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London. If her jailer didn’t like it, he could go suck exhaust fumes.

     
    “Yeah, she’s in her room. She was a wreck after the trip. She’s afraid of flying. Why didn’t anyone mention that? What? No, I’m sure she’s sound asleep.” Izzy leaned over and checked the schematic of the hotel’s ninth floor, just to be sure. As expected, the red light continued to blink on Room 906, right across the hall from his. His prototype monitoring device was working without a hitch. “But I need more data. How does the British Museum fit into the murders? I thought the curator was a specialist in documents from the Crusades.”
    Izzy didn’t make written notes as he talked. He was too well trained to betray any secrets. All his notes were mental, carefully categorized and entered as he skimmed through the electronic files that had been arriving ever since they’d reached London.
    His local handler, a stranger with no sign of emotion and absolutely no sense of humor, cleared his throat. “I’m relaying every file as it arrives, Mr. Teague. You must be aware that very high levels of security clearance are involved here. A Member of Parliament is involved, as are two U.S. Senators. Each file has to be cleared separately, and that is taking some time.”
    “Hurry things up. I have a meeting with my contact at the museum tomorrow. I want to be fully briefed before that,” he said curtly.
    “I will pass that information on. A team will be ready to pick you up at the hotel at 7:00 A.M. You’ll be fully briefed before the meeting. The girl will be given a separate briefing, of course.”
    The man’s flat, emotionless voice made Izzy irritated. “She’s not a girl. She’s nineteen and she’s old enough to get killed in the armed forces.”
    “Death comes to us all, Mr. Teague. Age has nothing to do with it.”
    The phone clicked off. Izzy muttered an oath and stood up, stretching cramped muscles. He hated working these complicated bureaucratic jobs with multi-levels of security oversight. He did his best work alone, one man with one focused objective, but he didn’t often have the luxury of working that way.
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement on his computer screen. He spun around and saw the red flashing light from Angie’s tracking device begin to move. Why hadn’t he been watching? The light was already halfway down the corridor, descending fast, probably via the main elevator bank.
    He grabbed his jacket and cell phone and powered off his computer. The small, high-tech unit slid into a backpack that he swung over one shoulder. He’d warned her not to run. When was she going to grow up?
    He closed his door and glanced up and down. Once he was sure the corridor was empty, he pulled a room key from his pocket and slid it into Maddie’s door.
    The lights were on. Her paper bag was on the bed.
    But her backpack was gone and the room was empty.
    He swung the door shut and sprinted toward the elevators. As the doors closed he grabbed his cell phone and watched the light zigzag through the basement and then return to street level. Then it began to pick up speed.
    Izzy scowled. He wasn’t the only one who would be watching the device. His handler would be receiving updates too. That gave Izzy about an hour to find Maddie. After that it would be too late to undo the damage.

     
    Maddie pulled back into the shadows outside the hotel’s staff exit and glanced at her watch.
    Suddenly the elevator door opened. Izzy Teague sprinted out, scowling, right on time. It had only taken him four minutes to follow the homing device.
    He glanced down at his cell phone. So the sleek unit was equipped with some sweet technology, Maddie thought. She watched him sprint outside and cross the street, following the bus with the hotel maid whose bag Maddie had opened. The security monitor was now hidden in that bag. The bus picked speed and roared through a green light toward Piccadilly Circus.
    Izzy Teague was right behind