Page 19

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LONDON, ENGLAND

TUESDAY, MARCH 21, 2023

11:00 A.M.

By the time Cami’s British Airways flight landed on Tuesday morning, she was a rag. She had slept for most of the flight from Sky Harbor to Heathrow, so her body was beyond confused. After clearing customs, she had walked into the terminal dreading the idea that she was about to meet her minder for the duration. She expected that Rachel Bloom would approach her discreetly and then lead Cami out of the terminal to a nearby parking structure.

The WWS operatives she had met before had all been statuesque beauties, and that’s what she expected this time around. Instead, the purple-haired, stockily built woman who rushed forward to greet Cami was anything but a fashion plate. Her smiling face was full of piercings, and a collection of tattoos covered her arms and legs. She was dressed in a bright orange muumuu and a pair of yellow Crocs, and although Rachel wasn’t much taller than Cami, she was strong as an ox.

“Oh, Cami, Cami, Cami,” she squealed in seeming delight, grabbing Cami into a bone-crushing hug, lifting her off the floor and swinging her around in a complete circle. “It’s so good to see you again. I’ve missed you so much. This is going to be our best vacation ever! Come on. Let’s go get your luggage.”

For a moment, Cami had been taken aback, but then she understood. No one witnessing that over-the-top exchange between them would ever suspect that the wildly dressed, whirling dervish of a woman of being a fully trained and possibly deadly bodyguard. All the way through the terminal and while collecting Cami’s luggage, Rachel chatted away, giving every appearance that the two of them were old best friends getting together for the first time in years.

“You don’t look much like your photo,” Cami observed as they headed to the luggage carousels.

Rachel laughed. “The wig comes off. Once the studs come out, the holes disappear in a couple of weeks. As for the tattoos? They’re guaranteed to last for two weeks. After that, they scrub right off. The thing is, no one looking at someone like this suspects I’m a bodyguard.”

“You’re right about that,” Cami said with a laugh of her own. “You could have fooled me.”

“For ease of doing my job, we have connecting rooms at the Portlandia,” Rachel explained. “It’s a hotel WWS has used before and one where the doorman and most of the hotel staff won’t regard me with suspicion. That’ll make it easier for me to keep an eye on you.”

With luggage in hand, Rachel led the way to a parking structure where a cab was waiting to drive them from Heathrow to the Hotel Portlandia on London’s Great Portland Street. Although the vehicle looked like the genuine article, it was clear from the conversation between Rachel and the driver that both he and his pretend cab were part of Sonja Bjornson’s organization.

“How was your trip?” Rachel asked as they settled into the back seat for the forty-five-minute drive into the city.

“It was fine,” Cami answered.

“I’ve been briefed on you,” Rachel continued, “but I’d like to hear more from you about exactly what went on in L.A. last week. That way I’ll have a better idea of what to look for in terms of doing threat assessment.”

Cami recounted the whole ordeal in as much detail as she could remember, with Rachel hanging on every word.

“All right,” Rachel said when she finished. “Sonja sent me several photos of Mr. Petrov. As far as we can tell, he hasn’t left the U.S., so if there’s a threat, it’s unlikely to be from him. Not to worry, though. I’ll be keeping an eye on you every moment of every day.

“As you may have noticed, I’m not exactly svelte,” Rachel continued. “In the Defense Forces, guys called me Tank for obvious reasons. People often underestimate me, but they seldom make that same mistake twice. From what I’ve heard, the same thing is true for you. I think we’re going to make a great team.”

For the first time, Cami felt the same way. Maybe having a minder wasn’t going to be such a problem after all. It might even be fun.

“By the way,” Rachel added, “we’ve notified the Lancaster about what went on. Considering their clientele, they’re eager to keep the incident out of the public eye, so they’ve been very cooperative. They were dismayed to learn that their surveillance footage for Friday night had been tampered with, but surveillance for the remainder of the week was pretty much intact.

“Mr. Petrov was a frequent visitor to the hotel last week, but he wasn’t a registered guest. On Monday of that week, the same day you arrived, a young woman named Marina Ivanova, a Bulgarian immigrant associated with a well-known Los Angeles escort service, arrived at the hotel and booked a weeklong stay in a suite on the tenth floor.”

“The same floor I was on,” Cami said.

“Exactly,” Rachel agreed. Pulling out her phone, she turned it on and then scrolled through it until she found what she was looking for. When she handed her phone to Cami, the picture showing on the screen was someone Cami had seen before.

“She’s the same woman who was in the dining room with Bogdan Petrov just before he came after me.”

Rachel nodded. “And we don’t believe it’s a coincidence that her suite was three doors away from yours. As I said, he wasn’t a registered guest, but he frequently visited Ms. Ivanova’s suite, and we’ve found surveillance footage from earlier in the week of him using a key card to gain entrance to her room.”

“So he knew exactly where I was staying and even what floor?” Cami asked.

“Yes,” Rachel replied. “We’ve found evidence that suggests that the Lancaster’s reservation system as well as their surveillance system were both hacked in advance of your arrival. But that’s not all. When Ms. Ivanova arrived on Monday, she didn’t use valet parking or a bellman. Instead, she drove into the parking garage to unload her luggage.”

Once again, Rachel scrolled through her phone. This time when she handed it to Cami, a video was playing. The camera was located at some distance from the action, so it wasn’t easy to make out details, but a female figure was busily unloading an SUV of some kind. She lifted out two smaller pieces of roller luggage and one very large one.

The two smaller ones were evidently stackable. The larger one was not. After closing the back gate on the SUV, the woman collected her bags and started toward a nearby elevator.

“Watch how she handles the luggage,” Rachel advised.

Having spent a lot of time on the road, Camille Lee was well acquainted with handling luggage. Heavily loaded bags required not only steering but also a certain amount of aiming. Lightweight ones rolled along almost of their own accord. As the woman approached the elevator, she struggled to ram the two stacked pieces over the lip between the floor of the elevator and the floor of the garage. When it came to the larger one, however, she picked it up and lifted it inside one-handed.

“It looks like the big bag is empty,” Cami observed.

“Exactly,” Rachel Bloom agreed, “and it was still empty on Saturday morning when Marina loaded it into her car as she was leaving the Lancaster. Unfortunately, WWS has encountered that same piece of luggage before on occasion. If someone is small in stature and totally sedated, it’s possible for them to be crammed into a bag like that and removed from a crime scene without anyone being the wiser.”

Cami gave herself a minute to digest what had just been said. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that big roller was intended for me?”

Rachel nodded. “I am indeed.”

That admission was enough to take Cami’s breath away. Her previous kidnapping episode still haunted her, and it appeared that this second one had come way too close for comfort. Just the thought of it left her feeling sick to her stomach.

“But why would someone do that?” she asked. “And why me?”

“That’s what we have to figure out.”

“And what about Petrov?” Cami asked. “Where’s he during all of this?”

“The last time he was seen coming or going from the Lancaster was on Thursday evening. All of Friday’s surveillance footage vanished, taking Mr. Petrov’s subsequent comings and goings with it, but hold on while I bring up another video.”

Once the new footage started playing, Cami saw they were once again in an underground parking garage with a view of an elevator lobby. The time stamp said Monday, March 13, 2023, 11:35.06 p.m. As the video began, the elevator doors opened and a woman emerged. This time the camera was close enough for Cami to recognize Marina Ivanova.

The woman stepped out of the elevator and looked both ways before setting off. She went directly to a vehicle, walked up to the front of it, and then bent over it. She stayed in that position for only a moment or two before straightening up and heading back to the elevator.

“Wait a minute,” Cami said. “Isn’t that my car? Did she just put a GPS tracker on it?”

“Yes, she did,” Rachel replied. “She shoved it inside the front bumper so it was completely out of sight. We contacted the car rental company. Fortunately, the vehicle was back on the lot, and we were able to locate the device.”

“So in all the excitement, they forgot to retrieve it,” Cami said. “But I was right. Someone really was following me.”

“Yes, they were,” Rachel answered with a smile. “But now, not only do we have the device in hand, we also have all the phone numbers it was connected to.”

“Does that mean you know where Petrov is?”

“It means we know where he was. The last time the phone pinged was on Saturday morning in a desert area outside San Bernardino, California. As far as we can tell, it was turned off at that point and hasn’t been back on since.”

“What would a guy from Bulgaria be doing in San Bernardino?” Cami asked.

“Good question. Now that we have the phone number, we’re trying to gain access to the call history. We’re working on it, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Looking out the window of the cab, Cami could see they were close to their destination.

“What now?” she wanted to know.

“I’m glad you asked,” Rachel replied. “Since we know that we’re dealing with a serious opponent, I think we need to up our game. I know you’re here on business and that you have a number of appointments lined up, but the less you’re out and about the better.”

“What are you saying?”

“I took the liberty of reserving a conference room for the length of your stay. Instead of going out to visit clients at their places of business, they’re going to have to come to you.”

“But what if they don’t want to?” Cami objected.

“You’re staying at the Portlandia,” Rachel told her. “That’s name brand, my dear. Tell them there’s been a slight change of plans, and then invite them to join you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even for tea. Afternoon tea at the Portlandia is a thing of beauty. Trust me, your clients will be thrilled to come to you.”

Cami thought about that for a moment. Then she thought about being out and about in London with some unknown individual targeting her for who knows what.

“Sounds like a good idea,” she conceded at last. “I’ll go to work on revising the schedule wherever possible.”

“Great,” Rachel said with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be so easy to convince.”

“Usually I’m not,” Cami said, “but you’re very persuasive. And I’m grateful to know people used to call you Tank.”

“So am I,” Rachel said with a grin. “As they say, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”