SLIPPED OFF his topcoat as he moved inside the pub. At this time of day the place was quiet, with only a dozen customers scattered around. The interior didn’t appear to have changed in the past ten years. The only thing missing were the wreaths of cigarette smoke. Since the government had banned smoking in buildings, the air might be cleaner, but the ambience had vanished along with the tobacco smoke.
Greg Henning waved when he spotted McCarter, then he pushed himself to his feet and reached out to shake his hand. “Pint, is it?” he asked.
McCarter nodded and sat down, watching Henning cross to the bar and order his drink.
“Bit scary, all this clean air,” McCarter said when Henning placed his glass on the table and resumed his seat.
“Bloody nanny mentality,” the cop muttered. He watched McCarter swallow a good third of the beer. “Looks like you needed that.”
“You’ll never know,” McCarter said. “Can’t get a decent glass of beer in America. It’s like the proverbial gnat’s piss.”
Henning laughed, a deep hearty sound. He was a well-built man with a craggy, lived-in face, and he was wearing his dark hair longer than he had the last time McCarter saw him.
“So what’s so urgent, Jack?”
Jack Coyle was the cover name McCarter had used the first time he and Henning met, and he’d retained it ever since. Henning understood it was a false identity, but it didn’t seem to bother him, and he never probed for information. He knew McCarter was part of an American covert group that undertook difficult, high-risk operations. Henning had a blunt, no-nonsense attitude and a deep dislike of anything that hinted at terrorism. In his job as part of London’s antiterrorist unit he had seen the results firsthand and hated what the bombers and radicals could do. As far as he was concerned such thugs warranted no consideration.
“We’re trying to connect dots,” McCarter said. “There are indications of a possible bomb threat against the U.S. and Pakistan, designed to make some kind of statement about U.S. presence and what we’ve made out to be pay-back for involvement with the Pakistani administration. You’ve probably heard about the recent killings in Peshawar and the bombing of the aid agency there.”
“It was all over the news,” Henning said. “A bloody business. Heard about the assassinations here and in the U.S., too. Were those events in line with what you’re looking into?”
McCarter nodded. “We reckon so. All part of a buildup to the main event. Our initial intel gave us some leads, including a few names of people sympathetic to the bombing campaign.”
“Here in London?”
“Yeah. Some of the extremists are on U.S. and U.K. watch lists. As usual, no one has anything hard enough to move on.” McCarter paused. “But we’re not bound by anything like that, Gregory, my old chum.”
Henning smiled. He knew exactly what McCarter was hinting at. “If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it most probably is a duck,” he said. “Too many of these known individuals are being allowed to wander around free and clear.”
“I just need some guidance,” McCarter said. “From someone with up-to-date local intel. It’s worth another pint, Gregory.”
“First time I met you I knew you were cheap,” Henning said. “And it’s always the same.”
“Hey, last time I bought you two pints.”
Henning grinned. “You know, I’d almost forgotten about that. I suppose anything you want has to be under the radar?”
“I don’t want anything landing back at your door.”
“You think I’m worried about that? Don’t. I’ve seen the results of bombings. The damage done to people. Faces shattered beyond recognition. Not pretty. And don’t ever excuse it by giving these bastards a name—except terrorists. Murderers. Heartless sons of bitches. Any potential threat taken off the streets is fine by me. Where doesn’t matter. Bloody hell, Jack, we’re all in this whether we want to be or not.”
Henning drained his beer and lapsed into silence. McCarter went to the bar and ordered two more pints, brought them back and placed one in front of the cop. Henning laid his open hands on the table. Cleared his throat.
“I think I went off on one there. Sorry.”
McCarter raised his glass. “Do not apologize, Gregory,” he said. “Too many people out there making excuses for those pricks. Time we had a few who call it like it is.”
The cop shook his head wryly. “If anyone, including the commissioner of police, called me ‘Gregory’ I would lay one on him. Only my old mum is allowed to use that name. How come I let you get away with it?”
“I’m not your old mum, for sure, Gregory. So it has to be my winning personality.”
“Cheeky sod. Now who are these ungodly buggers you need to track down?”
McCarter passed across a folded paper with the names of interest written on it. He had also jotted his cell number and details of the hotel where Phoenix Force were staying.
Henning scanned the names. McCarter noticed the fleeting expression of discomfort that crossed his friend’s face.
“There a problem? Look, Greg, if I’m putting you on the spot here, let’s forget it. Last thing I’d do is ask for—”
“It’s not that,” Henning said. “Past couple of weeks we’ve had a few ops go bad. Mainly surveillance. Everything okay until the suspects just cut and run. Left us high and dry. Looks like we have someone tipping our subjects off, so they’ve broken away before we could catch them in the act. I figure we have someone in the department letting our subjects know we’ve been watching them. On their payroll.”
“It’s been known to happen,” McCarter said.
“What bothers me is the thought that a tipoff might turn nasty one day and someone in our team gets hurt.”
“Any thoughts on who might be the mole?”
Henning hunched his shoulders. “I have my suspicions. I’m running this on my own until I get it pinned down. Nothing strong enough to point the official finger. If I show my hand too soon the bastard could cover his tracks and vanish.”
“When you read those names I gave you,” McCarter said, “it meant something.”
“Yeah. The names are allied to the ops we were scuppered over.”
“Your mole could be working for them?”
Henning nodded. “Let me check them out. Get you some local info on them. If these blokes are the ones involved in these suspected attacks, we have to make the effort.”
“Thanks, Greg.”
“And I suppose you want the info ASAP, if not sooner?”
McCarter swallowed his beer. “Not trying to put any pressure on, mate, but yes. I told you about a bomb plot. What I didn’t mention was it looks like they could be nuclear devices.”
