“He’s definitely running SDRs,” said Harvath.

“Agreed. Right now he is on Waterloo Place, near the Sofitel headed toward Trafalgar. We’re going to mobilize all the teams we have and flood the area. We’re getting his picture out to police as well.”

“Don’t do that,” Harvath cautioned.

“Why the devil shouldn’t we?”

“If he’s the controller of the East London cell, he’s going to need to get in touch with his superior to sort out what just happened. They have no idea how deeply they’ve been penetrated and if other cells are at risk.”

“What if we lose him?” asked Marx now.

“The only way that will happen is if we spook him. So we won’t spook him. The last thing we want to do is put the kind of surveillance on him that he’d be expecting.”

“You want to use your team again.”

Harvath looked at Casey and the rest of the Athena Team, who all flashed him thumbs-up. “Your people can establish a loose cordon,” Harvath said. “Keep it at least three or four blocks out. We’ll let my team work inside the bubble.”

“You realize that just because they’re women, that doesn’t mean he won’t take notice of them. If he sees any of them a second time, we’re going to have a problem.”

“So let’s make sure we don’t have any problems. Put your teams into the area, but hold them as far back as possible. We’ll stay on the radios and you can give us CCTV updates as to what our man is doing. Meanwhile, try to find out who the hell he is and get me everything you can on him.”

“We will,” said Marx. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” replied Harvath glancing back down at the map. “I’m going to need you to make an important phone call for me.”

CHAPTER 52

The Lynx helicopter flared as it came in and landed on the Horse Guards Parade exercise ground in Whitehall. Crowds of tourists, gathered for the famous changing of the guard, were kept a safe distance away by formally garbed Household Cavalry troopers.

Both Harvath and the Athena Team members were familiar with the Household Cavalry, as it was a highly respected operational regiment whose personnel, which included Prince Harry, had served courageously in both Iraq and Afghanistan.

A special contingent of troopers spirited the helicopter’s passengers to the archway that led to the street. There were shouts of “Coming through. They have an ivory!” as the team passed beneath the ceremonial arch reserved solely for the queen and those who had been given the queen’s permission to pass in the form of a formal ivory invitation. Harvath had no idea if Marx had contacted the queen, but the speed and professionalism with which they were ushered through was remarkable.

Out on the street, they divided up into teams and Harvath watched as the women transformed right before his eyes. They made subtle adjustments to their clothes and hairstyles that could later be changed at a moment’s notice and would result in their appearance’s being significantly altered. Like their male colleagues, this Delta Force detachment was exceedingly well trained.

Once again, Harvath was teamed with Gretchen Casey. Cooper went with Ericsson and Rodriguez went with Rhodes. Halfway up the street, he watched Cooper and Ericsson duck inside a T-shirt shop. He could see the scene playing out in his mind without even being there. In a hurry, their tour bus leaving momentarily, two tourists wanted to stock up on a bunch of souvenirs.

If they were smart, which Harvath already knew they were, they’d be buying a bunch of clothing to help further alter their appearance. The bonus was that the bags they’d be carrying would make them look even more like tourists.

As they approached the statue of Sir Henry Havelock with Lord Nelson’s column and Trafalgar looming behind, Harvath was amazed at the number of people that were out. Black cabs, double-decker and tour buses disgorged people on every corner, and somewhere in that mass of humanity was the man they were looking for.

Because of the number of operatives now involved, Ashford wanted firm call signs and Harvath’s team had been designated Corona. He was Corona One; Casey, Corona Two; Cooper, Corona Three; Ericsson, Four; Rodriguez Five; and Rhodes Six. Ashford took the call sign Viceroy.

Harvath and Casey had picked up a tourist map, while the other women used maps that they had found on the Web via their iPhones.

They gave Trafalgar a wide berth and stayed well across the street. Via the bone mic he was wearing, Harvath pretended to consult his map with Casey and said, “Okay, Viceroy. Where’s the subject?”

“He’s heading into the National Gallery.”

Before Harvath could respond, Cooper said, “This is Corona Three. We’ve got him.”

The dance went on for over an hour. The man they were following used channels, stair-stepping, intrusion points, and timing stops. He also changed his appearance several more times, but it made no difference. He never spotted Harvath’s team and was therefore unable to shake them.

He walked into an Internet café on Charing Cross Road with Megan Rhodes right on his heels. It was a small, storefront operation that sold newspapers, cigarettes, and Western Union services in addition to Internet access. The space looked like it had once belonged to a grocer and they also offered Skype, IT maintenance, Web design, computer networking, and Web and data security. It was an odd hodgepodge to say the least.

Chewing gum and clicking away at her iPhone, Rhodes was directed by an overly pierced clerk to the only remaining terminal, the one right next to the man she was following.

Having pulled out her earpiece before walking into the café, Rhodes was now communicating via text messages with Gretchen Casey, who, along with Harvath, was two blocks away and closing.

Nikki Rodriguez took up a position outside, while Cooper and Ericsson split up to cover any rear exits. Ashford’s men maintained their perimeter, ready to move in as soon as Harvath gave the command.

“Shut up,” Rhodes snorted as she popped her gum, rolled her eyes, and thumbed out another text message.

The controller cursed the “ugly American” under his breath and tried to tune her out as he opened up his Web browser.

Rhodes set her phone down next to her computer and opened her Web browser as well and began slowly surfing through a series of tourism links for the Cotswolds.

The man next to her logged on to his Skype account, picked up the headset next to his computer, and initiated a VOIP call.

“The oranges were no good,” he said in Arabic. “I have no idea why,” he added after a pause to listen to something said by whoever was on the other end. “It might have been just this batch or it could have been throughout the entire crop.”

The cryptic call went on for several minutes as the men spoke in code. Rhodes’s iPhone was recording the entire thing and broadcasting it to Casey.

“I understand,” the controller finally said. “It is the right thing to do.” He then disconnected the call and removed his headset.

Rhodes paid no attention to the man as he stood up to leave. Once he was at the door, she picked up her phone and said, “He’s coming out. Take him down.”

In case the man had some sort of a relationship with the café, they waited until he was half a block away and then Harvath and Rodriguez did the honors with a blast from one of the Taser X3s.

By the time Harvath had the man’s wrists bound with a pair of EZ Cuffs, an MI5 van was in the street, its sliding door wide open.

He and Rodriguez chucked the man inside and then watched as it raced away. Turning to her, he asked, “Did that guy smell like goat to you?”

Rodriguez shook her head and went back to join the rest of the team at the café.