No Tomorrow by Tom Wood Page A

sleep.”
    â€œDon’t get a ticket.”
    Dmitri didn’t respond. Victor climbed out of the relative quiet of the car interior into the noise of London: traffic and people creating the urgent breaths of the city around him. He didn’t like London but he didn’t dislike it either. Its ancient identity had been warped and changed and divided into many disjointed pieces. It was huge and dense but low and suffocating. There was so much to enjoy but so much not to. From an operational perspective, he couldn’t ask for a better metropolis. It was always busy, always congested with crowds to hide among, and intercut with irregular alleys and side streets. The saturation of CCTV cameras was far from ideal, but British police officers did not carry firearms as standard.
    He crossed the street, passing slow-moving cars and rounding a red bus collecting passengers. The buildings were all grand and centuries old, adding an air of importance, respectability, and wealth. He walked at a leisurely pace, taking a circuitous route through neighboring throughways, searching for watchers. A tall order in such a busy area, but if Norimov’s enemies had put her workplace under surveillance, those watchers would be Russian gangsters. Every person in this part of the city was either a suited professional, overworked and always rushing, or a tourist, walking slowly and taking photographs. Watchers would stand out.
    He saw none. He wasn’t sure what that meant. If they already had Gisele, they wouldn’t need to look out for her at her place of business, in the hope of kidnapping her on her way to or from work. But after making Norimov aware of the threat, they would expect his forces to mobilize. If their intention was to wipe him out, it would be smart to ambush anyone he had sent to look for his daughter.
    Low stone steps led up from the street. Victor used his knuckles to push through the revolving brass-and-glass door. The lobby was vast and high-roofed and starkly modern. He approached a curved counter and explained to the receptionist he was a visitor to Gisele’s law firm. After using his left hand to sign the guestbook, he was given a pass and used it to get through the electronic turnstiles that shielded the elevators. A big security guard nodded at him.
    On the second floor, he approached the law firm’s reception area. Both receptionists—one male, one female—smiled at him as he approached the boomerang-shaped desk. The smiles were good, if false. The smiles said:
So lovely to see you again
. They had been well trained. In his good suit he looked like a client, maybe even an important one.
    â€œGood afternoon, sir,” the male receptionist began. “How are you today?”
    â€œTremendous, thank you. What about yourself?”
    â€œWonderful. How might I be of service?”
    Victor said, “I have a four p.m. appointment with Gisele Maynard. I’m sorry to say I’m a little late.”
    The receptionist didn’t check the system for the appointment. He didn’t break eye contact. “I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Maynard isn’t in the office today.”
    Victor made sure to appear taken aback. “Oh,” he said. “That’s terribly disappointing.” He sighed and drummed his knuckles on the desktop. “I’ve come into the city specifically to see her. I’ve wasted a lot of time.” After checking his watch, Victor added, “Are you expecting her back tomorrow?”
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t know.” The receptionist did a reasonable job of looking sympathetic. “I really am terribly sorry for your inconvenience.”
    â€œIs she unwell?”
    The receptionists looked at one another. The woman said, “She hasn’t been in the office since last week.”
    He pretended to think, to remember. “I spoke to her last Wednesday and we agreed to this meeting then.