Hot Pursuit

by Stuart Woods

  “Yes, he will, Dame Felicity. I would come myself, but there are pressing matters here.”

  “How sad,” she said. “Perhaps next time.” She hung up, satisfied that she had earned her salary that day.

  52

  IAN RATTLE arrived in Mount Street after an interminable twenty-two-minute trip in heavy traffic. He leaped out of the car, leaving his driver, then, as he approached the door of Hayward, stopped, smoothed down his suit and hair, took a deep breath, and entered the shop.

  A woman was hanging a handful of neckties on a rack just inside the door. “May I help you?”

  “May I speak with your fitter?” Ian asked.

  “He’s working in the rear,” she said, pointing.

  Ian entered the rear room to find a man, a tape measure around his neck, applying a very large pair of scissors to a bolt of cloth. “May I help you, sir?” the man asked.

  “You may,” Ian said, taking his ID from a pocket as he approached the cutting table and laying it on the tabletop for the man’s perusal.

  “Ah,” the man said. “Whatever I can do.”

  “It is my understanding that you have clients in the nation of Dahai,” Ian said.

  “That is so.”

  “I also understand that two of them, brothers, I believe, were in for a fitting this morning.”

  “That is so, as well.”

  “What address in London do you have for them?”

  “Regency House, Regent’s Park.”

  “And the names of the two?”

  “David and Derek Kimbrough,” he said. “I believe they are the sons of Lord Kimbrough, whose house they stay in when in London.”

  “Have they been your clients for long?”

  “They were clients of Douglas Hayward when he was alive and they were at Eton. My employers bought the shop after Mr. Hayward’s death, and we have continued to serve them.”

  “I see. How often do they come to London?”

  “Around twice a year,” he replied. “We always see them when they’re here, and we’re in Dahai twice a year to service our clients there.”

  “Do you have a shop there?”

  “No, we work out of a hotel. For the Kimbroughs we call at their home, which is in the grounds of the sultan’s palace.”

  “Does Lord Kimbrough spend time in Dahai?”

  “I believe not. He and the boys’ mother have lived apart for many years. She apparently has connections to the sultan’s court.”

  “Tell me, do you also have a client called Mahmoud?”

  “Yes, two of them—the Sheik Hari Mahmoud and his son, Ali. They maintain a home here.”

  “May I have that address, please?”

  The tailor went to a large leather-bound book and leafed through it. “Here we are,” he said. “Malvern House, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea.”

  “Do you know if he’s in town now?”

  “If he is, we haven’t seen him.”

  “Thank you so much for your help,” Ian said.

  “Always happy to oblige MI6.”

  Ian left the shop, called Dame Felicity, and reported his conversation with the tailor.

  “Ah, Lord Kimbrough,” she said. “I don’t need to look him up in Debrett’s Peerage—I knew him. He died twenty years ago, and without issue. I would imagine that soon after that the sultan would have acquired his house.”

  “I believe we should concentrate our efforts on Regent’s Park and ignore the property in Belgrave Square. And I believe we should begin outside surveillance of Regency House immediately.”

  “I agree,” she replied. “The FBI team will arrive at RAF Northolt this evening. I would like you to meet them and escort them to the Hyde Park Barracks, headquarters of the Household Cavalry, where they will be housed in some vacant officers’ quarters. You might take Millie Martindale with you, since she is acquainted with Quentin Phillips, the team leader.”

  “As you wish, Dame Felicity.”

  “Early tomorrow morning, I would like the FBI team to occupy the first-floor conference room here as their operational headquarters. Agent Phillips may use the adjoining office, which is being cleared for him. Please ask our tech people to see that they have whatever of our equipment they may need and to observe as much of their work as possible.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “I’m feeling much better about this operation,” she said.

  “I’m glad, ma’am. So am I.” They hung up, and Ian made a call to his number two, and gave the order to begin surveillance of the Regent’s Park house. He started to call Millie on his cell phone, then realized she was right around the corner. He walked around to Harry’s Bar and entered. He could see Millie, Stone Barrington, and another man at a corner table, where they were just attending to the bill, so he waited in the bar.

  —

  MILLIE SPOTTED IAN as they were leaving their table. He greeted them in the bar, and she introduced him to Dino Bacchetti.

  “Hello, Mr. Rattle,” Stone said, shaking his hand. “Good to see you again.”

  “It’s Ian, please. Millie, may I have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  “Stone, Ian can drop me back at the hotel, after I pick up a package in Mount Street. I wish you a happy flight back to Reykjavik tomorrow.” She thanked him for lunch, and they left.

  “What’s up?” she asked Ian.

  “Things are moving very fast.” He brought her up to date.

  “I don’t think it’s necessary for me to be at Northolt to meet the team. I have a room at the Connaught for Quentin Phillips,” she said, “so you can bring him there after you’ve quartered the team at Hyde Park Barracks.”

  “Very good. I’ll send a car for him at seven AM tomorrow.”

  —

  LEV EPSTEIN ARRIVED at his office shortly after seven to find a technician from the monitoring team waiting for him.

  “Sir, I’ve already called Phillips about this, but I think you should know that, shortly before dawn this morning, we observed Ali Mahmoud leaving his apartment in his car. We weren’t set up to film him that early, but we followed him, at some distance, to Rock Creek Park.”

  “What the hell was he doing there at dawn?”

  He pulled his car behind some bushes, and we positioned our people so that we could see him remove a large object from the trunk of his car.”

  “What was it?”

  “We watched as he took it to a clearing, along with a case. It turned out to be a drone.”

  “As in a pilotless aircraft?”

  “Not pilotless, sir—Mahmoud was the pilot. The drone was one of those with four propellers—they are highly maneuverable. He did some assembly, which didn’t take long, and took a monitor from the case and set that up. Shortly, he was flying the thing, and it went out of our sight line. It must have been electrically powered, because it made little or no noise.”

  “But you couldn’t see where it went?”

  “No, sir. Apparently it had a camera aboard, because Mahmoud watched the monitor very carefully as he manipulated the controls. The drone returned after about an hour and landed. He repacked the equipment in his car and drove back to his home, then walked to the embassy.”

  “So Mahmoud is a drone hobbyist,” Epstein muttered to himself.

  “Yes, sir, and he appeared to be very proficient in flying the drone. He was very assured in handling it.”

  “Could the thing be used as a weapon?”

  “That doesn’t seem likely. It doesn’t have the power to carry much in the way of weight—probably only a camera.”

  “So he wants to spy on something?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Thank you,” Epstein said. “Get back to your work.”

  As he settled behind his desk, Epstein had the feeling that what he h
ad just heard was not a good thing.

  —

  QUENTIN PHILLIPS ARRIVED at work and reported to Lev. “What time are you off?”

  “We should be at Andrews between ten and eleven.”

  “Have you heard the report about Mahmoud’s activities this morning?”

  “No. What’s happened?”

  Lev told him about Mahmoud and his drone.

  “But we’ve no idea where he flew the thing?”

  “None.”

  “You don’t suppose he’s just a drone hobbyist?”

  “No, I don’t, but your tech people say that such a drone could carry no more than a camera.”

  “And it was electric?”

  “Yes, very quiet.”

  “I’ll talk more with the team about it during our flight.”

  “All right.” Lev handed him a printed form. “Draw some pounds and distribute some of them to your team. How many men are you taking?”

  “Eight: four operators and four installers.”

  “Keep me posted. Good luck.”

  53

  MILLIE WAITED for the Connaught bellman to deposit Quentin’s luggage in her old bedroom, then she flung her arms around him. “Welcome to London,” she said.

  “I can see why you put my luggage in here,” Quentin said, “but I don’t really have to sleep here, do I?”

  She kissed him. “You do not. I have other plans for you, beginning with dinner, which I’ve already ordered.”

  “I’ve got to call Lev,” he said. “Is there a secure line?”

  “The green phone is. It goes through the embassy switchboard.”

  He kissed her again, then sat down at the desk, picked up the green phone, and asked to be connected to Lev Epstein.

  “This is Epstein.”

  “It’s Phillips.”

  “Are you there?”

  “I am, and the team and I talked about Moe and his drone on the way over here.”

  “Any conclusions?”

  “We don’t know what he plans to do with it, but we agree, it’s too light to carry a weapon or a bomb.”

  “I already knew that.”

  “We’re all agreed that we have to start surveilling him from the air immediately.”

  “With what, an Apache helicopter hovering over Dupont Circle?”

  “With a drone.”

  “We don’t have any drones, you know that.”

  “The CIA does. We think they’re training with them out at Camp Peary, the Farm. If they are, those things could carry a weapon, like a Hellfire missile. They’re doing it all over the Middle East right now.”

  “Let me understand: You want to position a drone over Washington, D.C., armed with a Hellfire missile? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “No, no! We just want to use it for surveillance. When Moe flies his drone again, we can see where it goes, then maybe figure out what he plans to do with it. We need an eye in the sky.”

  Millie tapped him on the shoulder. “I can get it for you, and without the red tape.”

  “Did I just hear the voice of Ms. Martindale?” Lev asked.

  “She says she can get us the drone without the red tape.”

  “Then tell her to do it! I’m out of this! But don’t you arm that thing without my permission!” He hung up.

  “Okay,” Quentin said. “Get me a drone.”

  “For surveillance?”

  Quentin thought about that. “Multipurpose,” he said. “I want something that can hang up there for days, and that can be armed if necessary.”

  “Explain.”

  He told her about Moe’s drone flying.

  Millie kicked him out of the chair, sat down at the desk, picked up the green phone, and dialed Holly’s number.

  “Hey,” Holly said.

  “Where are you?”

  “Berlin. We just got in from a big dinner. We’re off to Rome tomorrow morning.”

  “Quentin Phillips just arrived with his team, and there’s news from D.C.” She told her about Moe’s drone and what Quentin wanted. “The FBI doesn’t have any drones, or at least, any suitable ones, but the Agency does, apparently out at Camp Peary. It’s going to take the president to order it.”

  “What, exactly, does he want?”

  “A drone with a camera that can hover for long periods of surveillance and that can be armed later, if it becomes necessary.”

  “That sounds like two drones to me,” Holly said.

  “Okay, two drones—one in the air, one on call.”

  “I’ll get back to you,” Holly said.

  Holly hung up as the doorbell rang. “That will be dinner,” Millie said. She opened the door and admitted a waiter with a tray table. When he had gone, she said, “Holly will get back to us.”

  “Can she really get the president to make that call?”

  “If anybody can, it’s Holly. Now eat.”

  They were on dessert when the phone rang, and Millie ran for it. “Hello?”

  “Tell Quentin to call Lance Cabot at the following number.”

  Millie wrote it down. “Got it.” But Holly had already hung up.

  “Okay,” she said to Quentin. “Call Lance Cabot, at this number.” She handed him the pad and gave him the desk chair. “Put him on speaker.”

  Quentin sat down and asked for the number.

  It rang once, then: “Lance Cabot.”

  “Director Cabot, this is Special Agent Quentin Phillips, FBI.”

  “Hello, Quentin. I hear you want to borrow my air force.”

  “Only two drones, sir.”

  “That is agreeable. I’ve already given the order to our people at Camp Peary. We’re doing this under the condition that only our people operate them. We’re not turning them over to you. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “The code name for the first drone is ‘Stalker,’ which will be your surveillance craft. Where do you want it?”

  “The Dahai government maintains an apartment building for diplomats off Dupont Circle.”

  “We know that place. We’ll station Stalker at two thousand feet, circling the building. The lenses aboard will bring you in close enough to read the warning label on a pack of cigarettes. My people will give you radio frequencies and phone numbers you can use to request changes in station or to follow a person or vehicle. The video signal will be broadcast from a satellite.”

  “May we view the images in both Washington and London? I’m in London now.”

  “It requires a relay, but the short answer is yes.”

  “What about the second drone?”

  “That is code-named ‘Condor.’ It can be armed with a Gatling gun and/or a Hellfire missile.”

  “Both, please.”

  “And it will not leave the ground or fire without a presidential order—that’s the president on the phone with me—do you understand?”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “I will now give the order to position Stalker over the embassy apartment building and to establish radio and phone contact with your people in the basement of the Hoover Building.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank me when it’s over—if it works.” Lance hung up.

  “We’re in business,” Quentin said.

  Millie took him by an ear. “Business later, sex now.” She led him to the bedroom.

  54

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone showered and dressed, then packed his bag; Pat was already packed, he noted. He walked into the sitting room for breakfast to find her at her computer, with a hotel printer on the desk.

  “Morning,” she said. “Sleep well?”

  “Pretty well.”

  “Are you still worried about Paul Reeves?”

  “A little.
I wish he’d get it over with.”

  “Relax, by noon you’ll be on your way to Reykjavik.” She handed him a sheaf of papers. “Your weather forecast and your flight plan, already filed for noon local. A sunny day, all the way to Goose Bay. I recommend you go all the way today—it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

  Stone looked at the flight plans. “Seven hours in the air: I can do that.”

  “There’s a decent hotel at Goose Bay. I’ll book you in.”

  The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “It’s for you,” he said, handing it to Pat.

  “Hello? Hi there, how’s it going? That’s really good news—it’s a good-weather day. We’ll be at Coventry between ten and eleven. I’ll file for twelve. See you then.” She hung up. “Good tidings: my client’s CJ4 is ready and flight-tested. He’s meeting me at Coventry.”

  “Good for you.”

  “We’ll be in Wichita tonight. I’ll fly back to New York tomorrow.”

  “You’d better come to my house—we don’t know what’s going on at your place.”

  “You talked me into it.”

  Dino and Viv joined them, and breakfast arrived.

  —

  THE BELLMAN CAME for their luggage. Dino pointed at two pieces. “Those two go into the second car. My wife is going back to London. The rest go in our Jaguar.”

  They put Viv into her car and said goodbye, then they loaded their luggage and drove away from Cliveden a little after ten. The weather was superb: warm and sunny with a nice breeze. He chose BBC Three on the radio, and the excellent sound system filled the car with soft classical music.

  “I have a feeling we’re going to see Reeves at the airport,” Stone said.

  “So what? At the very worst, you’ll get a chance to punch him in the nose. I wouldn’t try that with Kevin, though, if he’s there.”

  “If he’s there, we’ll call the police,” Stone said. “Dino, you’re in charge of bringing the bobbies down on Kevin Keyes, if he’s at the airport.”