Millie noted the inflation of her importance by the omission of “to” from her title.
“From the beginning, please.”
“Dame Felicity, Prime Minister, gentlemen,” she began, keeping her voice low and steady, “after reports from two intelligence sources that a major terrorist plot against the West was being put together, the president assigned my superior, National Security Adviser Holly Barker, and the directors of Central Intelligence and the FBI to locate and identify three deeply buried persons who may be crucial to the effort, who we now call Moe, Larry, and Curly, the Three Stooges.” That got a short laugh. “After an extraordinarily cooperative effort among our services and MI6, we have managed to identify all three. One is located at the embassy of Dahai, in Washington. The other two, while associated with that country, are so far unaccounted for, though a spirited search is under way. In Washington, as of this hour, some three dozen FBI agents and as many technical supporters have undertaken a round-the-clock surveillance of Moe, whose name is Ali Mahmoud and who is the chargé d’affaires at the Dahai embassy. Ian Rattle will bring you up to date on Larry and Curly.”
Ian took a sip of his port. “Dame Felicity, Prime Minister, gentlemen. Larry and Curly are believed to be the natural sons of the sultan of Dahai, mothered by an Egyptian member of his harem thirty years ago. They were sent to Britain to study at Eton, where they led an unusually sequestered existence, chaperoned by a member of the sultan’s household and supported by funds sent through the Devin Bank from the account of Sheik Hari Mahmoud, who is very likely the father of Moe, Ali Mahmoud.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Rattle,” the prime minister said suddenly, “are we to understand that the whereabouts of these two men, now grown, are unknown to your service?”
“They are being actively sought, Prime Minister. This should be thought of as a preliminary report.”
“Dame Felicity?” the prime minister said.
“Prime Minister,” she replied, “there is a beginning, a middle, and an end to every operation. We are now in the middle of this one.”
“I see,” the prime minister said, though he obviously did not.
“Now,” Dame Felicity said, “I think we’ve kept the ladies waiting long enough.” They rose and went back to the drawing room.
Later, as the guests were leaving, Stone Barrington took Millie’s hand. “I’m delighted to have met you face-to-face,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you again.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “I’ll look forward to that.” She watched Barrington kiss his hostess on the cheek, then get into a waiting car.
Back in the car, Ian said, “You did very well.”
“You did better than could have been wished, in the circumstances,” Millie replied, “and Dame Felicity backed you.”
“Thank God for that,” Ian said.
47
Stone let himself into the suite at Cliveden and found himself alone in the sitting room. He shucked off his jacket, pulled his bow tie loose, unbuttoned his collar, poured himself a glass of sherry, and collapsed into a chair.
Dino appeared from his bedroom, clad in pajamas and a silk dressing gown.
“I can see that Viv has visited Turnbull & Asser,” Stone said.
“Yeah, she insists that I be well dressed, even in bed.” He poured himself a sherry and occupied the sofa, putting his feet up. “So, what took you away from us this evening that you couldn’t tell us about?”
“When we got back here this afternoon I found a note waiting for me from Felicity Devonshire, commanding my presence at dinner at her house, and it was top secret.”
“Commanding?”
“She’s like that on her home turf. It was a glittering party, if smalclass="underline" only the prime minister, the foreign secretary, the home secretary, and the director of MI5, and their wives. Also, Millie Martindale — Holly’s assistant — and one of Felicity’s minions.”
“That’s pretty rich cream. What was the occasion?”
“I never really found out. When the ladies excused themselves after dinner, Felicity invited me to join them. All I heard about was the appalling prices of ladies’ designer clothing these days.”
“I could have told you about that,” Dino said ruefully.
Stone laughed. “I expect you could. Anyway, when I returned to the table for port and Stilton, the beans had already been spilled to those authorized, and nothing more was said about it.”
“I’m fascinated by the makeup of the party,” Dino said. “That would be like Viv and me having the president, the governor, the secretary of state, Lance Cabot, and the Bureau director at our table. That could never happen.”
“I suspect that whatever was discussed is so hot that Felicity didn’t want the meeting to take place in a public building, so as not to raise questions.” Stone looked at his watch: “I guess it’s a little late to call Holly and ask her what the hell is going on.”
“Not that she’d tell you.”
“You have a point.”
“I had a stroll around the grounds before bedtime,” Dino said. “I even circumnavigated this house, which took a while. Nothing going on.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Stone said, “although I wish Reeves would get over with whatever he has planned for me. I mean, he could have easily had me shot on Dartmoor, if he wanted me dead.”
“And why would he want that?”
“It’s something to do with Pat, but I don’t know what. She says he made a couple of passes at her a while back, but who’s that jealous?”
“Her former boyfriend Kevin Keyes?”
“Then why didn’t he shoot us both? He had a silenced rifle and it was foggy and pouring with rain. Nobody would have seen or heard anything, and we wouldn’t have been found until the next day.”
“Maybe more important, why would Keyes have a silenced rifle? Nobody has those, except military snipers and pro hit men.”
“Maybe he has a sideline in contract killing,” Stone ventured, “with Reeves as his employer. Certainly Reeves is dirty — probably drugs.”
“What is Reeves’s legal business?”
“Pat says electronics — surveillance equipment, or something like that. He may be in oil, too.”
“If he’s in oil, why would he bother with drugs?”
“Maybe he hit a dry well.”
“He just bought a new jet airplane,” Dino pointed out.
“Maybe, but one of the smallest on the market, so he’s not a kingpin at whatever he’s into.”
“Maybe, like you, he wanted one he could fly himself. You could certainly afford a bigger airplane.”
“I’m just working my way up the tree,” Stone said. “Cessna is revamping their CitationJet 3, installing the identical avionics I have in my M2, so I could step into it with very little retraining. The cockpits are identical. I’d want High Definition Radio to go oceanic, instead of the Blue Spruce route.”
“Why would you want it?”
“Because it has range of a little over eighteen hundred miles. We could have flown nonstop from Newfoundland to Shannon, obviating Greenland and Iceland, and flown home via the Azores, where the weather is very nice most of the time. I’m already worried about what the weather will be like on our return trip.”
“Gee, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear — thanks a lot.”
“Oh, I always worry about the weather, until I break out of the clouds and see the runway dead ahead. We’ll be okay.”
“Until we’re not.”
“The weather forecasts are very good these days.”
“Until they’re not.”
“I’m just a worrier — you’re an out-and-out pessimist.”
“Life has taught me that if something bad can happen, it will.”