From Russia Without Love by Stephen Templin Page B

every inch of the train, of course, so it’s possible he’s here, and I missed him. I don’t know.”
    Soon, the English countryside gave way to small towns then big cities, bigger and bigger until they started blending together, and it became difficult to tell where one city ended and the next began.
    “We need to find a nice hotel close to UKP headquarters,” Hannah said. “Not only for us, but Xander wouldn’t stay in anything less than five-star himself. We need some idea of where he could be hiding out.”
    Chris nodded and called around for reservations.
    “There’s an international financial symposium in town, and most of the hotels are already booked,” he reported afterward, “but the Grosvenor House still has vacancies. I reserved two rooms. The hotel also happens to be within a five-minute walk of the US embassy.”
    “We can use a taxi,” Hannah said. “But rather than go directly to our destination, I think we need to plan an SDR. Maybe take the cab to a different hotel, go inside to shake off any surveillance, and take another taxi to our actual destination. After checking in, we’ll do another SDR, leaving the hotel and pay a visit to the London CIA Chief at the embassy to solicit support.”
    “You’re the SDR expert,” Chris said, referring to Hannah’s Agency expertise in Surveillance Detection Routes.
    “Works for me,” Sonny said.
    The bilingual conductor announced they were arriving in London then, and the train came to a stop at Saint Pancras International Station. Because Chris still had no idea where Xander was, he was hyper-alert. After stepping off the Eurostar, they found a black cab with an illuminated yellow sign on the hood that read TAXI .
    Chris didn’t see anyone following them, but something deep down in his bones told him something bad was about to happen.

10
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    S till unable to shake his unease, Chris discreetly inspected his surroundings. Because their actual destination was southwest, he had the driver take them in the opposite direction, northeast to Nags Head Towne Centre. Chris paid the driver, and then he and his teammates hopped out and melted into the crowd, exited the other side of the shopping center, found another taxi, and told him the route they wanted to take to their hotel. An added benefit of using a second taxi was that the first driver didn’t know their final destination, and the second driver wouldn’t know where they started.
    The driver took them past the London Zoo, Regent’s Park, and the Sherlock Holmes Museum before riding along Park Lane, where they entered through black wrought iron gates and stopped in front of the Grosvenor House, which stood seven stories tall, one of the sky-kissing hotels in London.
    They went through the revolving doors and entered the lobby. “See anyone?” Chris asked.
    Hannah shook her head. “We’re still clean.”
    “Saw some dudes in need of serious dental work,” Sonny said.
    They checked in at the front desk and went up to their rooms—Chris and Sonny in one and Hannah next door, both their windows overlooking Hyde Park. Chris drew his pistol and press-checked it, finding a cartridge ready in the chamber. He looked in the closet and behind the shower curtain, but no one was there waiting for him. The room was clear.
    He ejected the magazine from his pistol and pressed on the top round. It hardly moved, indicating that the cartridges were packed in tight and the magazine was full. After reinserting the magazine into his pistol, he examined the extra magazines on his belt, and they were maxed out, too. Unable to figure out the source of his paranoia, he dismissed it.

    An hour later, they entered the US embassy. Sonny stayed in the reception area while Chris and Hannah entered the Agency chief of station’s office. It was a spacious room for a London office, and the station chief sat in a high-backed leather chair behind a grand wooden desk.
    “Leave the talking to me,” Hannah whispered to