“Roger has a history of blackmailing gay superiors to get better assignments, does he not?”
“Yes.”
“Who, in this case, would have been his target?”
“The foreign minister, it would seem. He’s kept a boyfriend on staff for decades, and the deputy director job was within his gift, though normally he would discuss it with me first.”
“And he didn’t this time?”
“He did not.”
“How long did Roger serve in the post?”
“He claimed it for a couple of weeks, but I don’t think he served for a minute. The only task I gave him was to go to the States, to visit your lot and have a chat with them. I had intended to keep him traveling for a year or so, then find an excuse to sack him.”
“And why did you do so sooner than planned?”
“The thing with the foreign minister came to light, however dimly, and I did it to show him I would not allow my service to be a dumping ground for the incompetent and, in Roger’s case, the disagreeable.”
“That’s two reasons for Roger to be disgruntled.”
“Correct. I ordered him watched because I thought he was angry enough to look for a way to retaliate.”
“Quite right,” Stone said.
Felicity’s phone chimed, and she read a rather long message. “There is a connection between Roger and Simon Garr,” she said. “On Roger’s first night at Dartmouth, Simon tried to bugger him, and Roger gave him a bloody nose. After that, feelings were tense between them, and there was at least one successful attempt by Roger to blackmail Simon into getting him a promotion.”
“So they hated each other?” Stone asked.
“Apparently so.”
“And that could be the motive for Roger to shoot Simon in the head? An awful lot of time had passed, had it not?”
“Yes, but they both worked at the Admiralty at one time and would have had contact there, perhaps creating other opportunities for the engendering of ill will between them.”
“I believe I’m beginning to get the idea,” Stone said.
“What idea? Why would the Russians care if there was ill will between two retired flag officers?”
“Practice,” Stone said.
“Practice? What are you talking about?”
“They wanted to see if Roger would assassinate someone, and, for insurance, they chose somebody for whom he already had ill feelings, to give him impetus. It was a practice run, and Roger passed the test.”
“I don’t understand. Practice for what?”
“Another assassination?” Stone suggested.
“All right,” Felicity replied, “that’s bizarre, but it makes a kind of sense.”
“Also,” Stone said, “if Roger is caught and charged with Simon’s murder — or, after murdering someone else — he has a motive for the killings that would not seem to involve the Russians. They can just step back and allow him to take the heat.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t know where else to go,” Stone said.
“If you’re right,” Felicity said, “then all we have to do is figure out who the Russians want assassinated next.”
“Any thoughts on that subject?” Stone asked.
“Christ, I don’t know: the prime minister? The foreign minister?”
“Somebody important,” Stone said. “I’m thinking, you.”
Felicity blanched. “He wouldn’t dare,” she said.
“Remember whose car was the target at Station Two?” Stone asked.
52
Stone waited until afternoon before phoning Lance.
“Yes, Stone?”
“Scramble.”
“Scrambled.”
“Felicity and I had dinner and thoroughly explored the why and wherefore of Brigadier Roger Fife-Simpson.”
“I’m sure that’s not all you explored,” Lance said.
Stone ignored that. “Follow this line for a moment,” he said. “Roger leaves MI-6 by popular request, and he is disgruntled.”
“Got that.”
“Previously, he had demonstrated a strong dislike for Vice-Admiral Simon Garr, dating back to their time at Dartmouth.”
“Got that, too.”
“The Russians recruit Roger in order to use him as an assassin. His first assignment was Simon Garr.”
“Why Simon Garr? He’s been retired for some time and I hear he was having problems with dementia.”
“It was Simon Garr because, as a trial run, they wanted a target that Roger already hated. They wanted a demonstration.”
“That would be a smart move on their part, if they were uncertain whether he could or would pull it off.”
“He did pull it off, and now they consider him ready for another assassination.”
“Of whom?”
“Felicity guesses the foreign minister or perhaps even the prime minister.”
“Neither makes any sense,” Lance said.
“Why not?”
“Who assassinates a foreign minister?”
“Not an obvious target, I concede. How about the PM?”
“He’s a bumbler, and I should think the Russians are happy to have him in office.”
“Then that leaves only Felicity herself as the potential target.”
“Right. The Russians clearly want her out of the way, and Fife-Simpson hates her guts for sacking him, does he not?”
“Well,” Stone said aloud to himself, “I warned her last night.” They hung up.
A few minutes later Felicity rang. “After our conversation of last night, I decided to put on more security.”
“And change your routine,” Stone suggested.
“Do I have a routine?”
“Do you lunch at the same time every day? Go to the same restaurant? Do you have a regular hairdresser’s appointment? Nails? You seem to come down to the Beaulieu most weekends.”
“All right,” she said. “I have a routine.”
“You don’t have to stop doing those things, just change the order in which they are done.” Stone stopped. “Why am I giving counterintelligence advice to you, of all people, when that’s what you do for a living?”
“Nevertheless, your advice is appreciated. It shows you care what happens to me.”
“Or rather, what doesn’t happen.”
“If you were here right now,” she said, “I’d fuck you on my conference table.”
“God, I hope this is a secure line.”
“It is.”
“How about the conference table? Will it hold up to a lot of thrashing around by two people?”
“Certainly. Do you think I’d have a weak conference table?”
“Do you often employ it for that purpose?”
“No, but I’m thinking about it. Right now.”
“It will have to wait for your next trip south, I’m afraid.”
“All right, I’ll see you this evening.”
“But you just got back to London.”
“I left Beaulieu too soon.”
“Well, if MI-6 can stand your absence I can certainly stand your presence. Come ahead.”
“Will you give me dinner?”
“Among other things.”
“I can’t talk about this anymore, or I’ll do something rash.”
“Better not.”
“Meet me at your dock at seven.” She hung up.
Stone hung up, but ten minutes later his phone rang: blocked caller. “Yes?”
“The PM has just called a national security meeting at six o’clock,” Felicity said. “The son of a bitch.”
“What’s a national security meeting?”
“All the intelligence heads: military, MI-5, MI-6, the signals-and-codes people. All hands on deck.”
“Does this mean there is an emergency?”
“Probably not, or he would have summoned everyone immediately, instead of at six. More likely, the PM just wants to bloviate about something.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to show. How about tomorrow night? You’ve got me thinking about it.”