Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [94]
It was an excellent point. Harvath made a note to bring it up with Ashford. They needed to make sure that any regularly scheduled traffic that passed through Piccadilly, such as public buses or guided tours with set routes and pickup/drop-off times, were monitored.
If the terrorists did try to drive in, then hopefully, London police would be able to identify and neutralize them before they reached Piccadilly, and before they could detonate their explosives.
Harvath didn’t like having to hope for successful outcomes. He liked to tilt the playing field so far to his advantage that his opponent didn’t have a chance. This was a different game entirely.
He was still very concerned with how little they had to go on. The odds were much more in favor of the terrorists. Maybe keeping the alert level low was a mistake. Maybe people did have a right to know.
With his cognitive abilities nearing zero and his head still filled with doubts, Harvath walked upstairs to grab a few hours of sleep before Ashford came to pick him up.
He thought about calling Reed again but realized the Old Man would call him when he had something to report.
Climbing into bed, Harvath forced his mind to relax and he fell into a deep, dreamless, black sleep.
Three hours later, a buzzing near his ear dragged him back. He was more tired than when he had first turned in and it felt like he had been asleep for only a few minutes. He brushed at his ear and reached for his watch to see what time it was. That’s when he saw the light on his phone blinking as it vibrated on the nightstand.
Picking it up, he flipped it open. “Yeah?”
“It’s Ashford. Scotland Yard just got a tip. They’re moving on the target within the hour.”
Harvath swung his feet out of bed and sat up. “What target? What tip?”
“A car will be there in ten minutes. I’ll explain when you get here.”
With that, the MI5 man disconnected the call and the line went dead.
CHAPTER 44
TUESDAY
By the time Harvath stepped outside, his ride was already waiting for him. It was an older, navy blue van with the words David’s 24 Hour Plumbers, Home of the Royal Flush painted along the side. The driver looked like a heavily tattooed thug, barely into his twenties.
When he spotted Harvath, he stepped out of the vehicle and opened the sliding door. “You’ll have to ride back here.”
Harvath climbed inside and tried to get comfortable. It was still dark outside and the morning rush was several hours off.
The van headed east. The driver didn’t speak. A half hour later, it pulled into the garage of a plumbing supply warehouse in East London.
When Harvath’s door was opened, Bob Ashford was waiting for him.
“Sorry for the subterfuge,” he said. “Unfortunately, in this neighborhood Anglo-Saxons stick out like sore thumbs.”
“I’ve ridden in worse conditions. Don’t worry about it. What have you got?”
Ashford led Harvath to a small office with a coffeemaker and a scarred conference table. The walls were lined with shelves stocked with plumbing parts. In the corner was a television set. The MI5 man switched it on while Harvath helped himself to some coffee.
A thin Pakistani man sat at a small desk. There were what appeared to be two plainclothes detectives in the room with him. One was sitting while the other stood leaning against the wall.
“That’s a feed from the room down the hall,” said Ashford as he followed Harvath and poured a cup of coffee for himself. “The man you see there is named Saud Wadi. The men with him are Metropolitan antiterror police.
“Mr. Wadi is one of their informants. Last night, he learned of a terror cell planning to carry out an attack in the very near future.”
“How do you know it’s the cell we’re looking for?”
“Because his youngest brother, Rafiq, is a member.”
Harvath turned and looked back at the image on the TV as Ashford continued. “Apparently,