Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
Just after midday on the second Monday in October, a long, black Mercedes made its way across London. It was one of those rare, crisp autumn afternoons when the blue of the sky was almost blinding, and the sun cast the city in melting golden light, but the man in the backseat barely glanced up from his phone.
The phone was Russian-made. Secure. Unhackable.
At the wheel of a nondescript Ford a short distance behind him, Emma Makepeace spoke into the microphone embedded in the lapel of her jacket.
"Unit Twelve. Target traveling east on Cromwell Road. I have eyes on."
"Copy that, Twelve." Adam's gravelly voice sounded clear through her earpiece.
Adam Park was Emma's colleague. Except his name wasn't really Adam, and hers wasn't Emma. Both of them were intelligence officers who worked for an agency so secret it had no name at all.
Emma watched the man's bowed head as the bulletproof sedan slid to a stop at a red light. She longed to know what he could be reading that was so fascinating. The Agency had spent all morning trying, unsuccessfully, to find out what he was doing in England.
Vladimir Balakin's private jet had landed two hours ago at an airport in Farnborough, 40 miles south of London. He'd been tailed ever since—first by Special Branch, and then a team from MI5. Ten minutes ago, Emma and Adam had picked up the chase. In all, twelve separate cars were pursuing him on parallel streets. This meant the cars directly behind the Mercedes kept changing, leaving nothing for its driver—a Russian intelligence officer with years of experience—to notice.
As the car idled at the light, Emma saw Balakin glance up at last and speak impatiently, gesturing at the cars around them.
"Don't like waiting, do you?" she whispered.
Back in Moscow he would have had a police escort rushing him through every red light because, while his true job title was a closely guarded secret, he was believed to be the second in command of the Russian military intelligence agency, the GRU. One of the most feared intelligence organizations in the world.
As far as the British government was concerned, he had no business being in the UK at all. It wasn't normal for someone that senior to travel to a country Russia counted as an enemy. It wasn't how things worked.
As soon as his plane had registered a flight path to England, a pursuit team had been assembled. There might have been no legal or diplomatic means of stopping him from entering the country but Balakin would not have a single unwatched moment on London's streets.
The light turned green, and the long Mercedes purred forward. Emma shifted into first gear and dropped back just far enough. Balakin turned his attention back to his phone.
Among the many things no one knew was precisely where he was headed. Russian officials usually preferred the Savoy and the Dorchester for their stays in town, but he hadn't chosen the obvious route to either of those hotels. Instead, he was driving down the Cromwell Road, which led, as far as Emma was concerned, nowhere interesting.
So when the Mercedes signaled and moved into the turning lane, she tightened her grip on the wheel.
"Target turning left on Gloucester Road."
"Copy that. Do not follow," Adam growled through her earpiece. She could hear the roar of his engine as he floored it.
"Copy." Emma bypassed the Mercedes without a sideways glance.
...
