“Shooting what?”
“Bullets. Or, so far, a bullet.”
“I didn’t hear a gunshot.”
“Neither did I, and that especially worries me.” Stone got to one knee, took off his tweed hat, put it on a stick, and handed it to her. “I want you to slowly raise this hat on your side of the boulder to a point where it will look as if it’s on my head.”
Pat took the stick and slowly hoisted the hat, while Stone moved to the other side of the boulder. Something ricocheted off her side of the boulder and Stone stuck his head up on the other side and had a good look around. Then, at the extremity of his vision in the rain, perhaps a hundred yards away, he saw a dark figure running with something in his hands. “Man with rifle,” he muttered to himself.
“What did you say?”
“I said ‘man with rifle.’ I should have said ‘silenced rifle.’” He stood up.
“Are you crazy? Get down!”
“He’s not trying to kill us,” Stone said, “he’s trying to scare us. We were a good target on the trail the first time he fired, but he aimed three or four feet ahead of us, and he didn’t even shoot the hat off the stick. Anyway, the visibility is no more than a hundred yards or so, and if I can’t see him, he can’t see me. Let’s go.” He took his hat off the stick, wrung it out, put it on his head, and started walking.
“I’m staying behind you,” she said, following him.
“Good idea.”
They were a couple of hundred yards up the trail when he heard a vehicle start, maybe a Land Rover, then drive away until the engine noise faded into the downpour.
After another hour of walking the hotel hove into view, and they shed their coats and boots in the mudroom. Twenty minutes after that they were sharing a soak in a hot tub that was just large enough for two friendly people. Two brandy snifters floated near at hand.
“In a minute, we, the brandy, and the water will all be the same temperature,” Stone said, “and the brandy will go down easily.”
“And then we’ll drown,” she said.
“I’m not getting what’s going on here,” he said.
“Drowning?”
“No, getting shot at, being pursued but not caught. What do they want?”
“They?”
“I’m assuming that Reeves and Keyes are in this together. Is this just an elaborate practical joke, or do they want something? And if so, what? Do you have any idea at all?”
There was a long pause before she said, “No.”
38
Millie walked out of the Connaught with Holly, and they turned up Mount Street, with its elegant shops.
“Pity there’s no time for shopping,” she said.
“Maybe later,” Holly replied.
“Are we going on with the president to Paris, Berlin, and Rome?” Millie asked.
“Would you like that?”
“I wouldn’t mind, but I think I might be of more use here, working with MI6.”
“You have a point,” Holly said. “I have to stick with her, since I came along to consult as we traveled, but you’re running out of things to do for her.”
“I’ve felt that.”
They walked up South Audley Street to the embassy and entered through the rear door, showing ID, even though the guards knew them by now. Holly led the way to a different elevator at the north end of the building. She ran her White House ID through a scanner to summon the car, and to Millie’s surprise, they went down a couple of floors before getting off.
When they did there was a door ahead of them marked “No Entry.” Holly ran her ID through the scanner again; there was a clicking noise and the door opened half an inch. “Follow me,” she said, pushing the door open.
Millie found herself in a suite of offices that did not resemble those on the upper floors of the building. They were smaller, dingier, and less decorated, and there were no windows. Holly led her down the hallway to a corner office and rapped on the door, looking up at a camera screwed to the wall. There was another click.
“Come in, Holly,” a deep male voice said.
They went into the room and Millie was surprised to find that the big voice belonged to a pale, skinny man wearing black glasses. “Heard you were in town,” he said, standing up to shake her hand.
“Bill, this is my colleague Millicent Martindale. Millie, this is Bill French.”
Millie shook his hand and accepted the gesture offering them seats.
“What’s up?” Bill asked.
“We’ve both been traveling with the president on this trip, but we’re also working on something with MI6.”
“And what would that be?”
“It’s not passing through the station,” Holly said.
Bill nodded sagely, as if that were neither unexpected nor a bad idea.
“I’m going on to the continent with the president, but Millie is going to stay in London to work with Felicity’s crowd and liaise with the FBI — in D.C., not here.”
Bill nodded again. “You need anything?”
“Do you have a vacant office where Millie could camp for a while?”
“I’ve got an officer on maternity leave — she gave birth last night. Millie could sit there, after we’ve swept it clean.”
“Thanks, Bill, that’s very good of you.”
Bill picked up the phone and pressed a button. “It’s Bill,” he said. “Please thoroughly clean and secure Vanessa’s office, ASAP,” he said. “We’re going to have a guest with us for a while.” He listened for a reply. “Thanks.” He hung up. “Half an hour,” he said. “Would you two like some coffee while you wait?”
“Sure,” Holly said. “Both black.”
Bill got up, opened a cabinet door, and came back with two steaming mugs. “How’s life at the White House, Holly?”
“Very interesting, but a little crazy.”
“Do you miss the New York station?”
“Every time I request something and have to explain why.”
“I know what you mean. How’s the living in D.C.?”
“I got lucky with an apartment in Georgetown. It was easy to secure. The owner is ex-military and has an antique shop downstairs. The apartment was his, until he moved into a house.”
“You wouldn’t believe what the housing prices are like here. The city has been ruined for regular folks. Everything’s a zillion dollars. I heard a big-time movie star wanted to buy a flat here — nothing terribly special — and the price was fourteen million pounds.”
“That’s pretty breathtaking,” Holly replied. “Who has that much?”
“Arabs and Russians. The Arabs have been around forever, but who knew there would suddenly be Russian billionaires?”
“How about schools?”
“That’s pretty easy for us, with the embassy doing the looking. As long as the kids can cut it, they’re in. My boy is at Harrow, the girl is at Lady Eden’s. They’re going to have to learn to talk American again when they get home, or they’ll be beaten up daily.”
“I was an army brat,” Holly said, “so it was pretty easy for me. Every time we moved, all I had to do was either talk southern or talk Yankee, depending.”
Bill’s phone rang, and he picked it up. “Yeah? Thanks.”
He hung up again and got up. “Come on, I’ll walk you down there.” A few yards down the hall Bill stopped at a cubicle and spoke to a middle-aged woman. “Hey, Tip,” he said. “This is Holly Barker and your sublet, Millie Martindale.”
Tip shook both their hands. “The place is clean,” she said, handing Millie a key card. “I’ll help you with whatever you need — don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve got time on my hands with Vanessa out.”
“Thanks, Tip. What’s the name short for?”
“Tatania — everybody here thinks it’s too Russian.”
Millie laughed.