Full Black - Brad Thor [141]
Ashford smiled, lifted his cup, and took a sip of tea. “I’ll call the director general right now.”
“Thank you, Robert. I really appreciate this.”
“Not at all, Peaches. You know I’d do anything for you. After all, we’re allies, aren’t we?”
The men spoke for a few more minutes about the trip. Carlton explained that because commercial air travel had been suspended, he’d be glad to send a plane for Ashford. The MI5 man appreciated the gesture and thought it was a good idea as it would demonstrate to the director general how seriously the Americans needed Ashford’s help.
After the rough details were hammered out, they said good-bye and Ashford hung up the phone. Walking to his study, he removed the encrypted phone he used to contact James Standing and dialed his number. Despite the very late hour back in the States, the billionaire was wide awake.
“I have good news,” said Ashford.
“It can only improve your situation. What is it?”
Standing was still very upset that not only had the LAX attack been nearly completely foiled, none of the other airport attacks had succeeded either. Upon hearing the news, he had called Ashford and chewed him out.
“Reed Carlton has asked me to come over and assist with the investigation in the attacks.”
“Well, you can pack light. He’ll soon learn how useless you are and send you home.”
Ashford fought to keep his anger under control. “For your information, I just learned that it was the Carlton Group who took down the rabbit hutch.”
Standing was silent for a moment. “Finally, you’ve produced something useful. A little bit late, but still useful.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Don’t be a smartass with me, Ashford. If you want attaboys, join a cricket team. I’m paying you for results. So Carlton is dumb enough to think you can somehow help with their investigations. Was there anything else you wanted to waste my time with?”
“They have Oxford’s nephew in custody.”
“Why should we care?”
“Because according to Carlton, Oxford put his nephew in charge of his IT operations.”
“Who the fuck told that hook-handed simpleton that he could do that?” Standing demanded.
Aazim’s handicap should have concerned them from the beginning. In hindsight it wasn’t unthinkable that he would take someone into his confidence to help him with computer-related things, especially a young family member. Believing that the terrorist leader, with nothing but time on his proverbial hands, gladly sat around typing out messages, hunting and pecking on his keyboard with the steel tips of his prosthetic hooks, had been a mistake.
“The good news is that so far, they haven’t been able to get any information out of the nephew. Apparently, he had some sort of heart attack shortly after they took him into custody.”
“And how the hell did they pull that off? I’m assuming the nephew was a Brit. Or was he some backwards-ass relation living in a mud hut in some Arab country?” said Standing.
“He’s British,” replied Ashford, “but to quote Carlton, they grabbed him someplace blond.”
“Uppsala.”
“I think maybe now we know who was seen being laid down in the back of that car and driven away.”
“You’d better make sure the nephew has another heart attack. Do you understand me? I want him silenced.”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Ashford. “Don’t worry.”
“Fuck you, don’t worry. I am worried. Do you have any idea how close we are?”
Ashford had no idea if the question was rhetorical, but knowing Standing, it probably was, so he didn’t bother to reply.
“We’re buying oranges tomorrow,” said the billionaire.
Ashford couldn’t believe it. “So soon?”
“I’m not waiting any longer. I have everything I need in place and that’s all that matters.”
The MI5 man knew that the orange attacks were paired with another color-coded attack, and it reminded him of a nursery rhyme from his youth:
Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement’s.
Bull’s eyes and targets,
Say the bells of