Dr. Kharl entered the room. He had been near the top of the Pakistani team that had created that country’s arsenal and he had sold his talents to the highest bidders, which had turned out to be Iran and the People’s Republic of North Korea. Now he lived in Dubai, mostly retired, but he was available to credible and discreet clients. He had been provided with a passport that allowed him into the United States. He took a roll of plans, weighted one end, and spread it out on the table.
“Did you bring this into the country?” Hamish asked, incredulous.
“On film secreted on my person,” the doctor replied. “I had it printed at a photo shop. The operator hardly glanced at it. He thought it was a piece of refrigeration equipment.”
Hamish breathed easier. “Will it actually fit into the trunk?”
“I am tailoring the dimensions to the trunk.”
“I see, and it’s a good idea,” Hamish replied. “A very good idea.” He thought he already knew how to get it into its final resting place. “Mo, where are the three smaller units?”
“They are being assembled from parts we imported by an agent in place,” he said. “They will be delivered tomorrow, and you will be walked through their operation by Dr. Kharl, who will complete their assembly.”
Hamish nodded. “I must set up a meeting in L.A.,” Hamish said. “Do we have a suitable place?”
“I have rented a small hangar at Santa Monica Airport. Sorry, but I had to take it for three months. It wasn’t cheap.”
“At least it’s convenient,” Hamish replied.
“What transportation is available? I don’t want my name to appear on any passenger lists.”
“There is a Cessna Caravan available with a reliable pilot. It will carry anything we can stuff into it.”
“Good.” He sat down at the computer and sent a message to Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, summoning them to a rendezvous three days hence.
28
The following day Hamish was driven by Jasmine to a large storage facility outside Palo Alto, where a double garage had been rented. She opened the door with a remote control, drove inside, switched off the engine, and closed the door. The only objects in the garage were a large steel locker, a ratty-looking, chest-style freezer, and a folding table.
A young man awaited them. He had set three small suitcases on the table. “Good day,” he said. No introductions were made.
“Let’s see what you have for me,” Hamish said.
The young man opened the three cases and exposed their contents. “I have followed the plans given me,” he said. “What we have is simple, really: the necessary wiring, a space to contain a cube of plastic explosive, six inches on a side-about a kilo-and a kitchen timer, which can only be started or stopped with a key.”
“Show me,” Hamish said.
The young man took three identical objects from his pocket: each was a T-shaped piece of stainless steel with a hexagonal tip. He inserted one of them into a device and turned it to the right. The kitchen timer came on, set to thirty minutes, and began counting down. “At zero, the blasting cap will fire and set off the plastique.” He turned the key back to vertical, then to the left. “If you turn it to the left, the cap will fire instantly.”
“And the option requested?” Hamish asked.
The young man put a fingernail under a small flap and raised it, exposing a row of four tiny switches. “As you see, all the dip switches are in the up position.” He flipped the left-hand switch down. “That’s all you do, and the two firing positions-timer and instant-are reversed.” He flipped the switch up again.
“And how will the plastique be connected?”
“In this space here,” he said, unlatching a larger flap and lowering it. He took out a short length of wire dangling into the space. “You simply plug this into the blasting cap, then push the cap into the plastique, and you’re good to go.”
“Excellent,” Hamish said. “I prefer things simple. Jasmine, pay the gentleman.” He turned and walked toward the car.
Jasmine opened her purse, took out a small pistol with a silencer, and shot the young man in the head. He collapsed into a heap, and she shot him in the head once more. “Give me a hand,” she said.
The two of them dragged the limp corpse to one side of the garage where the beat-up freezer chest hummed. She opened it, and they lifted the body into the chest, then closed and padlocked it.
Hamish closed the three small cases and put them into a steel locker next to the freezer, along with the keys.
“When you arrive at Santa Monica airport tomorrow,” Jasmine said, “the explosive packs will be waiting for you.” She locked the cabinet and handed Hamish the key.
“No, you keep it,” he said. “I’ll want you to pick up the three cases and the keys tomorrow and deliver them to the Cessna Caravan at the airport. I will be transporting my luggage.”
They got back into the car, and she drove him to the flat.
Everything go okay?” Mo asked as they came in.
“Perfectly,” Hamish said. “Jasmine performed brilliantly.”
29
Stone heard the front door slam upstairs. They had arrived. There were bumping sounds as Peter put his luggage into the elevator, then footsteps on the stairs, and then Peter came into Stone’s office, followed by his girlfriend, Hattie Patrick, and Dino’s son, Ben Bacchetti.
Stone embraced Peter and kissed him on the cheek, then Hattie, then had a manly handshake with Ben. “How are you all?”
“Everybody’s fine,” Peter said. “I’ve got to run Hattie and Ben home, then I’ll be back for lunch, all right?”
“All right. Helene’s in there cooking Greek food right now. You sure you won’t all stay for lunch?”
They looked at each other.
“Okay, I’ll put my car in the garage,” Peter said.
They sat at the kitchen table and chattered as Helene served them moussaka.
“I’ve got an appointment with Marla Rocker tomorrow to see some of her casting choices,” Peter said. “Is Marla coming to L.A. with us?”
“No, she’s staying here to work on your play,” Stone replied. “She’s going to be very busy for a while, so I won’t be seeing much of her.”
“So, she dumped you, huh?” Peter asked.
Stone twitched. The kid was getting too smart. “We agreed to let it go.”
“So you’re going alone?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have friends at the hotel. You’re meeting one of them in a couple of days.”
“Who’s that?”
“Her name is Felicity Devonshire. She’s British.”
“Who is she? What does she do?”
“She’s a civil servant in London.”
“A civil servant?” Ben asked. “Does that mean she’s in intelligence?”
“Don’t ask,” Stone said. “And when you meet her, don’t start asking probing questions.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, “we’d only get lied to. You said a couple of friends. Who else?”
“Holly Barker will be there.”
“The one at the CIA? Great! I finally get to meet her!”
“Holly has recently been promoted. She’s now assistant director. In fact, she’ll be traveling with the president and Mrs. Lee, who, you will remember, is her boss.”
“Who will Felicity be traveling with?” Peter asked.
“With us, aboard the Strategic Services airplane.”
“What kind of plane?” Ben asked.
“A Gulfstream 550.”
“Wow! I guess there’ll be room for us all-Dad, too.”
“And Viv. Plenty of room for all.”
“And where is Felicity sleeping?” Peter asked.
Stone looked at him sharply.
“Well, Dad, if Marla’s dumped you… you need female companionship.”
“It runs in the family,” Hattie said.
“Felicity will have her own quarters. She’ll be there to meet with the president and Mrs. Lee.”