The dinner hour was long passed and my stomach growled angrily as I trotted up the St. John’s Wood underground exit. I glanced down Acacia Road. There was a coffee house around the corner, calling my name.

I tamped down the hunger and walked to the opposite end of Acacia, crossing onto Grove End Road. It was a quiet evening. A few pedestrians strolled past and a car cruised by in the other direction. The tree lined street curved south until it intersected Garden at Abbey Road.

I waited for a car to crawl through the famous zebra crossing before stepping into the lane. Glancing at Abbey Road Studios, I wondered like the rest of the world what happened to the Beatles. The studio to my right was all but forgotten since the breakup though it was now getting new life as the recording home of Pink Floyd and a few lesser known up-and-comers.

I rang the bell at One Garden Road and was buzzed up to the second floor. Zita was standing on the landing with a small Beretta pointed in my direction. That wasn’t the reception I was expecting. I raised my hands and grinned.

“I should shoot you right here, if it wasn’t for the bin of paperwork I’d have,” she said.

“I’m sorry I was late getting to Brighton.”

“I let you out of my sight for a day and look what you’ve done!”

“I can explain the bomb,” I said, readying my defense.

“What bomb?”

“The bomb? Brighton?”

“You’d better get inside, darling.” Zita holstered the weapon and turned her back to the open door. I caught her from behind with my arms around her waist. “Don’t try to soften me. You’ll not get a leg over until you tell me the whole story.”

The television was on in the parlor. A story was running about Princess Anne’s near abduction earlier that evening. The on-scene reporter seemed more shaken than the Queen’s only daughter. The street had been cleared of vehicles but she kept glancing behind as if something scared her.

This is Amanda Davies reporting for BBC 1. Earlier this evening, Princess Anne received the scare of her life during a failed kidnapping attempt along Pall Mall. Ian Ball, 26, of Reading in Berkshire has been identified as the would-be kidnapper. Our sources say he is known to New Scotland Yard as a petty burglar with close ties to the Irish Republican Army. If Mr. Ball is indeed responsible for this horrific act, it would appear he has certainly stepped up in his criminal career.

Princess Anne and her husband, Captain Mark Phillips, were apparently unharmed though four others were shot in their defense. James Beaton, the Princess’s personal police officer, was shot thrice in the chest. He is currently undergoing surgery at Westminster’s Hospital. His condition remains critical. A senior royal chauffeur, Alex Callender, as well as two good Samaritans were also wounded during the altercation.

The royal couple were returning to Buckingham Palace from a charity filming in the City when the kidnapper forced their limousine to the curb. Mr. Ball allegedly demanded two or three million pounds; the exact amount is still in question. He intended to help the IRA with this new source of funding.

Princess Anne allegedly made the following statement after arriving safely back at Buckingham Palace. I quote, “It was all so infuriating; I kept saying I didn’t want to get out of the car, and I was not going to get out of the car. I nearly lost my temper with him, but I knew that if I did, I should hit him and he would shoot me.”

The incident raises concerns as to how the precise whereabouts of two members of the royal family would have been known by a member of the public. The police say it is too early to determine if Mr. Ball was working alone or if he was part of an organized group but they continue to investigate potential political motivations.

At the moment Mr. Ball is being held at Cannon Row police station. He is expected to appear before the magistrate tomorrow…

Zita turned the sound down.

“This has you written all over it,” she said.

“Me? I wasn’t involved with this guy.”

“Involved, perhaps not. Meddling, certainly.” I stared at her. “You show up here not 30 minutes after the entire Secret Service is placed on high alert. Was that a coincidence?”

“I was only passing by,” I said, raising my hands.

“And you couldn’t let it alone? Doc, I’m MI6. International counterintelligence, with an emphasis on international. I can’t protect you here. You know we have no jurisdiction at home. MI5 and New Scotland Yard run the internal office here. And what bomb?”​

​​London Bridge is Falling Down Excerpt 7

​The Hollow Man     |     The Hollow Man Series, International Espionage​

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