“We’ve identified three suspects. One is a woman in her mid-thirties. She’s currently headed east on the M25 in a Renault Clio.” Seymour recited the car’s registration number. “She should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Make sure you have firearms officers on hand.”
“Number two?”
“He’s waiting for the woman at the Bedford House Hotel in Frinton. We assume they’re planning to leave Britain tonight.”
“Harwich is just up the road.”
“And the last ferry,” added Seymour, “departs at eleven.”
“Frinton is in Essex, which means the Essex Police are responsible.”
“This is a national security matter, Stella. Assert your authority. And handle him with care. We think he’s even more dangerous than the woman.”
“It’s going to take us some time to get our assets into place. If you’re watching him—”
“We are.”
Stella McEwan asked about the third suspect.
“He’s about to board a private jet at London City Airport,” answered Seymour.
“Bound for Moscow?”
“That is our belief.”
“Do you know his name?”
Seymour recited it.
“The oligarch?”
“Konstantin Dragunov is no ordinary oligarch, if there even is such a thing.”
“I can’t detain a friend of the Russian president without a warrant.”
“Test him for chemical agents and radiation, Stella. I’m sure you’ll have more than enough evidence to hold him. But do it quickly. Konstantin Dragunov must not be allowed to board that plane.”
“I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything, Graham.”
“I’m the director-general of the Secret Intelligence Service. Why on earth would you think otherwise?” Seymour severed the connection and looked at Jonathan Lancaster. “I’m afraid things are about to get even more interesting.”
“More?” There was a knock at the door. It was Geoffrey Sloane. He appeared more ashen than usual. “Something wrong, Geoffrey?”
“It seems the crown prince has taken ill.”
“Does he need to be admitted to hospital?”
“His Royal Highness wishes to return to Riyadh at once. He and his delegation are leaving the Eaton Place residence now.”
Lancaster placed a hand thoughtfully to his chin. “Have the Press Office draft a statement. Make sure the tone is light. Speedy recovery, look forward to seeing him at the next G20—that sort of thing.”
“I’ll see to it, Prime Minister.” Sloane went out.
Lancaster looked at Seymour. “His decision to leave immediately is a stroke of good fortune.”
“Fortune had nothing to do with it.”
“How did you arrange it?”
