“Plus ten in the backup.”
“I don’t suppose Eli is carrying a gun.”
“The last time Eli carried a gun was 1972. He nearly killed me by accident.”
“What about Keller?”
“Graham wouldn’t allow it.”
“That leaves me.”
“Stay where you are.”
“Sorry, boss, there’s interference on the line. I didn’t catch that.”
Mikhail rose and walked past Ilan’s table, through the camera shot. Outside, he turned left and started across the car park. Eva was already behind the wheel of her Kia; Rebecca was opening the passenger door. Before lowering herself into the seat, she glanced at Mikhail, and their eyes met. Mikhail looked away first and kept walking.
Thirty-Fourth Street was one-way, heading south. Mikhail walked against the flow of traffic, along the back side of the Turkish restaurant, as Eva reversed out of the space and turned into the street. Rebecca Manning was staring at him through the passenger-side window, he was certain of it. He could feel her eyes boring like bullets into his back. She was daring him to turn around for one last look. He didn’t.
The Nissan was parked outside the school. Mikhail dropped into the backseat behind Keller. Gabriel was shouting at him over the radio from the command post. Eli Lavon, the finest watcher in the history of the Office, was regarding him reproachfully from the front passenger seat.
“Well done, Mikhail. That was a real thing of beauty. There’s no way she noticed a smooth move like that.”
Lavon said all this in sarcastic Hebrew. Keller was staring down the length of Thirty-Fourth Street, toward a rapidly shrinking Kia Optima. At the intersection of Reservoir Road, the car turned right. Keller waited for a flock of schoolchildren to cross the street. Then he put his foot to the floor.
74
Burleith, Washington
“I’m not allowed to speak to you,” said Eva Fernandes. “In fact, I’m not even allowed tolookat you.”
“It seems I’ve invalidated those orders, haven’t I?”
Rebecca instructed Eva to make another right at Thirty-Sixth Street and again at S Street. Both times, the Nissan sedan followed. It was about six car-lengths behind. The driver was making no effort to conceal his presence.
“Make another right,” snapped Rebecca, and a few seconds later Eva turned onto Thirty-Fifth Street, this time without bothering to stop or even slow. The Nissan did the same. Their crude surveillance tactics suggested to Rebecca they were operating without backup and, therefore, were not from the FBI. She would find out soon enough.
There was a traffic signal at the corner of Thirty-Fifth Street and Reservoir Road, one of only a handful in residential Georgetown. The light switched from green to amber as they approached. Eva pressed her foot to the floor, and the Kia bounded through the intersection as the light changed to red. Car horns blared as the Nissan followed.
“Turn right again,” said Rebecca quickly, pointing to the entrance of Winfield Lane. A private street lined with matching redbrick homes, it reminded Rebecca of Hampstead in London. The Nissan was behind them.
“Stop here!”
“But—”
“Just do as I say!”
Eva slammed hard on the brakes. Rebecca tore the SIG Sauer from her handbag and leapt out of the car. She gripped the weapon in both hands, forming a triangle with her arms, and turned her body slightly to reduce her silhouette, just as she had been trained on the firing range at Fort Monckton. The Nissan was still approaching. Rebecca placed the sight over the driver’s head and squeezed the trigger until the magazine was empty.
The Nissan swerved hard to its left and slammed into the nose of a parked Lexus SUV. No one climbed out, and there was no return of fire, thus proving to Rebecca’s satisfaction that the men were not from the FBI. They were British and Israeli intelligence officers who had no legal jurisdiction to make an arrest or to fire a weapon, even when fired upon on a quiet street in Georgetown. In fact, Rebecca doubted the FBI even knew the British and Israelis were operating against her. In a few minutes, she thought, looking at the wrecked car, they would.
Run...
Rebecca dropped into the front seat of the Kia and shouted at Eva to drive. A moment later they were racing up Thirty-Seventh Street toward the Russian Embassy. As they crossed T Street, Rebecca tossed the Faraday pouch out the window. The SVR receiver was next.
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder. No one was following them. She expelled the empty magazine and rammed the backup into place. Eva Fernandes flinched at the sound. Guided by Rebecca, she turned left onto Tunlaw Road.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they passed the back side of the Russian Embassy compound.
