CHAPTER 14
John was first alerted to a woman following him when he was walking down Slottsbacken, in the rain, from the royal palace.
He’d utilized an ear fob connected by Bluetooth to his phone.
When he’d crossed the street at the bottom of the incline, he’d been told a possible minder was about fifty meters back, hood up over her head in the rain.
A basic description of her shape, her size, and the color of her coat had also been relayed.
Thankfully, he’d come prepared with people to keep watch as he entered and exited the palace.
Always before he’d been followed by agents when in Stockholm, so this visit would not be any different.
Only this time he needed to keep track of any and all shadows.
He’d stayed to the sidewalk and resisted the temptation to seem anything other than a man stepping smartly about town in the rain.
He’d calmly walked to the Grand H?tel, checked in, retrieved his luggage, then caught a glimpse of the woman, as described, in the lobby just before the elevator doors closed.
Which made him wonder about everything that happened at the palace.
Was it all a show? Designed to fluster him.
Cause him to do something? Which this woman would now discover?
Intriguing. Had to be Stephanie Nelle’s idea. Only this time he was two steps ahead.
He stood inside the Flag Suite, staring out the windows, noting that the rain had yet to abate.
The ticket for the circus rested safely in his pocket.
He liked what Thoreau once said. Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.
And Darwin. So wise. It is not the strongest of the species that survive, not the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.
He grabbed his raincoat and left the room, descending to ground level in the elevator.
He told himself not to appear anxious or obvious.
Be casual. Indifferent. The doors opened and he stepped out into a busy lobby.
His gaze quickly raked from right to left and he caught sight of the woman inside the Cadier Bar, sitting at a table alone with a flute of champagne and some food.
He kept walking toward the main entrance and noticed she rose from the table.
Outside, beneath a covered sidewalk, he told the attendant that he needed a cab.
One was flagged and eased up to the curb.
He tipped the attendant a hundred kroner and climbed inside.
Through the tinted window he saw the woman emerge from the glass doors and stole his first look at her close up.
Attractive, with skin the color of amber, features dainty, face flawless, unmarked by even the slightest blemish.
Long dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, the strands damp from the rain. Fit too. With plenty of curves.
A looker.
Who would need a few moments to acquire a cab of her own.
“Turn here,” he told the driver, and they made the first right, rounding to the north side of the Grand H?tel.
“Slow down,” he said.
Which should allow time for her to catch up.
Cassiopeia moved fast, grabbing a cab and heading off in pursuit. She’d never hear the end of it from Cotton, or Stephanie, if she lost Westlake.
She’d noticed Westlake had changed clothes.
More casual. A bit unusual for a man of his wealth and status.
For her that meant Savile Row suits, leather brogues, and silk cravats.
Images of Cary Grant, Sean Connery, Michael Caine, and Daniel Craig came to mind.
And a tweed jacket. A caricature? Probably. But the look was classic.
“Turn here,” she told the driver, mimicking the path Westlake had taken.
The car negotiated the corner.
“I need you to stay with that cab three cars ahead,” she told the driver. “But not too close. There’s a thousand kroner in it if you do not get noticed.”
That should be enough incentive.
She settled into the seat and watched through the windshield.
Westlake’s cab made a series of turns, heading north through a succession of traffic signals until finally stopping in front of one of Stockholm’s many event arenas.
Placards and decorations out front announced that the Moscow Circus was performing inside.
Westlake emerged from the cab.
And walked toward the entrance.