“She left this morning to fly with the president to Paris, Berlin, and Rome.”
“I believe they have telephone service on Air Force One, do they not?”
“I’ll call her. You go and rattle the cage of your tech guys. I want to know if they were able do anything with that photograph.”
“Roger, over and out.” Ian hung up.
Millie called Holly and got her voice mail. “Call me, as soon as you can,” she said.
Less than an hour later, Holly called. “We’re in the motorcade to the Élysée Palace,” she said. “What’s up?”
Millie passed on the rumor regarding the twins. “Can you find out if the Agency has an asset in the sultan’s household? We need to know a lot more.”
“I’ll call Lance,” Holly said. “Gotta run, we’re passing through the gates of the palace.” She hung up.
Millie had nothing to do for the rest of the day, so she went shopping again.
Two hours later, while sharing the backseat of her car with half a dozen carrier bags, her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“I have Lance Cabot for you,” a woman said. “Can you accept the call?”
“Yes.”
“Is that Millicent Martindale?” a smooth voice asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“Are you on a secure line in a secure location?”
“I’m on my White House cell phone in an embassy car, in London,” she replied. “Is that secure enough?”
“That will do,” Cabot said. “This is the first time we’ve spoken, is it not?”
“It is.”
“I trust it won’t be the last. Tell me about this rumor you’ve heard. It’s from our friends at MI6, I believe?”
“It is.” Millie explained about the twins.
“I don’t believe our British friends have enough imagination to invent that,” Lance said. “I’ll see what assets we might have in place.”
“You might check with former or retired assets,” Millie said, “since the births would have been around thirty years ago.”
“Very good. Now, about the stooge you call Moe: we have ascertained that the photograph — the one with the beard — may be of the chargé d’affaires at the Dahai embassy in Washington. His name is Ali Mahmoud, and he’s quite the social animal around town.”
“That’s very interesting,” Millie said, “because the twins, while they were at Eton, received regular funds from an account at the Devin Bank in London belonging to a Sheik Mahmoud, of Dahai.”
“Very interesting, indeed,” Lance said. “Perhaps you should ask your friend at the Bureau to begin surveilling him.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You should ask him for maximum surveillance, which means by every available means.”
“I’ll ask for that.”
“When do you return to Washington?”
“I don’t know. That will depend on what I can get done here.”
“It sounds as if you’re getting quite a lot done. When you come back, perhaps you should come out to Langley for lunch and meet some people.”
“Thank you, I’d like that.”
Lance hung up.
“Denny,” she said to her driver, “I’m starving. Where can I go for lunch?”
“Do you like Italian food?”
“Very much.”
“Well, then, it’s La Famiglia.” He made a quick U-turn and aimed at Chelsea.
44
Denny pulled up outside a modest-looking restaurant near World’s End, in the King’s Road. “La Famiglia,” he said. “I booked you a table in the garden. Alvaro Macchione, the owner, died a few months ago, but it’s still up and running, and the food has held up, too.”
“Thank you, Denny.” He opened the door for her, and she got out and went inside. She was wondering how chilly it might be in the garden, but she was led through the restaurant and into a space with a glass roof and heaters. It was quite comfortable. The menu was very large, but she was hungry and got through it in a hurry. She ordered the bruschetta and the roasted wild boar. She had never before had that.
The place was only half full, and she didn’t feel crowded, so she called Quentin at home.
“Hello?” he said sleepily.
“Aren’t you up and about yet?” she asked. “I’ve already consulted with MI6 and the CIA.”
Quentin groaned. “You’d better have something good,” he said.
“How about this: Moe — Harold Charles St. John Malvern — has been made.”
“You’re kidding me. How did you do that so fast?”
She explained the process she had been through. “His name is Ali Mahmoud, and he’s the chargé d’affaires at Dahai’s embassy in Washington.”
“Jesus, that’s troubling,” Quentin said.
“You have a point — too close to home.”
“Damn straight.”
“All the more reason to start surveilling him pronto. I’d like maximum surveillance, please, of every sort. I’m told the FBI is good at that.”
“We are indeed. I’ll have to get Lev Epstein’s approval, but he’ll go for it.”
“Will you get back to me the minute you’ve talked to him? I need to know that the work is under way.”
“All right. He gets in early, so I’d better get to the office. I’ll call you.” He hung up.
She had barely hung up when some Americans were seated next to her — two men and a woman. They seemed to have had a couple of drinks before arriving, and it was now one-thirty PM. They immediately ordered a bottle of wine, and continued to talk loudly, especially a red-faced man who looked as if he’d done a lot of drinking in his day — maybe on this day.
She finished her lunch and asked for the check. Then she heard a familiar name.
“So,” the younger and beefier of the two men said, “how are you going to handle Barrington?”
“I have already handled him,” the other man said, and they laughed loudly again.
Millie paid her bill, then went back into the restaurant and found the headwaiter. “Could you please tell me the names of the people at that table?” She nodded toward the garden door. “I think I may know them.”
The headwaiter consulted his reservations book. “The table was booked in the name of Reeves,” he said. “I’m not sure which gentleman he is.”
“Thank you. It was an excellent lunch.” She went back to the car, where Denny was waiting with the door open.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“National Gallery? Tower of London? Anything touristy you haven’t done?”
“Just back to the Connaught, I think.” She dialed Holly’s cell number. It was answered immediately.
“What have you to report?” Holly asked.
Millie told her about the conversations with the new men in her life. “Quentin has to get Lev’s authorization to set up the surveillance — they’ll get back to me. And Lance will call me back when he’s looked into the sultan’s household in Dahai.”
“Good. We’re making progress.”
“Something odd just happened.”
“Uh-oh.”
“At lunch today I overheard some Americans talking at a table next to mine.”
“What about?”
“Barrington. I suppose that could be Stone?”
“It’s not a very common name. What did they have to say?”
“One of them asked the other, ‘What are you going to do about Barrington?’ And the other replied, ‘It’s already done.’ Then they had a good laugh.”
“Any idea who they were?”
“The table was booked in the name of Reeves.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell with me. Write down a number.” She dictated. “That’s Stone’s cell number. Call him and tell him about it. I’m too busy right now.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Hôtel de Marigny. It’s sort of the guesthouse for the Élysée Palace.”