The Marching Season

an errand, and said he would be back in fifteen minutes. He took his raincoat from its hanger and rushed out of the embassy, across Grosvenor Square, toward the park.
    226 Daniel Silva
    He knew they were following him, Wheaton and Osbourne and the rest of them; he could feel it. He wanted to be rid of them. He wanted to never see them again. What would they do? Would they grab him? Snatch him off the streets? Bundle him into a car? He had read his fair share of spy novels. How would the hero get away from the villains in a spy novel? He would get lost in a crowd.
    When he reached Park Lane he hurried north toward Marble Arch. He ducked into the Underground station, slipped through the turnstiles, and walked quickly along the connecting passageway to the platform.
    A train was arriving as he reached the platform. He stepped into the carriage and stood near the doors. At the next stop, Bond Street, he stepped out of the train, crossed to the opposite platform, and boarded another train back to Marble Arch. At Marble Arch he performed the same maneuver, and a moment later he was heading east across London, feeling quite alone.
    Graham Seymour rang Michael from MI5 headquarters.
    "I'm afraid your man has vanished."
    "What do you mean?"
    "I mean we lost him," Graham said. "He lost us, actually. He performed quite a routine on the Underground. He's not half bad."
    "Where?"
    "Central Line between Marble Arch and Bond Street."
    "Dammit. What are you doing about it?"
    "Well, we're trying to find him, aren't we, darling."
    "Call me if you hear anything."
    "Right."
    The Marching Season 227
    At Tottenham Court Road, Preston McDaniels left the Central Line train and walked through the connecting passageway to the Northern Line. How fitting, he thought; the dreaded Northern Line. Antiquated, wheezing, clattering, the Northern Line was forever breaking down at the height of the rush. To those forced to endure its fickle moods, it was the Misery Line. The Black Line. It was perfect, Preston thought. The London tabloids would have a field day with it.
    What was it Michael Osbourne had said? You go on with your life as if nothing had happened. But how could he? He felt the platform begin to vibrate. He turned and peered into the darkness of the tunnel and saw the faint light of the approaching train.
    He thought of her, beneath his body, her back arched to him, and then he pictured her in his study, stealing his secrets. He heard her voice on the telephone. I'm afraid I'm going to have to go away for a few days. . . . No, I'm sorry, Preston, but I can't see you just now. . . .
    Preston McDaniels looked at his watch. They would be worried about him by now, wondering where he had gone. There was a staff meeting in ten minutes. He was going to miss it.
    The train burst from the tunnel with a rush of hot air and swept into the station. Preston McDaniels took one step closer to the edge of the platform. Then he leaped onto the track.
    26
    PORTADOWN > LONDON • COUNTY TYRONE
    THE FOLLOWING EVENING REBECCA WELLS WAS BACK IN PORTA- down, sitting in a booth in McConville's pub. Gavin Spencer entered first, followed five minutes later by Kyle Blake. The pub was crowded. Rebecca Wells spoke quietly beneath the din, briefing Blake and Spencer on what she had discovered in the briefcase of the American.
    "When does Cannon arrive?" Blake asked simply.
    "Next Saturday," Rebecca said.
    "And how long does he stay?"
    "One night, the Saturday. Then he returns to London early Sunday afternoon."
    "That gives us five days." Blake turned to Gavin Spencer. "Can you pull it off in that amount of time?"
    Spencer nodded. "We just need the weapons. If we can get our hands on the guns, Ambassador Douglas Cannon is a dead man."
    The Marching Season 229
    Kyle Blake thought it over a moment, rubbing the ink and nicotine stains on his fingers. Then he looked up at Spencer and said, "So we'll get the guns."
    "Are you sure, Kyle?"
    "You're not losing your nerve, are you?"
    "Maybe we should wait a wee bit. Let things cool down."
    "We don't have time to wait, Gavin. Every week that goes by is a victory for the supporters of the accords. Either we destroy the peace agreement now or we're stuck with it forever. And it's not just this generation that will pay the price. It's our children, our grandchildren. I can't live with that."
    Blake stood up abruptly and zipped his jacket closed.
    "Get those guns, Gavin, or I'll find someone who will."
    As the three leaders of the