Stealth

by Stuart Woods

  “Our driver noticed,” she said, “and he eventually put more distance between us.”

  “What do you think that was about?”

  “Word around the base was that there may have been more intruders than the one who shot out your tire.”

  “Any thoughts on how many?”

  “All sorts of thoughts, from a pair to a platoon.”

  “Then I expect the colonel will hunt them down to a man.”

  “I hope so. Tell me, is there anything about you that would cause them to set you apart for being dealt with?”

  “That’s an interesting thought. Are you thinking of my acquaintance with Dame Felicity?”

  “Perhaps. I thought it might be that or something else.”

  “My only dealings with Russians have been, not with the military, but with the criminal element.”

  “You mean the Russian mafia?”

  “Yes. I’m on the board of a hotel group that opened a new one in Paris last year, and in their attempt to buy us out there were attacks on the persons of both me and my French partner. And they were very persistent.”

  “It seems unlikely that such people would find you at Station Two.”

  “It does. I suppose, if they were looking for it, the Aston Martin could have caused them to think it would be driven by Dame Felicity.”

  “I suppose it might have.”

  “What about you, Rose? Any reason for them to single you out?”

  “I think not, and that view is supported by the fact that I was not sought out.”

  “Perhaps I should take some precautions on our drive south tomorrow,” he said.

  “What sort of precautions?”

  “I also serve on the board of an outfit called Strategic Services, which is a large international security company. I’ll have someone from the London office watch our backs tomorrow.”

  “Oh, good,” Rose said. “I feel better already.”

  “They are very able people,” Stone said. “Now, what would you like for dinner?”

  8

  The following morning, while Rose was in the tub, Stone called Mike Freeman.

  “Are you still in England?” Mike asked.

  “Yes, at the Connaught. We’re driving down to Windward Hall this morning, and we need our backs watched.” Stone told him about the incident in the Scottish Highlands.

  “How soon are you leaving?”

  “In about an hour.”

  “I’ll have a chase vehicle for you by then. It will be a white SUV with darkened windows. And I’ll have a couple of men on duty at Windward late this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Mike.” They both hung up, then Stone called Felicity.

  “Ah, there you are,” she said archly. “I was thinking you were afraid to speak to me after what you did to my beautiful motorcar.”

  “You’ve heard about the sniper and the tire?”

  “I have.”

  “I took that to mean they were after you, not me.”

  “Oh, really! They wouldn’t dare!”

  “And your brand-new, duplicate motorcar will be delivered the first of next week, all paid for by the MOD.”

  “I don’t know how you managed to get money out of that lot. I’ve rarely been able to.”

  “My native charm, I guess.”

  “I understand you did quite well on the course—for a senior person.”

  “I was the oldest in the class.”

  “Where are you off to now?”

  “Down to Windward, then to New York sometime after that.”

  “I understand you have company.”

  “Word does get around, doesn’t it?”

  “You can hide nothing from me,” Felicity said. “I should think you would know that by now.”

  “I know it well, and I would never attempt it.”

  “Let me know when you’re free again.”

  “Certainly.”

  Rose came out of the bathroom, and Stone hung up.

  “Who was that?”

  “We will have a chase car on our way south, and a couple of men watching over the house.”

  “Very good. When are we leaving?”

  “As soon as you’re packed,” he said, making for the bathroom.

  * * *

  —

  A white Range Rover was parked across the street from the Connaught. The driver’s window slid down half a foot and the man at the wheel nodded at Stone. His car arrived and was packed by the bellman, then they were off.

  “What sort of car is this?” Rose asked.

  “It’s a Porsche Cayenne Turbo,” Stone replied.

  “You should have brought it to Scotland.”

  “If I had, it would now be on Station Two’s rubbish heap.”

  “A good point, but perhaps they were shooting at the Aston Martin, not you.”

  “Perhaps I’m overrating my importance.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t see our protection.”

  “You’re not supposed to, but it’s a white SUV with dark windows. So if you see anything like that, don’t be alarmed.”

  * * *

  —

  They drove southwest, past Southampton and through the village of Beaulieu.

  “I know this town,” she said. “My father brought me here to the motorcar museum when I was a little girl.”

  “The museum is still there, if you’d like to pay another visit.”

  An hour and a half after their departure they drove through the gates of Windward Hall.

  “My word!” Rose said, looking at the house. “I wasn’t expecting anything so grand.”

  “In the world of country houses, this is called cozy,” Stone replied. “If you want grand, there’s an Arrington Hotel next door.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Also Paris, Rome, and Los Angeles.” He stopped the car and a couple of staff materialized and took their luggage away.

  Before they could get inside, the white Range Rover pulled into the drive and two men got out.

  “See anything?” Stone asked.

  “Yes, we did,” the driver replied. “A black van with a souped-up engine, but we crowded him a little, and he left the motorway an hour back. I expect he was surprised he got rumbled.”

  “Keep surprising those people,” Stone said.

  He led Rose into the house and gave her the tour. A table was set for lunch in the library, and they each had a glass of sherry first.

  “So, what did our guards say?”

  “There was someone behind us, but not anymore. Don’t worry, I didn’t order them shot. As soon as they knew they were being observed, they broke off the chase.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded if you had ordered them shot,” Rose said.

  9

  After lunch, Stone got a phone call.

  “Would you like a couple to join you for dinner this evening?”

  “If one of them is you, Felicity.”

  “One of us is. You know the other, too. See you at six-thirty for drinks?”

  “Fine.”

  “How are we dressing?” she asked.

  “Lounge suits for the gentlemen.”

  “Done.”

  He hung up and turned to Rose. “Have you ever met Dame Felicity Devonshire?”

  “Am I about to?”

  “At dinner,” Stone said. “She has a house just across the river, and she’ll arrive via her motor launch with another guest, whose name has not been vouchsafed to me.”

  “Fine with me. I saw horses in the meadow. Can they be ridden?”

  “They can, if you can.” Stone picked up the phone, called the stables, and ordered up mounts.

  “Did you bring clothes?” Stone asked.

  �
��I’m ready for anything,” she said. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Stone went to his dressing room and changed, exchanging his invalid’s boot for an Ace bandage and a riding boot. Rose returned, togged out in riding trousers, boots, and a Barbour jacket over a turtleneck. “Voilà,” she said, curtseying.

  They walked out to the stable and found a groom holding the horses. “Yours is the mare,” Stone said, “and I usually ride the gelding. Or there’s a stallion, if you’d like a few bones broken.”

  “The mare will be just fine,” she said, rubbing the animal’s nose and slipping her a carrot from the kitchen. The groom gave her a leg up.

  “I’ll need a leg up, too, Stan,” Stone said. “I’ve got a wounded ankle.” Stan obliged, and they crossed the meadow at a trot, which soon became a canter.

  “Are you up for jumping the wall?” Stone called out. “Or shall we use the gate?”

  “Just follow me,” she replied, taking the wall in stride. Stone followed.

  “You’re right about the grand house,” she said, seeing the Arrington come into view.

  “The previous owner was murdered by an old friend,” Stone said, “and his widow sold us the house. It was redone by Susan Blackburn, who also redid Windward, under the old owner’s watchful eye. I bought the place a few weeks before the work was completed.”

  Stone looked back and saw the white Range Rover following along the lane across the meadow. “I forgot to tell them we were riding,” he said, “but they got the picture.”

  A little farther along and they came to the hangar and landing strip.

  “Your own private airport?” Rose asked.

  “It was an RAF base during the last war,” Stone replied. “They flew secret missions to France. Sir Charles, the previous owner, kept it in good nick. It’s very convenient after a transatlantic flight to land at home.”

  “What do you do about customs?”

  “They drive over from Southampton, for only a slight emolument. So does the fuel truck.”

  “But there’s no airplane in the hangar.”

  “I flew over on a very nice Gulfstream belonging to Strategic Services. They make the trip two or three times a month for various business purposes. My airplane is smaller, so it’s a two-day trip. What with refueling stops and crew rest.”

  “Sounds like you need a Gulfstream,” she said.

  “I’ve toyed with the idea, but it seems far above me. And I enjoy flying my own airplane.”

  “You couldn’t fly a Gulfstream?”

  “After a month or six weeks of training,” he said, “but it’s hard to find the time. Still, if I could bring myself to write the check I could fly as a third pilot and give the crew some rest, just as I do with the current aircraft. I’m part of an investment group that is bringing an initial public offering to the market soon, and if that goes well enough, I might feel comfortable writing it.”

  They rode down to the Solent, the body of water separating England and the Isle of Wight, crossing neighbors’ properties, then back to the house.

  “How much time have I got to dress for dinner?” Rose asked.

  Stone looked at his watch. “They’ll be here in two hours.”

  “That should be enough,” she said, heading off upstairs.

  Stone went to his own bath and dressing room. He didn’t see Rose again until she walked into the library. It was the first time he had seen her dressed for an occasion that didn’t involve taking a hike, a motor trip, or bandaging his ankle, and he was more than impressed. “You do a great deal for a little black dress,” he said, kissing her.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Can I get you a libation?”

  “You can get me a good single malt,” she said. “I’ll watch you drink the bourbon.”

  He handed her the drink, and they sat down just in time to rise again when Dame Felicity and her companion arrived. Stone introduced the two women; introductions to Felicity’s companion were unnecessary, since he was Colonel Fife-Simpson, of Station Two.

  10

  Fife-Simpson looked slightly less military in a well-cut pin-striped suit. “Well, Colonel, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Stone said.

  “Please, it’s Roger,” he said.

  “And we’re Stone and Rose.”

  “Roger is down here at my request,” Dame Felicity said. “He’s joined us at the Circus.” Stone knew that was an old nickname for MI-6, since they had been previously quartered in Cambridge Circus. “He is, as of today, my deputy.”

  “Congratulations, Roger,” Stone said. “Or does a Royal Marine regard that as less than a promotion?”

  “It’s a promotion any way you slice it,” Roger said. “And as if to underline it, I’ve been promoted to brigadier.”

  “Twice congratulations, then,” Stone said. “The previous owner of this house was a Royal Marine, as were some of his neighbors and one of the house’s staff.”

  “I knew them all,” Fife-Simpson replied, “though as a junior officer. I did not know that you had bought Sir Charles’s property.”

  “I was press-ganged into that decision by Felicity,” Stone said, raising his glass to her. “To my delight.”

  “Stone,” the brigadier said with a change of tone. “I’m very much afraid that I owe you and Rose an apology.”

  “Why so?” Stone asked, mystified.

  “The people following you from Station Two to Glasgow and, later, in London were mine. I was concerned for the safety of both of you, I assure you. I’m sorry that resulted in you taking on private security.”

  “Well,” Stone said. “You’ve solved a mystery for me, and I know that it’s as much a relief for Rose as for me.”

  “It certainly is,” Rose said.

  “May I ask, Roger: Why were you concerned for our safety?”

  “I’m afraid that the black-parachute operation we rooted out was made up of more than the one or two we at first thought.”

  Felicity spoke up. “That came from us, in London, actually,” she said. “We, ah, got wind of an operation to plant half a dozen GRU agents on our island, and they chose that means of entry. Really, you’d think they could just issue a few more diplomatic passports and give them spurious titles at their embassy.”

  “But you would have known immediately,” Roger said. “Whereas, if they’d pulled off the black-parachute operation without incident, they would already be infiltrating into the country, and we’d have no idea. So, Stone, at the price of your ankle and Felicity’s car, we have extinguished a nest of spies.”

  “If that’s so, Roger, why are you still concerned about our safety?”

  Roger shrugged. “We’ve accounted for all of them. We’ve increased Felicity’s security, as well, not to mention my own, just in case there are more.”

  “Well, I hope they’re not on the estate as we speak, bumping into our guard.” Stone took out his cell phone and pressed a button. “It’s Barrington. Our situation has been resolved, so you may stand down and return to London. Anyone you encounter here tonight will be a friendly.” He hung up. “There, I hope that prevents heads being broken.”

  “As do I,” Felicity said.

  They were called to dinner at a table set before the fireplace. Stone was allowed to taste the wine, then food was served.

  When the servants had delivered the main course and retired, Roger leaned in. “Stone,” he said, “it’s my understanding that you have an airstrip on your property that will accommodate a fairly large aircraft.”

  “That is so,” Stone replied warily. “Why does that interest you—and Dame Felicity—Roger?”

  “We are planning a training exercise over a period of two, perhaps three, weeks that would involve both amphibious aspects and airborne, and it occurs to me that your property, situated as it is in a quiet area on a navigable r
iver and with its own airstrip, might be an ideal base for our operations.”

  “Roger,” Stone said, “I’m sorry to tell you that it would be a great deal less than ideal where my neighbors are concerned. We’ve taken pains not to create a noise problem hereabouts. The neighbors have been accustomed to an airplane landing and taking off now and then—on less than a weekly or even monthly basis—and I would not like to test their patience further. Also, as you may have heard”—he glanced at Felicity, who avoided his gaze—“my partners and I have bought the immediately neighboring property and established a country hotel there. Our guests would not welcome noisy aircraft and helicopters outside their windows, nor assault boats roaring up and down the Beaulieu River, so what you suggest is simply not possible.”

  “We had hoped to keep it all in the family,” Roger replied, obviously disappointed.

  “If that’s what you’d like to do, then Felicity has a larger property than mine. It’s only just across the river, as you discovered tonight, so perhaps she would be pleased to host your little party.”

  “Now, now,” Felicity said, throwing up a hand. “Let’s not get carried away.” She took a swig of her wine. “Roger, put that notion out of your mind.”

  “Quite,” Roger said, returning to his dinner.

  * * *

  —

  They finished dessert and port and Stilton, then the guests made their goodbyes and departed, driven back to their boat by Stan, in the golf cart.

  * * *

  —

  Stone and Rose made their way upstairs to bed and had just fallen into each other’s arms when Stone disengaged for a moment.

  “Tell me,” he said to Rose. “Are you a party to this little scheme of Fife-Simpson and Dame Felicity’s?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, retreating to her side of the bed.

  “Well, it occurs to me that, in addition to being a physician, you hold military rank.”

  “I have a reserve commission,” she replied, “in the Home Guard. They helped pay for my surgical training.”