Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 14
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“I have no idea,” Thomas replied.
Stone gave Thomas a big hug. “It was a great stay, Thomas, and we thank you for your hospitality.”
“It was a pleasure having you,” Thomas replied.
A moment later, they had said their good-byes, boarded the airplane and closed the door. The pilots ran through their checklist, started the engines and began to taxi.
Holly grabbed Stone’s hand. “Something else is going to happen, I can feel it. We aren’t out of here yet.”
Stone squeezed her hand. “Shut up, Holly.”
The airplane reached the end of the runway, turned and began to roll. A few seconds later they were climbing through the overcast.
As they climbed on top of the clouds, Stone looked out the window and thought he saw an airplane below them. “Look at that,” he said to Holly.
They both looked out the window.
“What? I don’t see anything.”
“I thought I saw a small airplane, heading south,” Stone said. “But it’s not there anymore.”
“I’m glad I didn’t see it,” Holly said.
Late in the afternoon they landed at the little airport in Manassas, Virginia. As they taxied to the ramp, Holly looked out the window and saw Lance standing next to a car. Behind that was another car, a black Lincoln.
Holly was first off the airplane, with Daisy, and she walked over to where Lance stood.
“You landed the airplane in Florida for that animal?” he asked.
“I have nothing to say on that subject,” she said.
The fuel truck arrived and began its work. Holly went over to Stone. “I think we’re out of here,” she said. “You’ll be in Teterboro in an hour.”
“And I’ll be glad to see it,” Stone said.
“So will we,” Dino chimed in.
Holly gave everybody hugs and saw them onto the airplane, then it began to taxi out.
“Let’s get out of here,” Lance said. “We have to talk.”
The Peppers got into the waiting Lincoln and were driven away, then Holly put Daisy into the rear seat of Lance’s car and got in.
Lance started the car and drove out of the airport. “Let me bring you up to date on what’s happened since you left the island,” he said. “The St. Marks police arrested an unidentified man. He was taken to the police station where, an hour or so later, he signed a confession to the murders of Croft, duBois and the prime minister. Half an hour after that, he was shot—‘while trying to escape,’ as the official announcement put it.”
“He was innocent,” Holly said.
“He confessed, and he probably doesn’t exist.” Lance replied. “Let it lie.”
“Did Teddy make it to another island in his contraption?”
“Two other things,” Lance said. “Harold Pitts’s yacht sank in three hundred feet of water off the eastern end of St. Martin, shortly after Harold got off an SOS. A search was conducted, but no sign of Harold. A life raft was found, empty.”
“What’s the other thing?”
“The other thing is something that didn’t happen,” Lance said. “Teddy didn’t make it to Nevis, where he didn’t elude two police cars and didn’t fly off the island in a Cessna he didn’t have stashed in a hangar there. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“You’re buying into all of that?” Holly asked.
“Yes, I am,” Lance said, “and you would be wise to accept it, too. You and I have other work to do, and we’ve already devoted too much time to Teddy Fay.”
Holly thought it impolitic to mention Stone’s sighting of the small airplane when they took off from St. Marks. “What work do we have to do?”
“I’m making you my assistant at Langley; you won’t have a title for a while. There’ll be some carping among the people there about your not having enough training or experience.”
“Both true,” Holly said.
“You have lots of training and experience, just not what Agency personnel think of in that regard. After a time, when you’ve had an opportunity to win over some folks, and they’ve decided we’re not sleeping together, we’ll see what work we can find for you to do.”
“Working at Langley sounds very restful,” Holly said, leaning back in her seat. “Shall I sell my New York apartment?”
“I wouldn’t do that just yet; you never know when you might need it. For the time being, we’re housing you in an old inn near Langley, where we sometimes keep visitors.”
Holly glanced at Daisy.
“The inn is dog-friendly,” Lance said.
“You think of everything, Lance.”
“I try.”
Holly put her head back on the seat and began to doze.
“Oh,” Lance said, “something else happened in St. Marks while you were in the air: a woman was attacked and partly eaten by a big hammerhead shark on a sandbar just off the beach of the English Harbour Inn. Her companion lost an arm trying to rescue her.”
Holly stayed awake all the way to her new quarters.
That night, Stone and Dino were having dinner at Elaine’s.
“Holly called,” Stone said. He told Dino about the loss of Harold Pitts and his yacht, and about the nonexistent ultralight.
“Figures,” Dino said.
“Yeah.”
Dino pointed at the television, which was tuned to CNN but with no sound. “Look at the crawl,” he said.
Stone looked up. “WHITE HOUSE SOURCES SAY THAT PRESIDENT LEE WILL ANNOUNCE HIS CANDIDACY FOR REELECTION TOMORROW MORNING,” the crawl read.
Stone smiled. “I think I’ll sleep well tonight.”
END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all of my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
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Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of Writer’s Market at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
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If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Rachel Kahan at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.
† A Stone Barrington Book
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‡ A Will Lee Book
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* A Holly Barker Book
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† A Stone Barrington Book
† A Stone Barrington Book
‡ A Will Lee Book
‡ A Will Lee Book
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* A Holly Barker Book
† A Stone Barrington Book
† A Stone Barrington Book
‡ A Will Lee Book
† A Stone Barrington Book
* A Holly Barker Book
† A Stone Barrington Book