"Only too well. There is honor among thieves, but not when they come in the form of autocratic Russian rich girls who feel that money can buy them anything and everything. Have you even worked a day in your whole mispent life? You know, Lenin would roll over in his tomb if he knew what your kind bourgeois nation building you were trying to attempt. Again, thank you for your donation..."
All Jess hears is dead air on the other end, at which point she calls Harry.
"Huh? What? Erm...yeah. I've had a tracer program on the funds since the transaction was made. It appears to be some off-shore account in the Cayman Islands."
Ian starts reading the report at length, skimming over the important bits.
"This isn't over yet, not by a longshot. Our suspect McLaren just placed a rental order for a large lorry to be delivered the after tomorrow...and I'm guessing it is for hauling bait and tackle. Take the van and surveil the area. Report any suspicious activity. You are authorized to use deadly force if needed."
"We'll also need a few of you to go to London and watch Catesby. She made a point of showing herself at Downing Street and I highly doubt she'll be leaving before the real target is hit...Volunteers to go along with Jess?"
"I'll go with Jess. If nothing else, I'm supposed to be with her. And heaven knows she can use someone whose good with a gun. Lady tends to get in awkward situations with her safety now and again."
Flying out of the second story window of Mutt and Jeff's apartment is Jeff, landing in a refuse dumpster below. Following in a similar descent to terra-firma is Mutt, taking the more scenic "tumbling down two flights of rusty iron stairs" route...his plunge stopped by a cinderblock wall and the hammer-click of Artis' silenced pistol.
Dieter
