Free Rules of Vengeance by Christopher Reich Page B

certain that she’d never heard of it. “What do they do?”
    “What Robbie did best.” Dodd’s eyes drifted away from hers, to the open window and the looming form of Tom Tower. “They guess the future.”
     
     
     

Chapter    9
     
     
       Emma is in London.
    Jonathan pulled himself out of the window and hit the pavement at a jog. She was here. She had come to see him. He continued along Park Lane, then turned left onto Piccadilly. The sidewalk was teeming with pedestrians, tourists and locals mixed together, all appearing to be in every bit of a rush as he.
Slow down
, he told himself.
They’re watching
. But who? Where?
    According to Blackburn, two of them had been keeping an eye on him at the reception, but it was difficult to imagine anyone being able to follow him through this crowd. He trimmed his gait to a brisk walk, weaving through the oncoming legion. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. If they were there, he didn’t see them.
    Just ahead he saw the sign for Green Park Underground station. He descended the stairs recklessly and in the main concourse purchased an All-Day ticket, allowing him twenty-four hours of unrestricted travel on the tube. He was jogging again, and this time he didn’t care who saw him. He didn’t want to allow one more train to pass without his being on it. He followed the signs through the white-tiled tunnels until he reached the Bakerloo Line—northbound.
    A breath of wind, a mounting roar, and the train bulleted toward the platform. He entered the last car and stood near the door, sweating despite the powerful air conditioning. He measured the journey in the beats of his heart.
Why don’t I feel happy?
he wondered as the train lurched out of the station. Six months had passed since he’d seen Emma. By rights he should be thrilled. After all, Emma had told him she would contact him when the moment was right, and only then. But if anything, he was frightened. What was she doing in London at the same time as he? Why was she showing herself if she knew he was being followed? And he realized then that he wasn’t frightened for himself but for her.
    At Piccadilly he changed lines. The wait for the train was brief. As instructed, he got off at Marylebone and hurried through the long passageways. A line of commuters waited for the twin escalators that climbed to the surface. He dodged past them and took the stairs, attacking the steps two and three at a time. He reached the street a minute later, out of breath but calmer.
    The Edgware Road was populated with block after block of cheap hotels with rent-by-the-hour rooms and run-down apartments. The area had always been popular with budget-minded tourists, newly arrived immigrants, and illicit couples. The tide of gentrification salvaging so many of London’s scruffier neighborhoods had not yet reached this far north.
    He found No. 61 on a leafy corner, across the street from a tobacconist and a Middle Eastern grocery. As promised, the door was open. The alcove smelled of roasted lamb and cigar smoke. Foreign voices fought behind cardboard walls. He climbed the stairs to the second floor. The key he’d been given slid into a well-oiled lock. Inside, the flat was dilapidated and mostly unfurnished. Damp rot ate at warped linoleum floors. Plywood took the place of the living room window. A naked bulb dangled from the ceiling. He turned it on, but it was dead.
    In twenty seconds he’d ducked his head into every room and come back to the entry. The flat was empty except for a torn-up mattress, a few small tables, and an old black rotary dial telephone, circa 1960, sitting on the living room floor.
    “Wait for our call,” Blackburn had said. “We have to make sure you’re clean.”
    Jonathan picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. He hoped their surveillance methods were more modern than the phone. He ran a hand over his mouth.
Call
, he whispered to himself.
Tell me where I’m supposed to meet Emma
. He