Still, he did his best to answer. He gave them what he knew, even if he knew it was incorrect.

But even as Jonathan complied, he was conducting his own private interrogation. He harbored no doubt about Emma’s fate should he succeed in finding her. In short order, she would be questioned by MI5, turned over to Division (in the guise of the CIA, the DIA, or any other overt intelligence agency), questioned again, and then “disappeared.” “Disappeared,” meaning shot, hanged, or, as Graves had so eloquently put it earlier, “drawn and quartered and left for the crows.” If Division had wanted Emma dead before, they’d be twice as firm in their intentions after the attempt on Igor Ivanov. There were only two sides in this game. If Emma wasn’t working for them, she was working for the enemy.

Outside, the sights grew familiar as they reentered London. They drove past the Victoria and Albert Museum and Harrods before making the turn onto Park Lane.

Despite the lies that had gone before, the dissembling and the duplicity, Jonathan knew that he still loved Emma. They had had eight years together. He believed that for the most part the woman with whom he’d shared his life and his love had reciprocated his feelings. He had no proof. Just his heart. In the end, that’s all there was anyway.

He looked at Graves, sitting so stiffly in the front seat. The enemy, Jonathan thought, with a viciousness that alarmed him.

He would not deliver her to the executioner.

On the other hand, Jonathan had no intention of spending the rest of his life inside a British jail. He would not play the martyr, either.

Not even for Emma.

At 6 p.m. sharp, the Rover pulled into the Dorchester ’s drive and stopped in front of the entrance. A plainclothes officer opened the door and stood by as Jonathan was ushered out. There were more police in the lobby, effectively lining his route to the elevator. Graves led the way, with Ford one step behind.

“Quite a welcoming committee,” said Jonathan. “Where do you think I’m going to go?”

The elevator arrived. Graves took hold of his arm and guided him inside. “You’ll go where we tell you,” he said.

Outside his door, another plainclothes officer waited. Seeing Graves, he whispered a respectful “Sir.”

Jonathan’s suite was a hive of activity. It appeared as if a search of the room had been completed and everything was being put back as it had been. Graves dismissed the last officers and shut the door. Jonathan opened his wardrobe and noted that his clothes hung much more neatly than before. “Did you find anything?” he called over his shoulder.

“Take a shower and put on some clean clothes,” barked Graves. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out in due time.”

“I thought you wanted me to help you find Emma.”

“Oh, you will. Now do as you’re told.”

Jonathan walked into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and turned on the shower. Steam began to fill the room. He took off his shirt, then gazed down at the bracelet on his ankle. He opened the door to Graves and Ford standing a few feet away, engaged in a heated discussion.

“Now what?” asked Graves, looking his way.

Jonathan pointed to the bracelet. “Is this thing waterproof?”

Graves shook his head, then approached. “I should make you shower with one foot out the door.” He fiddled in his pocket for a key, then, kneeling, unlocked the bracelet. “I hear if you keep it on long enough the epidermis begins to fuse with the steel. The docs have to cut it away from the leg. You know anything about that?”

“I don’t.”

Graves stood, bracelet in one hand. “This is the last time it comes off until we bring your wife into custody. Are we clear?”

“Thank you.” Jonathan began to close the door, but stopped halfway. “Colonel Graves, just what makes you so sure Emma’s still in England?”

Graves looked at Ford, then back at Jonathan. “All in due time, Dr. Ransom. Now get cleaned up.”

“Emma Ransom is our prime suspect in Lord Robert Russell’s murder,” said Kate Ford. “We have evidence that she was at the scene of the crime. No other person could have gained access to his apartment. This case belongs to homicide.”

“It’s a counterterror matter now, DCI Ford,” replied Graves. “Foreign nationals have been killed, including several high-ranking diplomats. The Russians are screaming their bloody heads off for us to take action. Igor Ivanov is a prime contender for the presidency in two years’ time. If he dies, it will sour relations between our countries for years to come. This isn’t a simple murder. It’s a national incident.”

“Be that as it may homicide needs to stay involved.”

“Out of the question. If you don’t like it, take it up with the PM. The Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms are sitting right now. Because the bomb went off so close to Whitehall, they’re trying to decide if it was an attack against government or simply a one-off to take out Ivanov. The home secretary is considering asking for an evacuation of all government offices in Westminster. It’s far beyond homicide.”

“I brought this case to you,” said Kate, slowly and clearly. “I have every right to stay involved.”

“As I recall, I contacted you. It was me was standing in your kitchen this morning.”

“Because of the work my team had accomplished. You knew I was onto something and you wanted my help.”

“I’d say things have changed considerably in the past twelve hours.”

“But Jonathan Ransom can’t help you. Can’t you see that he was telling the truth?”

“Actually, I can’t. All the plastic explosives residue we found on his clothing must be blinding me. After Ransom gets cleaned up, we’re going to make a tour of the spots where he claimed to have met his wife. If he isn’t more forthcoming, I’m taking him back to Hereford to have a full and frank exchange of views with some of the lads from the regiment.”

“You’re going to beat it out of him? That will get you precisely nowhere.”

“We would never touch him, and you know it. But we might do our best to scare him.” Graves peeled back the window sheers. “You see, DCI Ford, I think our doctor is lying,” he said, gazing out over Hyde Park. “I’m convinced that he knows precisely where his wife has run to. I’ve got this theory: the reason Ransom was running toward his wife wasn’t to stop her from blowing the bomb. It was to make her blow it more quickly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ivanov was in the first Mercedes, not the third. Ransom saw him as he passed by and was trying to warn his wife to blow the device earlier.”

“The windows on those cars were dark as night,” retorted Kate. “No one could see through them. Ransom couldn’t have known who was in what car.”

Graves turned, his arms crossed. “I think we’re finished here.”

But Kate stood her ground. “It’s the murder angle that will get you to Emma Ransom before Ransom and all of your intelligence snooping.”

“Will it?” Graves spoke over her shoulder as he walked to the door.

“We must find the woman who sent Russell the video transmission. It was her source that tipped off Russell about Victoria Street. That means her information came from within the organization that was planning the attack. I’d wager somewhere close to the top. It’s all that nonsense about TINs, trusted information networks. If we can find out where she got the tip, we’ll know who gave Emma Ransom her marching orders. The woman holds the key to this.”

“But we’ll never find her. The odds of tracing the message back to its source are nil. I’m sticking with Ransom. You know the saying, A Yank in the hand…’” Graves paused, his fingers curled around the doorknob.