Ian winced slightly. “So he is important, then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Important to your boss and mine,” she replied.
“Now I’m left with wondering how the hell he got into the country. Any ideas on that?”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” she said.
Their lunch arrived, and Ian tasted the wine. “We’ll drink it,” he said to the waitress.
They ate in silence for a little while. Finally Millie broke it. “Anything new on Larry and Curly?”
He looked at her askance. “Are we talking about the Three Stooges?”
“The twins,” she replied. “Moe is the one we’re tracking in the States.”
“Ah, the twins.”
“Did you know them at Eton?”
“I was at Oxford when they were at Eton.”
“Does your service have any assets in Dahai who could be of help?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that. Suffice it to say that they are scratching around the edges of the sultan’s court for word of the boys. Optimism is high.”
“It would seem that the boys were trained to be British, and that Moe, as we call him, was trained to be American.”
“Yes, it would seem so. Worrying, isn’t it? It’s so much easier to spot them when they wear turbans and costumes and speak in tongues.”
“Isn’t it? Easier, too, when they have names and photographs and fingerprints in our databases.”
“That would be convenient, yes. But someone has gone to a great deal of trouble and expense over a period of many years to hide those things from us, and I find it very annoying. Perhaps you and I and your FBI friend can do something about that.”
“It’s why I’m here,” Millie said. Her cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Quentin. We have a photograph of Moe.”
41
They were at mid-morning before leaving Gidleigh Park, after a hot breakfast and hot sex. Pat’s packing took longer than Stone thought it should.
They loaded the car, paid the bill, and made their way back up the single track between the hedgerows, not meeting any opposing traffic on the way, and were soon on the motorway, headed north, then east. They stopped at a restaurant recommended by their GPS, for lunch, and then they pulled up in front of Cliveden House, a huge residence going back to the eighteenth century, lately a hotel. They had barely gotten out of the car when Dino and Viv arrived in a chauffeured Mercedes.
“Holy shit,” Dino said quietly, looking at the imposing house, “I hope the concierge didn’t take the whole place for us.”
They entered an enormous hall furnished with scattered furniture, and with a huge fireplace at one end. An assistant manager registered them and delivered them to their suite, and their luggage was not far behind. Stone poured them all a glass of sherry from a decanter on the coffee table, and they relaxed.
“This is wonderful, Stone,” Viv said. “Can we live here, please?”
“Sure, if Dino can convince the mayor he can run the NYPD from here, and he can get a bill through the city council to pay for it.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Dino said.
“I saw something about Lord Astor in a brochure downstairs.”
“This was his home, and his wife, Nancy, who was American, became a member of Parliament. This house was the center of an amazing group of characters called the Cliveden Set, which included people like George Bernard Shaw, Charlie Chaplin, and a few Mitford sisters, one of whom was married to Sir Oswald Mosley, the British fascist who was imprisoned during World War Two to keep him out of mischief. Also a part of the crowd was John Profumo, minister of Defence at the time, who met a young woman here called Christine Keeler, a sort of part-time prostitute, I think, who was also having an affair with the Soviet military attaché. Between the three of them, they nearly brought down the government. Profumo lied to a parliamentary committee about it and got sacked for his trouble.”
“I’m not sure I can keep that pace,” Viv said. “Dino will have to trade me in on a racier model.”
“You’ll do,” Dino said.
“Now all that remains,” Stone said, “is to wait for Paul Reeves to show up.”
Viv and Pat excused themselves to unpack, and Dino poured himself and Stone another glass of sherry. “So,” he said, “bring me up to date on Reeves.”
Stone told him about the events of yesterday.
“I’d better call Sir Martin and give him the latest sighting of Kevin Keyes,” Dino said.
“They may have already left the country by now. We last saw Reeves’s airplane at Coventry when we landed. It might be a good idea to alert U.S. Customs that they’re on their way home. They have to file a notice of when and where they’ll cross the border and clear customs. Keyes won’t put his name on it, but Reeves will, and that will be a good excuse to throw a net over both of them.”
“I’ll call everybody,” Dino said.
“What bothers me is I think Pat is still holding out on telling me the whole story. I’ve gone at her three or four times, and on each occasion she’s told me a little more, but I still don’t think I have it all, and I’m worried that she won’t confide in me.”
“What do you think she’s hiding?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be worried.”
“When are you and I headed back?”
“The day after tomorrow. Pat will drop us at Coventry Airport, then we’ll go on to Reykjavik from there, about a three-hour flight. Pat will drive on to the Cessna Service Center north of there, where her client is having the pre-purchase inspection done on his new airplane.”
“Will she take the same route back as we do?”
“No, she’s got a twenty-five-hundred-mile range with the CJ4, so she can refuel at Shannon, then go nonstop to Newfoundland.”
“Alone?”
“No, her client is going along, because he has to train for his new airplane in Wichita. She’ll deliver him there, then fly commercial back to New York.”
“What about Reeves? What route will he take?”
“The Blue Spruce route, like us. His airplane has less range than mine.”
“And where will he clear U.S. Customs?”
“Bangor, Maine, I guess.”
“So that would be the place to interrupt his trip and bag Keyes?”
“I guess. He has to clear customs at the nearest airport of entry after crossing the Canadian border.”
Dino got out his phone and started making calls.
They had dinner in the main dining room, and Stone kept expecting to see Paul Reeves stroll in.
“Relax, Stone,” Dino said. “You’re looking way too nervous for you.”
Stone ordered another bottle of wine.
42
Millie got excited. “That’s great news. Can you e-mail it to me?”
“Already done,” Quentin said. “Mind you, the photo is fifteen years old, and it’s not perfect, but our lab can do some work on it to help bring it up to date.”
“And when will we see that?”
“Later today, maybe tomorrow. I’ve put a rush on it.”
“That’s terrific. I’ll pass it on to MI6. Talk to you later.” She hung up and turned back to Ian. “That was my FBI guy. He’s turned up a fifteen-year-old photograph of Moe.” She went into her phone and found the e-mailed photo. “There,” she said, holding it up for inspection. The photo showed a young couple sitting on a stone wall with some mountainous scenery in the background.