They touched down and made the first turnoff. “Tell your pilot to taxi up behind the Mustang,” Stone said to Dino, and he went to pass that on to the pilot.
Stone got a better look at the Mustang as they made the turn behind it. The cabin door was open and the stairs extended. No one was on the ramp near it. “He’s probably in the FBO,” Stone said. He followed Dino and his men, assault weapons at the ready, as they entered the FBO, to be greeted by a Maine State Police officers.
“I’m Everson,” the man said. “We’ve been here for ten minutes, and we can’t find him.”
Stone went to the counter. “Did the pilot of the Mustang on the ramp rent a car?” he asked the woman in charge.
“No, but rental cars are over at the main terminal, next door. When he heard it was going to take a while to refuel him, he went over there.”
“Lead the way,” Dino said to the captain, who did so, his men hot on his heels. They poured out of the building and down some stairs, then ran up a short hill toward the terminal and its parking lot. As they did, a car pulled out of the rental spaces and headed toward them.
“That’s Kevin Keyes at the wheel,” Stone shouted, and the car came to a stop, short of half a dozen assault rifles pointed at it. A cop opened the driver’s door, collared the driver, and yanked him onto the pavement. In a moment he was cuffed and bent over the hood, as he was searched for weapons. Two handguns were found.
Stone walked over to the car, bent over, and looked into Keyes’s face. “Ah, Kevin, we meet at last,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know that you’ve spent your last day on earth as a free man. One way or another, you’re going to die in prison.”
“Put him on our airplane,” Dino said to the cops. “Bob, show the captain the warrant and the paperwork.”
“Did you refuel at Presque Isle?” Stone asked.
“Yep.”
“Then you can make it to Teterboro easily on what you’ve got.”
“We’ll take off just as soon as this guy is cuffed into a seat next to his buddy,” Dino said.
Stone was wakened from a sound sleep as they touched down at Teterboro Airport, in New Jersey. An NYPD van pulled up to the airplane, and the prisoners were transferred and driven away.
Dino made a dusting motion with his hands. “I’m glad to be rid of those two,” he said.
“No more you than I,” Stone replied, getting into Dino’s SUV and settling in. “Wake me when we’re home.” By the time they had driven off the ramp, he was asleep again.
62
Millie and Quentin’s team crowded into a small briefing room at RAF Northolt. A large-scale map was pinned to the wall, and a red circle was drawn around a house bordering Regent’s Park. Everyone was in black battle dress, full body armor with helmets, including Millie.
The helicopter pilot held a pointer. “This is the plan,” he said. “We’re going to reach this point down the road from the house at a hundred feet, no lights. Our machine is very quiet, but we’ll follow the road as we descend, so that any noise we make will sound like traffic on the ground. Just about here, we’ll hover. At that point we’ll lower you to a visual altitude of about ten feet above the parapet, then we’ll inch toward the house sideways and play a red spotlight on the roof, so as not to interfere with the night vision goggles.”
“Any weapons backup?” Quentin asked.
“A man with a mounted, silenced, heavy assault rifle will stand in the doorway, ready to take out anybody you say. You’ll be in radio contact with your headset, and you will make that call. If anybody points a weapon at you, our gunner won’t wait.”
“How long to get to the house?”
“We will arrive above the house at precisely five AM,” the pilot said. “It is my understanding that the lady is coming along as an unarmed observer and will be strapped into her seat at all times. Are we clear on that?”
“Perfectly clear,” Millie replied.
“You will all remain hooked up at all times, until you enter the building. We’ll give you slack. Your headsets will work inside the house, so try and keep us posted on your progress. Another thing,” the pilot said, “my orders are, if anything lifts off that roof and begins to fly away, I’m to get the hell out of there in a hurry, because there will be incoming. We’ll snatch you as quickly as we can, but you’re going to get a ride while dangling, until we can get you winched up. If you’re still in the house, a van will be parked in the street to take you away, but we can’t help you get out of the house.”
“Right,” Quentin said.
The pilot consulted his watch. “Time to saddle up.”
The men filed out of the building onto the tarmac, where the matte black helicopter awaited, its rotors turning. Millie climbed in first, and an airman belted her into a five-point harness that held her tightly in her seat. “Just turn the knob to release,” the man said, tightening the straps, “but not until we’re on the ground.” Millie nodded.
Quentin and his men hooked onto their cables and sat in the open doors on both sides of the chopper, their feet dangling. They had had only one rehearsal, and Quentin was grateful for that.
The machine lifted off and climbed to a thousand feet, then turned and headed toward London. Two minutes out from their objective and descending, the sound of the helicopter was reduced to a low whirr.
There was a little light in the east, and Quentin could see the park. Then they were down to under a hundred feet, and he saw a man walking his dog. The man didn’t even look up, and that pleased Quentin.
The helicopter came to a stop, hovering, and descended slowly. The rooftop was a hundred feet away, and Quentin could make out the yellow-striped awning. A crewman knocked on his helmet, and he pushed off into space.
In Washington, Lev Epstein, fully suited out, stood in the door of the helicopter and stared at the striped awning a hundred feet away. He slapped the team leader on the helmet, and he and they pushed out the door and started down, each controlling his own cable with a remote control. Lev knew he was too old and too fat to go with them, but he still wanted to.
They touched the roof and ran toward the tent, paying out wire. Lev saw no one else on the roof.
One floor down, in the penthouse apartment, Ali Mahmoud’s eyelids fluttered. He thought he had heard a soft thump above him, but it might have been a dream. He tried to go back to sleep, but his brain replayed the thump. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, opened a drawer, and removed a.45 semiautomatic pistol — loaded, one in the chamber and cocked. He got into his slippers, thumbed the safety down, and padded across his bedroom, into the living room, and out the door into the hallway. The stairway door was a few feet away. He opened the door and listened. There seemed to be some sort of shuffling going on above him. Had one of his people gone up there to check things again? He started up the stairs and as he did, he heard a ratcheting noise from the roof. At the top of the stairs, he put his hand on the door handle, pushed it slowly down, and opened it, taking the final step onto the roof. There were dark shapes moving around, and the canopy was gone. He raised his pistol, but as he did he felt cold steel against his right temple.
“Shhhh,” someone said, putting a hand over his mouth, and his gun was taken from his hand. Something stabbed him in the side of the neck, and he went limp. He felt the sensation of being carried before he passed out.
In London, the red spotlight came on, and Quentin saw two elongated lumps on the roof, between him and the awning. Then one of the lumps sat up, and both of them disappeared under a wave of heavy men. Two men in sleeping bags, he thought to himself. They were held down until the drugs had been administered, and he stepped forward for a look. Blond hair protruded from the bag. He switched on his flashlight and got a look, then at the other one. He spoke into his microphone. “Lower litters,” he said. He turned and watched them come down, then saw them, loaded, go up again and disappear into the helicopter.