As they led him from the room, he nearly fell over a Sheltie who’d fallen asleep by the door. He hadn’t known that the PM had a Sheltie, too. He’d always liked them and saw no reason to hold their origin—or their owners, he risked a glance over his shoulder and saw nothing but sorrow—against the cheery animals. For his last step of free choice, he circled quietly around the dog so as not to wake her.
67
“Evandra?” Dilya had materialized at her side as soon as James was escorted out. She had blended in so well that even her own honed skills had missed the girl’s presence. Now they all rode back in the midst of a police escort racing from 10 Downing Street to the London Heliport. Apparently, the PM couldn’t get rid of them fast enough and Miss Watson found no reason for complaint.
“An old name, my dear. One that should have remained lost in time. There’s no other threat now. That name only ever led to James.” She would contract the hacker that the GCHQ trusted and have him verify that the PM had all records of herself and this incident purged as promised. As to the dead agents in Choteau and Brize Norton, sadly it was nothing that a fabricated training exercise couldn’t account for. Such was the clandestine world.
Hopefully she was at long last rid of it. She could feel her shoulders sag with relief as she settled into the plush leather of the up-armored SUV.
Although there was a chance that the Saudis could trace their paid lackey’s demise to her, they knew better than to come after her if they wished to retain control of their bit of desert. Their secrets ran as deep and dark as the oil under their sand. Of course, James, too, should have known better. Perhaps she’d send the Saudi Crown Prince a little reminder. He was a man with even greater pride than James and, as such, could be manipulated with so little effort. She could also ruin him with a flick of her wrist, but such power had never interested her.
“What would you have done with James Lloyd?” She looked at Dilya. The girl never seemed to seek power. Yet Miss Watson had searched so long for a replacement that she second-guessed every decision. Though she’d recruited Dilya a decade ago, she still had doubts that she’d found a proper heir. Dilya’s skills were so advanced at such a young age that there would be no controlling her if she went off the reservation, so to speak. If that happened, Miss Watson knew there were those who would take care of the problem, and she hated the mere thought. Did Dilya want power or?—
“Nothing. He’ll never live to be tried. Between MI6 and the Saudis, he knows that and will most likely kill himself to hide everything. Tonight if he can—before his arrest is made public so that it can be covered up. Knowing his own life is lost, he’ll protect his family.”
Sadly, she was right. But it was also comforting. There were a dozen obvious ways to manipulate this situation to her advantage and Dilya had thought of none of those. That was a good sign for future?—
“Of course, if I wanted to shift the balance of power in the Five Eyes Intelligence Alliance, I would…”
Miss Watson twisted to face her…and was greeted by a seraphic smile. She forced herself to return the gesture. Now she’d have to keep a closer eye on the girl…if she could. That thought made her smile genuine, and gave her hope for the future.
68
Abby had made a simple decision at Brize Norton—to keep her mouth shut.
They needed to take down the MI6 team? No problem.
The colonels and Miss Watson decided it was urgent that they fly into the heart of London and land at a heliport along the Thames that was barely bigger than her Chinook? Fine, she flew them there.
Colonel Beale wanted her along for some reason? She went.
The PM decided on a public…well, internationally shared with a select few Americans, evisceration of their Foreign Secretary? She stood witness.
Time to fly back to RAF Brize Norton and fly home? She could do that too.
Charlie Two and Four were already half broken down to repack in the C-5 Galaxy by the time she landed by the Base Hangar. As far as the other teams knew, they’d been brought here on a perplexing mission to fly around RAF Brize Norton for a few hours and take down a bunch of suits as a demonstration. They’d be shaking their heads at this one for years. They’d met Dilya and Zackie aboard the C-5 during the trip over from the States but didn’t know anything about them. Not one of them had so much as seen Miss Watson.
Her own crew knew about teaming up with a civilian and her dog as they rescued an old woman—but nothing of who or why. Inside the black-in-black core of the operation, only the colonels, Dilya, Derek, Miss Watson, and herself knew all of what had happened. Derek’s team didn’t know the who, the why, or Dilya’s role in it all.
She jolted when the tower mentioned the time. It wasn’t even noon yet. Everything had happened in the last six hours, including the dismissal and arrest of one of the most powerful cabinet members of the UK government, based on actions she’d taken. There was no way to comprehend that. Though a part of her mind kept attempting to, it failed miserably.
Once they had the bird shut down, Abby shed her helmet, closed her eyes, and lay her head against the pilot seat’s back. Midday. Midnight her time. Except Fort Campbell was six hours earlier. She should only be going to sleep now. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d taken Captain Derek Kylie to her bed. It was impossible, but the math worked out…which made no sense whatsoever.
She opened one eye at a sound. Ethan had gone out his side door—and Beale was climbing in. Beale, rather obviously, wasn’t used to the feel of a Chinook seat as she kept shifting about.
“Do they always happen in layers like that?” Abby closed her eyes again. Had she ever been so tired in her life?
“No. I’ve always had, or been, peripheral help. But like this, no.”
“Is it over?”
“The operation.”
“What else is there?”
When Beale didn’t answer, Abby looked over at her. She sat in the copilot’s seat staring out the windshield with her hands resting lightly on the unpowered controls.
“Like the feel?”
