“I’ve called it in,” he said to the driver. “They’ll get back to me.”
“I can’t block this street all day,” the driver said.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
His radio came alive. “Okay, have the man hand-truck it to the rear entrance. Mr. Riley will meet him there and sign for it.”
“Roger.” The cop turned back to the driver. “Unload it here and follow me with the hand truck,” he said. “The bomb squad will want a good look at you. Just leave the van there.”
“Whatever you say, mate.” The driver got out of the van and went to the rear. He unlocked the door and operated the power tailgate that lowered the crate to the street. He got the lip of the hand truck under an edge and rocked it back onto the wheels. By the time he got it to the barrier, the copper had slid it back enough for him to wheel it through. The officer slid it shut behind him.
“All right, follow me,” he said to the deliveryman. The copper led the way to a steel door, where he rang a bell. A long moment later the door slid open, and the deliveryman could see another barrier a few feet inside. “Bring it right in and set it down,” the copper said.
The deliveryman did as he was told, and the door slid closed behind him. “Oy,” he said. “How’m I gonna get out?”
“Wait till it’s signed for, and we’ll let you out.”
Two U.S. Marines in fatigues came toward them, preceded by an eager black Labrador retriever.
Another Marine at the next barrier picked up a phone and spoke into it, then hung up. “Riley will be right down.”
“Are you gonna need me to roll it somewhere?” the deliveryman asked.
“No, you can just leave it there,” the copper replied. “I’ll get our hand truck.”
—
Jasmine got up from the table, taking the application with her. “Excuse me,” she said to the receptionist. “Where is the ladies’ room?”
“Just around the corner to your left,” the woman said.
“I’ll be right back.” Jasmine stepped out the door and walked toward the emergency staircase, which had a large exit sign above it, well lit. As she did, her cell phone began to vibrate in her jacket pocket, the signal that all was ready. She checked to be sure she had enough bars, then pressed a speed dial button on her phone, put it back into her pocket, opened the door to the stairs, and started to run down them. She descended two floors, stepped outside into South Audley Street, where a black taxi waited for her, its engine running. She got into the vehicle, and as it rolled away the bomb inside the rear door of the embassy detonated with a huge roar.
Protected by the buildings on the west side of the street, the taxi drove down to Mount Street and took a right. Now sirens could be heard. The taxi got to Park Lane and made a left turn, filtering into traffic. The driver edged into the right lane and turned into Hyde Park behind the Duke of Wellington’s house, now a museum. They were all the way to South Kensington before the first emergency vehicles made it into Grosvenor Square.
The taxi stopped, Jasmine got out, removed a roller suitcase from the cab, and looked at her watch as she headed for the London Underground entrance. The second bomb, the one on a timer in the DHL van, would be going off at this moment.
Ten minutes later she was speeding west, toward Heathrow Airport. Once there, she would take a taxi back to her new home on the Thames, along with the rolling suitcase, looking like any other Heathrow arrival.
—
Holly Barker got out of the chopper at the East Side Heliport and into the black SUV waiting for her. As she did, her cell phone went off, and she dug it out of her pocket. “Holly Barker.”
“It’s Scotty,” her secretary said. “Where are you?”
“I just arrived in New York.”
“Can you get in touch with the director? Her cell phone didn’t answer. I know she got back last night, but she’s not in the office yet.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Tell her this: a large bomb has detonated at the rear door of the London embassy, and there are many casualties. Hang on,” she said, “other line.” She came back after a moment. “A second bomb has gone off in a delivery van parked in North Grosvenor Street, probably on a timer. That’s all I’ve got. I’ll call you when there’s more.”
“I’m headed for the East Side station. Call me on a secure line there.” Holly hung up and pressed the speed dial button for Kate Lee’s cell phone. It rang five times before it was answered.
“Yes?”
“It’s Holly. Where are you, Director?”