by Stuart Woods
“Anything you like.”
“Is there anything you haven’t told me about Kevin Keyes?”
“A great deal. I’ve told you only the basics.”
“Is there anything else I should know about him that might be relevant in the circumstances?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“It troubles me that he got out of New York and to England so easily.”
“Well, as you said, his name wasn’t on a flight plan. You told the police about eAPIS, didn’t you?”
“What is that?”
“I thought you knew about it. I took care of it before our departure.”
“Took care of what?”
“It’s a sort of registry. You have to notify the government before you leave the country, and you have to list the crew and passengers, their dates of birth and passport numbers.”
“Where did you get my date of birth and passport number?”
“From Joan, where else?”
“And Paul Reeves would have had to file that report?”
“I suspect that Kevin filed it for him, as I did for you. He would have omitted his own name and information, of course, and nobody would know, unless they had a ramp check for documents, et cetera.”
“I’ve never been ramp checked,” Stone said. “How would that go?”
“Officials in the relevant country would ask to see your aircraft registration, airworthiness certificate, radio station license, proof of international insurance, weight and balance calculations, plus your RVSM and MSNP authorizations—those were the papers you signed. They’d also check to see that the airplane’s flight manual and avionics manual were aboard and that you had the required safety equipment—life raft, life jackets, et cetera, and they would check our licenses and medical certificates, in addition to our passports.”
“The only place where anyone showed the slightest interest in any of that was in Iceland, where they asked for our passports, but didn’t look inside the airplane.”
“That is correct. It’s also quite common for general aviation aircraft and crews on the Blue Spruce route not to be checked too closely.”
“So if Keyes wanted to bring a gun into Britain, he wouldn’t have had any problem?”
“Only if they found it during a ramp check. I mean, the authorities at every stop have the right to make you empty the airplane and unpack your luggage, if they want to.”
“Then I’ll just assume that Keyes, wherever he is, is armed.”
“Look, we’ve only set eyes on Kevin once, at the restaurant. You’ve no reason to believe that he’s looking for us, so don’t let it bother you.”
“That’s true, but we’ve seen Paul Reeves everywhere, and that bothers me a lot. I can’t help having a bad feeling about this.”
“Stone, I don’t know what to tell you. Do you want to just pack this in and go home? If you want to fly commercial, I’ll arrange for a good pilot to fly your airplane home.”
“No, of course not. Anyway, where we’re going today nobody could find us.”
“Oh? Where is that? All I can see on the GPS map is a checkered flag in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s a pretty good description of where we’re going. You’ll see, later in the day.”
—
THEY SPENT an hour being amazed at Stonehenge, then continued their trip west on surface roads, which were alternately choked and lightly traveled, things improving as they left the tourist attraction behind. They stopped at a country pub and had a lunch of sausages and mash, then continued. The GPS predicted they would arrive at their destination at five-thirty PM. Half an hour before that, the roads had dwindled in size until they were down to a single track between high hedgerows.
“What is this place we’re going to?” Pat asked, laughing. “Has anyone ever been here before, except farm animals?”
Now and then they had to deal with a car or farm vehicle going in the opposite direction, which involved one of them reversing into a slightly wide indentation in the hedgerows and allowing the other to pass, or wait for a cow to make up her mind about where she was going. Encouragingly, they saw a sign or two for Gidleigh Park.
“What is Gidleigh Park?” Pat asked. “Some sort of tourist attraction?”
“Sort of, if the tourist is very discerning.”
Then they saw an occasional farmhouse and suddenly, they were at a side door of a very large house, in the Tudor style, and their luggage was being taken inside.
Pat peeked into various rooms as they followed their bags down the main hallway, then they were in a comfortable suite. “I think,” she said, “that as hideaways go, this one is top-notch. I smelled something good cooking, too.”
“Oh, they’ve won all sorts of awards over the years, including Best Restaurant in Britain, I think.”
“Did you find this when you were hitchhiking?”
“No, much later. I met the original owners, Paul and Kay Henderson, in London during their first summer in operation, and I’ve been back a couple of times since then.”
“Will we meet them?”
“No, they retired a few years ago. They live nearby but are, apparently, away for a few days.”
They unpacked, and without any discussion, got naked and fell into bed. Soon they were ready for a nap.
34
THEY WERE BACK in the motorcade, headed for the embassy, when the president put away her cell phone. “You did very nicely in there, Millie,” she said. “Mainly, you didn’t overdo it. It would have been a big mistake to try and make Felicity think you had more than you did, and to your credit, you stuck to the facts.”
“I didn’t think there was another choice, ma’am,” Millie said.
“Quite right.”
“You managed to keep your mouth shut at lunch, too,” Holly added.
“I had a father who didn’t much like chitchat at lunch. He wanted something substantive from me or nothing.”
“Sometimes nothing is the best choice,” Holly said.
“That was my father’s belief.”
“Is your father still alive?” the president asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and kicking.”
“Retired?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What did he do?”
“He was an attorney and a Republican, pretty much in that order. He clerked for Chief Justice Burger, and during the Reagan years he worked at Defense.”
“During what period?”
“If you’re referring to Iran-Contra, right about then. He knew nothing about it, until it hit the news, and when it did, he resigned and went to a Washington law firm.”
“Which one?”
“Miller, Chevalier, Peeler & Wilson, as it was in those days—Miller and Chevalier, by the time he retired.”
“My grandfather knew Stuart Chevalier,” she said. “They were both friends of Franklin Roosevelt when they were all young lawyers. Chevalier had polio as a child and spent his life on crutches or in a wheelchair. I suppose that helped create a bond between him and FDR.”
“I’ll tell my father about that. He would find it very interesting, if he doesn’t already know.”
“When will we have more on the Three Stooges?” she asked.
“Daily, I hope. Quentin Phillips is working on it flat-out.”
“He works for Lev Epstein?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He’ll learn a lot from Lev. He was considered a candidate for attorney general. He turned down an offer to head the criminal division of the Justice Department—said it was less interesting than what he’s doing now. It was a smart move, and Lev is noted for smart moves. I might call on him again before I’m done.”
“I’ve met him only once, but he impressed me,” Millie said.
The president was about to
speak again when something struck the window on Millie’s side. She turned to look at it and saw a thick liquid streaming down the glass, then there was a faint whoomp, and the limousine was suddenly enveloped in flames.
“Nobody move,” Kate said firmly. “Just sit tight, and they’ll deal with it.”
Millie sat tight, willing herself not to open the door and run. Only the thought of what else might be out there stopped her.
There were gunshots now, muffled by the thick body and windows of the car, and then a white cloud surrounded the car and the flames went away. Police sirens and whoopers sounded, both near and far away, but approaching.
The car began to move again. They were in Grosvenor Square, no more than a block from the embassy, and the car bumped over the curb and into the park, swerving to avoid pedestrians. The motorcade left the park at North Audley Street and whipped around the embassy to the rear, where someone opened the door and the three passengers were hustled inside and, followed by four Secret Service agents, into an elevator operated by a marine sergeant. They got off on the top floor, and the president led the way down the hall with long strides into the apartment she was occupying. She walked over to the Grosvenor Square side and looked out the big windows. “Please, Madam President,” an agent said, “step away from the windows. We still don’t know what else might be down there.”
“I’m sorry, Ted,” she replied, stepping back, “that was foolish of me. The rubberneck instinct, I suppose.”
The building was not as soundproof as the limousine, and the noise from outside continued, minus the gunshots.
“Sounds like the firefight is over,” the president said.
The agent stood behind a column and peeked around it at the square. “That’s correct, ma’am, the fire trucks are making the most noise now, but the fire is out.”
“Did you see anything when we were on the ground, Ted?”
“No, ma’am. I was operating a fire extinguisher while others were shooting. I think the car suffered only damage to the paint.”
“It was napalm,” Holly said. “Homemade. They must have dissolved Styrofoam in gasoline.”
“Yes,” Millie said, “I saw it oozing down the window—it was thick.”
The phone rang, and an agent picked it up and listened. “One moment, please. Madam President, it’s Pres . . . it’s the first gentleman for you.”
Kate took the phone. “Hi. I’m fine. Everybody did his job, and Holly, her assistant, and I are safe in the embassy. I don’t know much, except somebody threw a thick liquid at the car, then set it afire. It was all over in a couple of minutes. I’ll call you when I know more. I love you, too.” She hung up.
There was a sharp knock on the door, and two more agents were admitted. “I have a first report for you, Madam President,” one of them said.
The president sat on a sofa and motioned Holly and Millie to do so, as well, then nodded for the agent to continue.
“There were four young men involved,” the man said, “of Middle Eastern appearance. One of them threw an accelerant on the car, then threw a cigarette lighter at it—a Zippo, I believe. The others began firing light machine guns—Uzis. Our people returned fire in kind, and all four of the attackers went down. Three are dead, one is on the way to a hospital.”
“Casualties on our side?”
“Two with non-fatal gunshot wounds, both treated downstairs in the embassy clinic, both will recover quickly.”
“I don’t suppose we know who yet?”
“We may find a note on one of the bodies—otherwise we’ll have to wait for someone to claim credit.”
“Here are your instructions,” she said to the agent. “We will not miss a beat in today’s schedule. Everything will proceed as normal, including my speech tonight. Is that perfectly clear?”
“I’m waiting to hear from our commander on that, ma’am—he’s surveying the damage downstairs.”
“Tell him my order will not change,” she said. “Now, let’s go downstairs. I want to speak to the agents who were wounded.” She stood up and started for the door.
Agents raced to open it for her.
35
AT SEVEN-THIRTY, Stone and Pat went down to the large, ground-floor drawing room for a drink before dinner. The establishment didn’t offer Knob Creek, but they had Blanton’s, which Stone found almost indistinguishable from his favorite, but without the 100-proof kick. They had taken their first sip when, in the company of a young woman, Paul Reeves entered the room. Reeves spotted them immediately, as Stone did him, and walked over to where he and Pat were sitting.
“What a surprise,” Reeves said, not sounding surprised.
Stone didn’t rise until the woman joined him. “And what a coincidence,” he said, his words seasoned with sarcasm.
“May I introduce Ms. Smith,” Reeves said, indicating the woman, who was much younger than he and very alluring.
“Ms. Smith, this is Ms. Frank,” Stone said, and sat down.
“May we join you?” Reeves asked.
“Please excuse us,” Stone said, “but I’ve seen quite enough of you for one week.”
Reeves turned crimson. “If you’re implying that—”
“I’ve never liked coincidences,” Stone said, “and I like them even less now. I would be grateful if we could get through the remainder of our stay in this country without accidentally encountering you.”
Reeves would not be dismissed. “That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard,” he hissed. “And after you refused to render me any assistance in my encounter with the police.”
“Are you aware,” Stone said, “that the pilot with whom you crossed the Atlantic is a fugitive from American justice, the only suspect in a double murder?”
“That’s nonsense—Kevin Keyes wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“So you knew about his fleeing the country and resisted telling the police?”
“I knew it was you who sicced them onto me!”
“You made the mistake, when following me around, of having dinner two tables away from the commissioner of Metropolitan Police and the commissioner of police of New York City,” Stone said. “How’s that for a coincidence? I’m surprised you’re not in jail.”
Reeves turned on his heel, jerked the arm of his girlfriend, and went to the farthest corner of the drawing room.
Stone was approached by the dining room manager. “Forgive me, Mr. Barrington,” he said, “but were you disturbed by that other guest?”
“I was,” Stone said. “I noticed that you have two dining rooms. Would you kindly see that that gentleman and I are not seated in the same one for dinner?”
“Of course, and I extend our apologies for the interruption of your evening.”
Stone thanked the man, and he left.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you angry,” Pat said.
“Stick around,” Stone said, “you may see more.”
“I don’t know what it is with that man,” Pat said.
Stone looked at her. “It has just occurred to me that Reeves may be following you, instead of me. Do you have some sort of history with him?”
“I told you, I took delivery of his airplane.”
“Was there something else?”
She sighed. “All right, he made a pass at me once—no, twice.”
“So, having been rebuffed, he’s in hot pursuit of you?”
“I suppose that might have something to do with all these ‘coincidences.’”
“The man is a stalker? And I flattered myself to think he was stalking me, when it was you all the time?”
“Stone, I don’t know. Now please calm down.”
Stone took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right, I’m letting him get to me.”
“I should have told you about this earlier,” she said, “but I wa
s embarrassed. Paul has been pursuing me, in his ham-handed way, for a month or more. He’s been calling my cell phone incessantly, and I had been in my new house for less than twenty-four hours when he was calling there.”
“So you have two stalkers on your trail?” Stone held up a placating hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like it’s your fault.”
“Maybe it is my fault,” Pat said, taking a swig from her drink.
“You know, I’ve dealt with some crazy ex-husbands and boyfriends before, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything quite like this.”
“That makes two of us,” Pat said. “I moved to New York to lose both of them, and they found me in no time. I took this delivery job and flew across the Atlantic to get rid of them, and they beat me here.”
“I’m beginning to wish that I had brought a weapon,” Stone said.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Pat said, “or Paul Reeves would be dead by now.”
36
WILL LEE GOT BACK from his trip north, where he had spoken to the Oxford Union, and found Kate dressing for bed. He took her in his arms and held her for a moment. “You must be exhausted, after your day.”
“Oh, I am,” she said, leaning into him. “I think the worst of it was seeing the two agents who were wounded defending me. That’s the first time anybody has gone into harm’s way on my account.”
“There’ll be more before you’re done,” he said. “You have to get used to it.” He led her to the bed and tucked her in.
“How did your speech go?”
“Very well, though I started poorly. I was shaken by the attack this afternoon. I warmed up, though, and it got to be fun when they started asking questions.” He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, but she was already asleep.
—
MILLIE SWITCHED OFF the TV in her room next to Holly’s suite at the Connaught. CNN was wall-to-wall on the attack on the president, and she was sick of hearing about it. Holly’s name was mentioned in the reports but she, herself, had been referred to only as a “staffer,” and that was all right with her. Her cell phone came alive. “Hello?”