Hot Pursuit (13 page)

OVER BREAKFAST
the following morning, Stone tried to make sense of Kevin Keyes’s actions. “There are too many coincidences,” Stone said.

“I’ll grant you, there are coincidences, but they seem to be easily explained,” Pat said.

“Then how come every time we land, Paul Reeves’s airplane is just ahead of us?”

“That’s because we flew the same route. Lots of owner-pilots want to do a transatlantic, and his Mustang wouldn’t be equipped to do it any way but the Blue Spruce route.”

“And why would Reeves choose Keyes to fly with him?”

“Paul knew Kevin through me. I think Kevin did a delivery of his previous airplane—a King Air 190. So Kevin would be a logical choice as a backup pilot. Would you have done the flight alone without me or someone like me along?”

“Good point. Then they end up in the same restaurant with us.”

“It seemed to be a very popular restaurant,” she said. “And I don’t think Reeves or Kevin saw us. We wouldn’t have seen them if Reeves hadn’t been so drunk.”

“Would you mind if we left London early?” Stone asked.

“It’s not my first trip to London. When would you like to leave?”

“After breakfast?”

“Hang on, Dino’s coming this morning and you promised him a room. Let’s give it a couple of days. We can make a point of going to places Kevin wouldn’t know about.”

“You’re right.”

“Where are we going when we go?”

“To the country. Let me have a chat with the concierge about some reservations.”

“Okay, I’m in your hands. I’d like to do some shopping today, if you don’t need the car.”

“That’s all right, I thought I’d visit my tailor and shirtmaker, but I can take cabs for that.”

—

PAT LEFT
with Tony and the car, and Stone shaved, showered, and dressed, just in time for Dino and Viv to walk in.

“Hey, buddy,” Dino said, slapping him on the shoulder.

“How was the flight?”

“Not bad. I actually got some sleep, but I think I need some more.” He looked around. “This is some place,” he said.

“A client of Pat’s arranged for Jaguar to put us up. They own the hotel.”

Viv gave him a hug. “You don’t look jet-lagged. How do you do that?”

“I guess our overnight in Iceland helped.” Stone showed them to their room and directed the bellman there when he arrived.

They disappeared into their room, and Stone didn’t want to disturb them, so he left a note. He took a taxi to Mount Street, in Mayfair, to Hayward, his old tailor. Doug Hayward had passed on some years ago, and the shop had been bought by another, larger tailor. When he walked in, he didn’t recognize the place. Doug’s cozy shop had been gutted and replaced with a shopfitter’s dream—lots of chrome and white walls. Les, Doug’s old cutter, was still there, and Audie, who had run the front desk. She didn’t seem to have a desk anymore.

He met the new head cutter and looked at some fabrics. He chose a couple of lightweight cashmeres for jackets and was measured, explaining that he’d have his next fitting when they made their regular visit to New York in the spring.

He went to his shirtmaker, Turnbull & Asser, in Jermyn Street and had a look around. They had a shop in New York now, but he liked to visit the old place. He was looking at ties when Paul Reeves, the Mustang owner, walked in, looking hungover.

Stone picked out some ties and pocket squares, and when he had finished, Reeves was gone, to his relief. He went next door to the bespoke department to order some shirts. As he walked in he heard an American accent.

“Barrington? Isn’t your name Barrington?”

He turned to find Paul Reeves sitting at a table, poring over shirtings. “Yes. Have we met?”

“Not exactly. I was at Flight Safety at the same time as you, but I was in the Mustang class, and you were in the MC2 group.” He offered his hand, and Stone shook it. “I’m Paul Reeves.”

“I’m Stone. What brings you to London?”

“Business, ostensibly,” Reeves replied. “But I really just wanted to fly my airplane over here.”

“Same with me,” Stone said. He thought it better not to mention Pat.

“You’re in the MC2?”

“Right.”

A salesman walked up to the table. “Good morning, Mr. Barrington. May I help you?”

“Yes, thanks.” He turned to Reeves. “Have a good flight home.” He joined the salesman on the other side of the room, and Reeves left after a few minutes, giving him a wave.

“You know Mr. Reeves?” the salesman asked.

“Not until just now.”

“He was asking about you earlier.”

“Really? What did he want to know?”

“He said he thought he saw you in the shop next door, and that the two of you had been in flight school at the same time.”

“Yes, he mentioned that. We were in different classes, and I didn’t meet him at the time.”

“Ah.”

Stone picked some fabrics and ordered his shirts, for delivery at their New York shop. He went back to the shop next door to retrieve his purchases, and as he arrived there it began to rain, so he added an umbrella to his purchases. He managed to get a taxi in Jermyn Street and went back to the hotel.

Dino and Viv were up and looking refreshed and were ordering lunch. Stone picked something from the room-service menu. “How are you spending your afternoon?”

“I was going shopping,” Viv said, “but it’s pouring out there.”

“It certainly is. It’s a shame you missed Pat—she’s got our car and driver.”

As if on cue, Pat bustled in and greeted everyone. Their butler arrived with her packages.

“I saw Paul Reeves this morning,” Stone said.

“Where on earth did you see him?”

“At my shirtmaker’s. Turns out we were at Flight Safety at the same time, he for his Mustang, so he knew me.”

“Did you meet him there?”

“No, I have no memory of him.”

“Very odd,” she said.

“Just another coincidence,” Stone replied. “They’re piling up, aren’t they?”

MILLIE HAD JUST
arrived home from work when Quentin called.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself. What happened today?”

Quentin related the details of his interview with Dr. Schmidt.

“So our Riis likes fast cars, good clothes, and expensive watches? I guess that’s a start.”

“Our lab is going through his file from Berkeley. We’ll see what they can come up with.”

“You think we have any hope of finding this guy?”

“There’s always hope. The Bureau is pretty good at finding people who don’t want to be found.”

“Yeah, even if it takes years—I read about that.”

“We’re more nimble than we used to be,” Quentin said defensively.

“Don’t tell me, show me.”

“I miss you,” he said.

“I know what you miss,” she replied with a laugh.

“I miss that, too. In fact, I miss the whole package. I’m still stunned with how great a Chinese cook you are.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Not until I’ve wrung California dry for Dr. Riis. His made-up background says he did his undergraduate work at UCLA. It made me think he might have spent some time there, though there’s no trace of a Jacob Riis there, of course.”

Millie’s cell phone rang, and caller ID said NSC. “I’ve got a call coming in from Holly. Talk to you later.”

“You sure will.” He hung up.

“Hello?”

“It’s Holly.”

“Hi.”

“Pack for a week. You’re going to London tomorrow morning.”

“No kidding?”

“I kid you not. The president is making a European tour to rub noses with the various leaders. She starts in London, and she wants me with her. A car will pick you up at six
AM
and take you to the airplane.”

“Am I going to need anything special in the way of clothes?”

“Sure, bring a riding habit for the foxhunting and a ball gown and a tiara, just in case.”

Millie laughed. “No kidding, what?”

“A business suit or two, a nice dress or two, and one knockout dress, in case we get asked out.”

“I just heard from the FBI.” She brought Holly up to date.

“Well, you’ve done such a good job of motivating the Bureau, we’ll see how you can do with MI6. See you on Air Force One.” Holly hung up.

Millie hung up; she jumped up and down for half a minute, making teenaged-girl noises, then she went to pack.

—

MILLIE’S FIRST IMPRESSION
of the airplane was of its enormous size. She had flown aboard Boeing 747s—who hadn’t? But she had always entered the airplane through the boarding tunnel and had seen only that part of the interior in which she was seated. Now, after she was deposited at the bottom of the rear boarding steps, the giant airplane loomed over her. After someone took her luggage, someone else checked her name off a list, and someone else passed a security wand over her body, she was surprised at how long the climb up the stairs was. One engine was already running. She was directed past the press and security and guest areas forward to the senior staff area, which was over the wing root. Holly was already there, seated in a large chair, her briefcase open on the floor beside her, reading papers.

“Good morning,” Holly said. “What do you think?” She waved an arm around.

“‘Spectacular’ is the only word I can come up with.”

“Good word. The president will be aboard in ten minutes, and shortly after takeoff we’ll brief her in her office, up front.”

Millie nodded.

“I want her to know every step we’ve taken in the search for the Three Stooges, which is how I’ve come to think of our carefully cultivated moles. The twins are Larry and Curly, Dr. Riis is Moe.” Holly looked at her quizzically. “It’s just occurred to me that you are probably not old enough to know who the Three Stooges were.”

“I saw the movie about them on TV, and I watched a couple of shorts on the Internet, so I’ve got the general idea.”

“I’m always impressed by the depth and breadth of your knowledge,” Holly said.

“It’s the Harvard education. I have a question.”

“Spit it out.”

“You mentioned MI6, which is the foreign intelligence service. I would have thought we would be dealing with MI5, which covers the domestic side, like our FBI.”

“I suppose we could do it that way,” Holly replied, “but the people we’re looking for are foreign agents, and anyway, the president already has an established relationship with Dame Felicity Devonshire, the head of MI6, dating back to her time as director of Central Intelligence and before. They’re quite good friends.”

“I see.”

“It’s possible a name will come up in conversation: Stone Barrington.”

“I think I read something about him in
Vanity Fair
: New York lawyer, murdered wife?”

“That’s the one. As it happens, he is a friend of the president, of Dame Felicity, and of mine.”

“That’s an intriguing set of acquaintances,” Millie said. “I don’t suppose I should inquire as to the nature of those relationships?”

“You should not. You may recall that his name came up during the presidential campaign, when some people hinted at something intimate between Stone and the candidate. That was entirely false—they are, as the cliché goes, just good friends.”

“What about Dame Felicity and you?”

“As another cliché goes, none of your business.”

Millie nodded. “Got it.” She glanced out a window and was surprised to find that the big airplane was already moving. She had not even heard the second engine start. “I take it the president is aboard,” she said.

“The airplane always goes the moment she arrives.”

“No waiting around the airport lounge, huh?”

“Not even the VIP lounge. Fasten your seat belt.”

—

AFTER A FEW
minutes the seat belt sign went off and a woman appeared in the doorway. “The president will see you now.”

They followed her past a large galley and a room that seemed filled with medical equipment, then through a door and into the president’s airborne office, which would not have seemed large if it had not been on an airplane. Katharine Lee sat at her desk, tapping the keys of an Apple Air laptop. She looked up.

“Good morning, Holly, and good morning, Millie. Good to meet you. I’ve been hearing good things.”

“Good morning, Madam President,” Millie managed to say. She had not blushed since she was twelve, but she felt the warmth rising as she took a built-in seat next to Holly.

“Tell me about the Three Stooges,” Kate said. “What’s the latest?”

Holly gave her a summary and all the credit to Millie.

“That’s a very good start,” she said. “I’m having lunch with Dame Felicity Devonshire tomorrow, and I’d like you both there. She already knows about Larry and Curly. Millie, I’d like you to brief her on what we know about Moe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Millie said. She and Holly rose and returned to their cabin. To Millie’s surprise, one of the three chairs was occupied by the secretary of state, former senator Sam Meriwether, who greeted them cordially.

Pretty good company you’re traveling in, Millie, she thought.

DINO GOT
a phone call in the middle of lunch. He listened, then covered the phone. “We’re invited to have dinner with the commissioner of Metropolitan Police,” he called to Stone. “You two up for that?”

“Sure,” Stone called back.

Dino spoke into the phone again, then hung up. “The Garrick Club at eight o’clock,” he said.

“Sounds great.” Stone had been to the Garrick Club a couple of times, and he loved the place.

—

TONY DEPOSITED
them in front of the Garrick Club. “I’ll be nearby,” he said, handing Stone his card.

They walked into the club and up a few stairs. They were met in the entrance hall by a couple.

“Sir Martin,” Dino said, shaking his hand. “This is my wife, Vivian, and my friends Stone Barrington and Pat Frank. This is Sir Martin Beveridge and his wife, Elizabeth.”

Everyone shook hands and they went into the main dining room, where the walls were hung with portraits of famous actors and paintings of scenes from various dramas. They were seated at a round corner table and champagne was brought. Sir Martin raised his glass. “To Anglo-American friendship,” he said, and they drank. “Now,” Sir Martin continued, “we are Martin and Liz—I hope we may all be informal.”

Everyone murmured assent, and they drank their champagne.

Stone looked up to see two couples entering the dining room and being seated a few tables away. “Look who’s here,” he whispered to Pat. One of the men was Paul Reeves.

“Ignore him,” Pat whispered back.

The conversation over dinner was about everything but police matters, until, as dessert arrived, their host turned toward Dino. “Dino, I want you to know that I am grateful to your people for alerting us to the presence of a fugitive American, this Keyes fellow, a double murderer, I believe.”

“You’re very welcome, Martin, but you should know that it was Stone who alerted
my
people to his presence here.”

“Then I extend our thanks to you, too, Stone.”

“You’re welcome, Martin, and you should also know that the man who transported Keyes to Britain in his private jet, however unknowing he may have been, is sitting three tables from us to your right, with his back against the wall. His name is Paul Reeves.”

“In
my
club? Good God!” There was irony in his voice. “One can’t go anywhere these days without encountering the criminal classes.”

Pat spoke up. “I should tell you, Martin, that Mr. Reeves is a respected businessman in his hometown of Dallas, Texas. I’ve known him for some years, and I’m sure he has no idea that Kevin Keyes is a wanted man.”

“However,” Stone said, “Mr. Reeves might be helpful in locating Keyes.”

“Would you excuse me for a moment, please?” Martin said. He rose and left the room, then returned a couple of minutes later. Nothing more was said of Reeves or Keyes.

—

THEY LINGERED
over port and Stilton for a while, then made their way to the foyer and their coats. Reeves and his party had left five minutes ahead of them. As they said their goodbyes at the curb, where Tony and the commissioner’s cars were waiting, Stone heard his name called. He looked across the street and saw Paul Reeves talking to two men, while the rest of his party stood by waiting.

“Stone!” Reeves called again.

“I’ll be right back,” Stone said to his group. He walked across the street. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’m being questioned by the police,” Reeves said, “and I need a lawyer.”

“I’m afraid I’m not licensed to practice in Britain,” Stone said. “I suggest you be as helpful to the police as you possibly can, and if you are further detained, call the American embassy and ask for legal assistance.”

“Thanks a lot,” Reeves said acidly to Stone’s departing back.

“What was that about?” Dino asked when they were in the car.

“Reeves wanted a lawyer. I told him I’m unlicensed here and to cooperate with the police, and if he needs further help, to call the embassy.”

“How do you know this guy Reeves?”

“I met him for the first time at Turnbull & Asser this afternoon.”

“And you, Pat?”

“On the recommendation of Cessna, I handled the acceptance of his new airplane from the factory,” she said. “His insurance company had recommended me as a mentor pilot when he bought his last airplane a few years ago. That’s it.”

“Perhaps these coincidences will come to an end now,” Stone said. “Dino, we’re getting out of here to go to the country tomorrow morning. Pat checked, and you’re okay to remain in the suite. We’ll be back in a few days.”