“Mike Freeman, CEO of Strategic Services, whom you met on the C-17, and a friend of mine, Willa Crane. There are four cars parked down the hill; they’re five minutes behind us. Where is your family?”
“At the Mayflower Inn,” Pablo replied.
“How many in your party?”
“My wife, two servants, and two security. I have an appointment tomorrow morning with an estate agent to look at houses to rent.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Stone said. “The Agency is providing a very comfortable house for you. It’s well-located for security. Shall we pick up your people?”
“They’re packed and ready,” Pablo said. “I have two rental cars.”
The four black SUVs drove up and stopped in the road. “Here we go,” Stone said, opening the rear door for Pablo, who got in beside Willa.
Stone drove to the Mayflower, and Pablo went inside. A moment later he and his party emerged, and porters put their luggage into two station wagons, then Stone led the way to Lake Waramaug.
Mike was on a two-way radio to his cars. “Two cars ahead of us,” he said, and Stone slowed so that they could pass. “I’ll direct you.”
Stone noticed that Mike was searching both sides of the road with his eyes the rest of the way.
FIFTY-ONE
They drove the five miles to Lake Waramaug, a large natural lake north of Washington, and down the north side to a driveway marked only by a mailbox. The seven cars, including Stone’s, filled the parking area at the house.
A man came outside from the house. “Mr. Barrington?” he asked, looking around.
“I’m Stone Barrington.” He shook the man’s hand.
“My name is Robert. My wife, Jane, and I run the place. Mr. Cabot is on a buying trip in Europe, but he told me to make the entire property available to you, except for the master suite and the workshop, both of which are secured.” Robert looked around. “How many of you are there?” he asked.
“How many beds do you have available?” Stone asked.
“Fourteen, in seven bedrooms, including the guesthouse.”
Stone counted noses. “Mike, we’re okay on numbers, unless you’re staying.”
“For a night or two,” Mike replied.
“You can use my house, then.”
“Thank you, Stone.” He turned to his men. “Get your luggage inside, then I want a by-the-square-foot search of the property for any possible security risk.” The men moved to their work.
“These people are Mr. and Mrs. Gelbhardt,” Stone said to Robert. “They are the principal guests. Can you please show them to the best available room?”
“This way,” Robert said, then led them into the house. Stone, Willa, and Mike followed and waited in the large living room.
“You say Barton Cabot was once your client,” Mike said. “No more? A falling-out?”
“Nothing like that,” Stone replied. “Our business was successfully concluded; we remain on cordial terms. Bart is an antiques dealer.”
“I’ve researched him thoroughly,” Mike said. “I think this is a perfect safe house for our purposes.”
“It’s quite a place, isn’t it?” Stone said. “It’s a pity you can’t see Bart’s workshop. He builds eighteenth-century American antiques out there.”
Mike laughed. “You mean, like those factories in South America that turn out pre-Columbian art?”
“Yes, except Bart’s pieces are handmade from old mahogany with the same hand tools that were employed at the time. The pieces are indistinguishable from the real thing, believe me.”
Mike’s cell phone rang. “It works here!” he said, surprised. “Freeman.” He listened for a moment. “Good afternoon, Lance. May I put you on speaker so Stone can hear you?” Mike pressed a button and put the phone on the coffee table.
“Good afternoon, Stone,” Lance said.
“Good afternoon, Lance.”
“Is anyone else with you?”
“Yes, my friend Willa Crane, deputy district attorney in the Manhattan office.”
“How do you do, Ms. Crane?” Lance said.
“I’m very well,” Willa replied.
“Ms. Crane, do you have a federal security clearance?”
“I did when I worked for the U.S. Attorney, some years ago.”
“Please hold.” Lance put them on hold for a couple of minutes, then returned. “I have authorized the reinstatement of your clearance, which had expired,” he said. “I thought I might as well, because if you are where you are, you already know more than a civilian should.”
“Thank you for your trust, Mr. Cabot,” Willa said.
“Are you all settled in, Mike?” Lance asked.
“Happening now,” Mike replied. “Within the hour my people will have surveyed the environment and taken appropriate actions to deal with any anomalies.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Lance said. “I’m sure Barton’s people will make you all comfortable.”
“Pablo has brought some of his own people to help out,” Mike replied.
“Lance,” Stone said, “have you any news of what’s happened at Tora Bora?”
“Mostly what you’ve seen on the news,” Lance said. “But I can tell you that the cave system is pretty much pulverized. Anyone still alive there won’t be for long and is beyond rescue.”
“Is there any news of the principal target?” Mike asked.
“Our intelligence is conflicting,” Lance replied. “Maybe there, maybe not. At the very least we’ve destroyed his formidable refuge.”
“That’s a start,” Mike said.
“You might tell Pablo that.”
“He and his wife are resting, I think.”
“Any children?”
“They are apparently elsewhere.”
“Do you have enough people there, or too many?”
“I’ll know later today, and I’ll report back to you.”
“Your cell has captured this number, I’m sure. Call me back here.” Lance hung up.
“Who is Lance?” Willa asked.
“Lance Cabot is the deputy director for operations of the CIA,” Mike replied. “Apart from the director, probably the most powerful figure there.”
“Oh,” Willa replied, looking impressed.
A young man entered the room. “Excuse me, Mike.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve done a walk-around, and we’re in good shape. There is a boat dock that will need covering, as will the whole of our shoreline. We’re on a peninsula that juts out into the lake. We’re starting our by-the-square-foot inspection now.”
“Good,” Mike replied, and the young man left.
“Mike,” Stone said, “I don’t think there’s any more we can do here.” He handed Mike a key. “Here’s the key to the house.” He gave him the security code. “We’ll head on back to the city now.”
Mike’s cell rang again. “Yes, Lance?” He pressed the speaker button.
“Mike, I wanted you to know that the NSA has detected a great deal of chatter in the air around the Middle East since the bombing at Tora Bora, and Pablo’s name has been mentioned several times, and not in a complimentary way.”
“Well,” Mike said, “it looks as though we’ve made the right moves to secure Pablo’s safety. That was a good call on your part.”
“You may thank Stone for his insistence on that point,” Lance replied. “I’ll let you know if we pick up anything more specific.”
“Thank you, Lance,” Mike said, but Lance was gone.
FIFTY-TWO
Stone and Willa were halfway back to New York when his cell came alive. He pressed the speaker button on the dash. “Hello?”
“It’s Joan. I just left the house after doing some work and there are two men on the block I don’t like the look of.”
“Describe them.”