He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, the surface of the Thames River was a gray mist, with a few barges floating.
"Those Chechens, where will they end up?"
Ellis thought for a moment.
"Italy? France? Germany? All possible."
Graham shook his head.
"No. They won't stay in Southern Europe. Southern Europe is too poor, too chaotic, too easy to be watched."
He paused.
"They will head north. Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, even—the United Kingdom."
Ellis's face changed.
"You mean—"
Graham turned around.
"Tell border control to heighten vigilance. Every port, every airport, every smuggling route. From now on, check every single face, one by one."
He paused.
"Also, contact the Mexicans. Tell them they can set the terms for intelligence exchange. We'll agree."
Four o'clock in the afternoon, Mexico City, top floor of the "Feathered Serpent Temple."
Bramo placed Graham's reply on Victor's desk.
Victor glanced at it.
"The British finally relented."
