/> “Yes.”
“Together?”
“Apparently so.”
“Shit.”
A heavy silence descended between the two leaders. Julia Cabot broke it first.
“I don’t suppose you feel like telling me what’s going on, Jim?”
The president sounded angry. “What do you mean?”
“I mean who is Hunter Drexel?” The British Prime Minister spelled it out. “Who is he really?”
Jim Havers sighed heavily. “It’s complicated, Julia.”
“Uncomplicate it.”
Another sigh.
“I can’t.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Because I’d be prepared to wager good money that that’s exactly what Whitney and Stevens are out there doing right now. And if they succeed, we’ll both be hung out to dry.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER, GREG Walton of the CIA and James MacIntosh of MI6 both received phone calls from their respective political masters.
The language each used was different.
But the message was the same.
Find them. Find them now. Or being fired will be the least of your worries.
CHAPTER 26
WE WILL SOON BEGIN our descent into Geneva. Please fasten your seat belts and ensure any bags are stowed . . .”
Tracy zoned out as the chief flight attendant ran through the usual spiel. Sitting beside her in business class, Jeff was fast asleep. And by fast Tracy really meant fast—head thrown back, mouth open, snoring loudly as his chest rose and fell in the same steady rhythm it had been in since takeoff.
Tracy had taken countless flights with Jeff. Some were luxurious, sprawled out in sumptuous private jets. Others were markedly less so. But on every flight, without exception, Jeff had managed to fall asleep.
One memorable journey involved Tracy and Jeff having their limbs folded painfully into pallets of diamonds, like two double-jointed dolls. The pallets were then sealed with a small gap for air and wedged into a freezing cargo hold. For the next eight hours, neither of them could move a muscle. Simply breathing was difficult. And yet even on this flight from hell Jeff had somehow fallen asleep. His ability to switch himself off at will, like an electric toy, and slip into unconsciousness, was as impressive as it was infuriating.
Watching him now took Tracy straight back to the old days. Before all this madness. Before Nicholas. Before everything. With an effort she forced the memories out of her mind. She must stay in the present if she was to survive.
Today’s flight was a point of no return. Tracy and Jeff were officially on their own now. They had boarded the Air France jet as Mr. and Mrs. Brian Crick, en route to their vacation in the pretty ski town of Megève. Annie Crick was a keen skier. Brian liked the mountains too. But he was there for the poker.
It was Jeff who came up with the theory. But with every day, Tracy liked it more.
Bursting into her hotel room in Paris, less than a day after their meeting at Les Invalides, he suddenly blurted out, “What if it isn’t about the money?”
Tracy looked up wearily from her computer. For the last six hours she’d been painstakingly cross-referencing every Kate, Catherine or Kathleen who’d ever worked or slept with Hunter Drexel against databases from the CIA, MI6 and Interpol. Her eyes were crossing.
“What if what isn’t about the money?”
“Poker. What if it’s a cover for something else? What if the poker games are where he’s meeting his conspirators? Where he’s planning the next attacks?”
It was such an obvious question, Tracy couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t thought of it herself. That none of them had.