The Export by J.K. Kelly (read along books txt) 📕

to solve a crime, and the exotic and not-so-interesting foods he’d encountered in his business and personal trips around the world. He’d been to every one of the continents except Antarctica. Through it all, the one thing that had eluded him was how to avoid catching a cold.

A brisk 10-minute walk back through the pedestrian tunnel to Terminal 4 got his heart pumping. He purchased a round-trip ticket on the Heathrow Express train and within 30 minutes was in downtown London at Paddington train station. Trains, buses, black taxicabs, fast food restaurants, coffee shops, and a sea of commuters and tourists flowed in and out of every opening in the place. Very familiar with the layout of the city, having worked and played there more times than he could remember, he opted to take a taxi down to the Parliament building. From there, he got his metabolism and mind pumping with another brisk 10-minute walk, this one along the Thames River to the bridge that would connect him to the MI5 headquarters. HQ stood downstream from Big Ben and England’s version of America’s U.S. Capital building. As he crossed the bridge and approached the building’s right side, he recalled the scene in a recent James Bond 007 film where someone blew up the place. Not today please, he thought with a smile.

Once cleared as a visitor on official government business, Matt placed the visitor badge and lanyard over his head, emptied his pockets to pass through security, collected his belongings on the other side, and was then greeted by Charlie’s assistant, who would escort Matt to Charlie’s office on the third floor. Charlie had been with MI5 for nearly 20 years. Although he had a remarkable CV and was liked by nearly everyone within the building, his rank and stature afforded him a small office with a window view of the train station rather than the coveted and more prestigious offices with the river view.

“Weren’t you on a higher floor last time I was here?” Matt said through a broad smile.

Charlie’s assistant, unsure of how to process the apparent insult, clumsily asked the guest if he wanted a coffee or perhaps a tea.

“Coffee, lots of coffee, extra cream and some sweetener, please.”

“Be sure to use the clotted cream,” Charlie called out to the aide, who now seemed even more confused by the banter.

“Never mind the American,” Charlie assured him. “They’re all loud and outspoken like this one.”

Matt smiled as he pulled a leather chair closer to the front of Charlie’s desk.

“And the bastards revolted for some bloody reason – what was that again, Matt?” said Charlie, hoping for something entertaining in response.

“I think it was taxation without representation,” he called out for all to hear. After a few minutes of small talk and additional banter, the aide delivered the coffee to Matt, steaming hot tea to his boss, and then closed the door behind him as he left them to their meeting.

“So, is that our killer?” Matt whispered jokingly.

“I’d check your coffee for glass slivers, my friend, or perhaps a whiff of drain cleaner. He doesn’t like many Americans. From the look on his face, you’ve endeared yourself as you always do.”

“I can teach him some self defense moves, how to throw a knife, whatever it takes to make us buds,” Matt suggested.

“No Matt, not again,” Charlie protested. “You did that to my last assistant and he wound up with stitches and a bloody settlement to boot.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Charlie’s office always fascinated his American friend. Despite the modern look of the building’s exterior, this office, like the rest of them on the floor, was oak or mahogany from floor to ceiling and the desks were made of wood and heavy and massive as an army tank. “I’d be safer under the damn thing than in a bunker if we ever get bombed again,” Charlie would always joke.

As a matter of protocol, Charlie made the meeting official but also highly confidential by informing Matt that he was there to work in partnership with the United States National Security Agency and the United Kingdom’s Intelligence Services. He would act in an official capacity at the direction of his manager, Ms. Dale of the FBI, as a consultant. His purpose was to aid in the apprehension of an intelligence services employee suspected in five murders, all females, all stabbings by knife, in the greater London area over the previous three weeks. Charlie spun his computer screen around for Matt to view and then played a four-minute BBC video that showed the victims, the crime scenes, eyewitness accounts, and a summary that begged the question by the commentator, “When will London be safe again?”

“I’m surprised ol’ Claire let me come. Thought for sure she’d offer me something juicy like an undersecretary’s suspicious death in Abuja or Mogadishu. The flies are particularly annoying there this time of year.”

“She loves you, Matt, and only wants the best for you,” Charlie said with a wink. Both men laughed until Matt felt his phone vibrate as a text arrived.

“Well, would you look at that,” Matt stated. “That girl’s good.” He held up his phone for Charlie to read the message. It was from Dale.

HOPE YOU ARE HAVING A GOOD TIME FIGHTING CRIME YOU BOYS BEST NOT BE TALKING TRASH ABOUT ME!!!

Charlie nearly choked as he sprayed his tea across his desk. Both men laughed hysterically for a bit until they regained their composure.

“Dude, I think she’s got a bug in here,” Matt said with a wink.

“No mate, she’s just that good,” Charlie said. “One day you should marry that girl.”

Matt shook his head no and placed his right index finger to his lips, whispering, “Shhh. She might hear you.” Both men smiled and then Charlie set to mopping up his desktop and handed Matt a confidential personnel file and notes on the suspect.

“Damn, boy!” Matt said after reading the bullet points of the person’s CV. “He’s connected to some powerful people over here.