A Raging Storm

“Do you really want to disturb her at this hour?” Showers replied from behind the door.

He’d thought she was drunker than she obviously was. She’d outfoxed him.

She said, “Think of the scandal! A woman in your room. A woman who has been drinking. Who knows what I might say? It might even make the BBC since I’m so famous. What did you tell them? The queen was going to invite me over?”

With his training, it would take less than a minute for him to force open the door. But he didn’t want to force himself on her.

“You should sleep at the Marriott,” she whispered. “You can use my room if you want. Just be careful, they might have installed secret cameras as well as hidden microphones. You’re naked butt could end up on some Internet site. Good night!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

omeone knocked on her door. She heard Storm ask: “Are you awake? I brought breakfast.”

She slipped on a terry-cloth robe and let him inside.

“I got this from downstairs,” he said. “It’s an English breakfast. I’ve got scrambled eggs, sausage, black pudding, baked beans, and a slice of tomato.” He waved the tray under her face.

She suddenly felt nauseous. And that made him smile.

“Since I spent the night elsewhere,” he continued, “I took the liberty of ducking into your room at the Marriott and grabbing you some fresh clothes. There in the hotel bag.” He dropped a plastic bag on the bed.

“How come you’re so bright and cheery?” she asked.

“I had to take a very cold shower after you locked me out.”

“Just one cold shower? I figured you’d need a couple.”

“The shower was enough to lower my expectations.”

“Cute,” she said.

“I’m going to fill up the rental with petrol,” he said in a mock British accent. “We need to leave in an hour in order to get to the protest rally. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Showers was nursing the worst hangover she’d had since college as they rode to Oxford. She kept her eyes closed under her sunglasses and fought the urge to vomit each time the car hit a bump or pothole.

The anti-Barkovsky rally was being held in the grassy fields of Oxford University Parks, on the northeast edge of the thirty-eight independent colleges that made up the school. Storm parked on a dirt road near the Old Observatory, and they walked toward a stage that had been constructed specifically for the protest. The platform rose only two feet above the grass and was only large enough for a podium and four chairs. There were about a thousand protesters mingling around it. A young girl told them that everyone was waiting for Petrov, who was running late.

As was his practice, Storm surveyed the crowd and immediately spotted three men who seemed to be out of place at the rally. They were Eastern European and in their thirties. Most of the others in the crowd were younger students or older professors.

“Did you bring your Glock?” he asked Storm.

“Yes,” she said. “You don’t have to yell.”

“I wasn’t.”

Just the same, he lowered his voice when he said, “I’m going to point out three men. If my hunch is correct, you may have to shoot them. If you can’t, give me your gun.”

“I’m not giving you my gun,” she said. “And you don’t have to point them out. The fact that they are wearing London Fog overcoats and the sun is out and it is hot makes them stick out. How do you want to handle this?”

Two black Mercedes-Benz S-Class 600 sedans with tinted windows appeared on a road to the right of the park, about two hundred yards away. When they came to a stop, Petrov and Lebedev stepped from the first car. Security Chief Nad stepped from the second. The two cars’ drivers fell in behind the group, and Petrov and his entourage began walking toward the stage.

“I’ll intercept Petrov and Nad,” he said. “You keep an eye on those men.”

“Do you think Nad and the two security guards are armed?” Showers asked.

“I sure as hell hope so.” He started making his way around the crowd.

Storm had gone about twenty feet when he saw two golf carts speeding from behind the platform. Driven by two students, the carts were decorated with anti-Barkovsky placards and were en route to give the guest and his attendants a ride to the stage. Storm realized it would be impossible for him to reach Petrov and his entourage in time.

One of the golf carts delivered Petrov to the stage. Lebedev and Nad stayed in the back of it. The two bodyguards positioned themselves at the front of the platform, on either side of it.

Nad had only brought two men with her! Both wore PROTEC security badges on their dark blazers and berets. If they were any good, they would notice the three interlopers.