidence anywhere in the building.
So far, the police hadn’t showed up. Rashid doubted they would. For the time being, they were still safe. Or so he