Ian examined it closely. “Not bad,” he said. “Pity we can’t judge his height, since he’s sitting down.”
“I’ll e-mail it to you,” she said, and did so, copying Holly.
“I’ll send it on to our wizards and see what they can tell us from it.”
“The FBI is doing the same.”
Ian asked for the check, and Millie excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. Once there, she called Holly.
“What’s up?”
“Quentin just called. He’s found a photo of Moe, and I’ve e-mailed it to you.”
“Just a minute,” Holly said. “Okay, got it.”
“Both the FBI and MI6 are working on it. I’ll copy you on any results.”
“You do that.”
“Something else: I’ve just had lunch with Ian Rattle, from MI6, and he’s concerned about Stone Barrington.”
“Why on earth would Stone concern him?”
“Stone is on some sort of watch list that alerts MI6 when he enters the country.”
“That sounds like Felicity wanting to know when he’s here, for her own purposes. Is he in the country?”
“They got word that he was reported at a country inn in Devon, but he’s not shown as having entered at any port or airport of entry.”
“Let me call you back,” Holly said.
Millie used the toilet and was freshening her makeup when Holly called back. “I talked to Stone’s secretary. Here’s what happened: Stone flew his own airplane across the Atlantic and landed at Coventry Airport. They have customs there, but apparently didn’t check him in. That sort of thing happens with general aviation.”
“Okay, I’ll pass that on.”
“Anything new on the Stooges from Ian?”
“Not yet.”
“Where did Rattle take you for lunch?”
“A pub called the Grenadier, in Belgravia.”
“I know it well. Word has it, Rattle is something of a rake, so watch yourself.”
“I’ll watch him,” Millie said. They said goodbye and hung up, and she returned to the table. “I have some news on Stone Barrington,” she said.
“Fire away.”
“He flew his own airplane across the Atlantic and landed at Coventry. Apparently, the officials there didn’t bother checking him in.”
“Ah, makes perfect sense. I’ll pass that on.”
“To Dame Felicity?”
“To a list of people who will want to know.”
He walked her back to her car, which was waiting nearby. “I see you’ve got Denny for a driver,” he said.
“You approve?”
“He’s good. He’ll get between you and any passing bullet, and he’s a damned good shot.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Can I drop you anywhere?”
“Where are you headed?”
“To Harrods.”
“I’m going the other way. I’ll find a taxi.”
She shook his hand, got into the car, and Denny drove her away.
“Interesting companion, your lunch mate,” Denny said.
“He speaks highly of you, too.”
“I saved his arse once. Don’t be misled by the good suits and haircut. Ian is very good at what he does, and that includes killing, when he needs to. He’s almost as good a shot as I am.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“He’s honey for the honeybees, too, if you catch my drift.”
Millie laughed. “I believe I do.”
She spent two hours in Harrods, then Denny drove her back to the Connaught, where a fax from Quentin awaited her.
“The lab ran Moe through our facial recognition software and came up with zilch,” he said. “Attached are two versions of how he might look today.”
She looked at the photos: one with a receding hairline and a little more weight; one with a short beard. She studied them carefully, committing them to memory.
Holly arrived around six, and they ordered drinks.
“I just got this fax from Quentin,” she said, handing her the report.
She read it carefully. “Let me see the photographs,” she said.
Millie handed them to her. She studied both carefully. “Holy shit,” she said.
“What?”
She handed Millie the photo with the beard. “This one. I saw him at a party in D.C. the night of the Inaugural Ball. I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Someone told me he was some sort of official at the Saudi embassy.”
“Could it have been the Dahai embassy?”
“Maybe.” She got out her secure cell phone and called a number.
Millie waited to see who she was calling.
“Lance? It’s Holly.” She gave him a description of the man, while Millie photographed the image and e-mailed it to Lance Cabot.
“Do you know him?”
“No,” Lance replied.
“I saw him at a big party in D.C. on inaugural night. I remember he had a good-sized diamond in one ear, I’m not sure which.”
“I’ll get somebody on it.”
“We need a name and a location,” Holly said. “This one is very important.”
“We’ll do our best,” Lance said.
Holly hung up. “Progress at last,” she said.
43
Holly was gone when Millie woke up, and after breakfast she busied herself with moving into the suite. The maids had just left after changing the bed and cleaning when her cell rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Ian. Sleep well?”
“It’s one of the things I do best.”
“Anything new from the FBI?”
“Yes. They were unable to match the photograph of Moe with any existing face in their database, but they came up with two drawings of how he might look now. I showed them to Holly Barker last night, and she believed she recognized one of them as someone she saw at a party in Washington on the night of the inauguration of the president. He may be an official at either the Saudi or the Dahai embassy in Washington. It’s being checked out.”
“I hope that’s true — it would be very helpful.”
“What did your people come up with?”
“Nothing on Moe. However, I’ve been chatting with some of our people who have served in Dahai in the past, and one of them provided an interesting rumor.”
“I love a good rumor.”
“Well, hang on to your hat. The rumor is that a favored woman in the sultan’s harem gave birth to twin boys around thirty years ago.”
“That works, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Apparently, there was great excitement surrounding the births. Some adherents of Islam believe that twins are a special gift from God and that they have unusual powers.”
“What sort of powers?”
“I don’t know, and I haven’t been able to find out.”
“Does Dahai keep birth records?”
“Yes, but we don’t know yet if members of the sultan’s household would be registered. It’s being checked. Another thing — the woman who was the mother was Egyptian and had very light skin. Most people took her for a European.”
“This all fits with the boys from Eton,” she said, “and with the special transportation provided for them when they left. Surely not even a sultan would send a large private jet for non-royals of no particular distinction. But if these boys are his sons...”
“Yes, it all ties in very neatly, and it’s not the sort of thing one could make up, is it?”
“What we need now is an asset in the sultan’s household. Does MI6 have one of those?”
“If we did I would deny it.”
“Are you denying it?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t tell you anything, does it?”
“I suppose not.”
“I believe the next step is to find out if your people down at that place in Virginia have such an asset.”
“If they did,” Millie said, “I think their attitude would be much the same as yours.”
“You said your boss was an old Agency hand — maybe they’ll tell her.”