us know about Henning.”
“Thanks, love, I’ll keep you updated.”
MCCARTER MANAGED TO maintain his composure in the face of hospital protocol. It took all his patience and persuasion to even get to the nurses’ station on Henning’s floor. The young woman in charge, an attractive redhead, at least had an engaging personality. She listened to McCarter’s story in silence, lips pursed in a gentle smile.
“You must understand hospital rules,” she said finally. “We can’t have people wandering in unannounced. Mr. Henning is lucky to be alive. He was shot three times. One bullet clipped his left lung. He lost a great deal of blood before the ambulance crew arrived, and he’s had serious surgery.”
“You know he’s a security officer?” McCarter said.
The nurse chuckled at that. “Don’t I know it. Seems as if we’ve had half the Met in here. There’s even an officer on duty outside his room. Look, we’ve been told no one is allowed in unless they’ve been vetted, so there isn’t much I can do.”
McCarter took a breath. He peered at the name tag on the young woman’s uniform. “Nurse Jenny…”
“Actually, it’s Sister Jenny.”
“Sorry,” McCarter said. “Look, Sister Jenny, I’m in the same business. Working undercover with Greg Henning. I’m pretty sure his shooting was because of the case we’re involved with. Right now my only contact is through Greg. I can’t go any higher because our investigation concerns leaks within the security department itself.”
McCarter took out his cell and opened Henning’s text message. He showed it to Jenny. She checked it out, and murmured, “The time on that message is five minutes before the ambulance arrived at Mr. Henning’s address.”
“He must have sent it just after he’d been shot. He was trying to let me know something.”
“I still can’t let you into his room.”
“But you can go in.”
She eyed him warily. “Yes…”
“If he’s awake, ask him if he has anything for me. Just tell him Jack Coyle wants to know.”
Jenny’s expression told McCarter he’d made a connection. “You’re Jack Coyle?”
“Yes. Why?”
“He asked me if you’d been around. As soon as he woke up.”
McCarter smiled. “Good old Gregory.”
She frowned. “Gregory?”
“Mention that to him. It’ll prove who I am. No one else calls him that.” McCarter touched her arm. “It’s important, love.”
“Okay.” The nurse relented.
“So you’ll ask him?”
“Only if you stay right here.”
“Word of honor, Sister Jenny.”
McCarter watched her as she crossed the room, pushed through the double doors and vanished down the corridor. She made the nurse’s uniform look good on her trim, shapely figure. If anything could make Henning sit up and take notice it would be Sister Jenny.
Fifteen minutes later she returned. McCarter was sitting one of the plastic visitor chairs, nursing a can of Coke he’d purchased from the vending machine. He glanced up when she appeared.
“How is he?”
“Weak. In considerable pain. But stubborn and determined. And set on sending you this message.” She held out a sheet of notepaper. “He dictated it, I wrote it. He could barely speak, but he made me listen.”
McCarter took the note and scanned the neat writing.
“Is it helpful?”
“It’s certainly that, Jenny, my girl.” McCarter grabbed her by her shoulders and laid a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thanks.”
HENNING’S NOTE TO McCarter was characterized by precise detail. The Briton could only marvel at Henning’s ability to be so comprehensive in his current condition.
The mole was revealed to be Lewis Winch, an agent on Henning’s team. Henning had found proof that Winch had been in contact with Samman Prem at the man’s London office. Winch’s operational position at the counterterrorism unit would have given him the opportunity to know about U.S. and U.K. personnel who were victims in the recent wave of assassinations and the Peshawar bombing.
The note also detailed Winch’s home address in London.
Henning had signed the note “Gregory.”
McCarter called ahead. By the time he reached the hotel, James and Hawkins were waiting. They climbed into the new rental and McCarter pulled back into the traffic. He had already fed Winch’s address into the built-in sat-nav unit.
McCarter handed the note to James so he and Hawkins could read Henning’s information.
“How is he?” James asked.
“Not too good right now,” McCarter said, “but he’ll survive. This bastard Winch shot him on his own doorstep. Luckily for Greg, the bugger didn’t check his work.” McCarter muttered something under his breath, then said, “Next to sneaky buggers I hate amateurs.”
“Do we know if this Winch guy has backup?” Hawkins asked.
“Let’s assume he does,” McCarter said.
“Way you said that I take it you hope he does,” James said.
McCarter glanced at him, his face taut. “Is it a problem?”
James shook his head. “No. You shouldn’t need to ask, David.”
McCarter let out a hard breath. “No, I shouldn’t. It’s been a hell of a night.”
Winch lived in southwest London in, an older house standing back off the residential street. The frontage was studded with trees and hedges, with a short driveway leading up to the front door. A couple cars were parked in the drive. McCarter drove by, circled and turned back. He parked four houses short of Winch’s.
“Lights on all floors,” James said. “He’s got guests or he’s nervous. You want us to go around back? Come in from the rear?”
“Yeah,” McCarter said. “Put phones on vibrate and give me a call when you’re in position.”
Once out of the car, they moved along the sidewalk, James and Hawkins slipping out of sight along the low dividing wall at the side of the house next to Winch’s, leaving McCarter to his frontal approach.
The two agents pushed their way through thick hedges running the length of the house, trying to ignore the fine spray of rain that flicked off the vegetation as they disturbed it. They were glad they had decided
