Hit list, p.5
Hit List, page 5
“Oh, the hell with it,” he said, then hung up.
Dino called. “Dinner?”
“Sure, can I bring Vanessa?”
“I’d much prefer it if you did. I’d rather look at her than you. Seven at Patroon.” He hung up.
11
Stone and Vanessa arrived at Patroon to find Dino waiting for them. She gave him a big kiss on the forehead.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “Hey to you, too,” he said to Stone, “but no kissing.”
“Not even on the forehead?” Stone asked.
“Shut up and drink.” Dino had already ordered for them, and their drinks arrived and were attacked.
“You make any progress on the 30 Rock shooting?” Stone asked.
“Oh, I love hearing sentences like that,” Vanessa said. “It’s like reading Raymond Chandler or Elmore Leonard.”
“Stone can’t talk that good,” Dino said.
“And to answer my question . . . ?”
“Your answer is: not much.”
“Does that mean a little or nothing at all?”
“Take your pick.”
“Oh, you’re such tough guys!” Vanessa laughed.
Dino patted her hand. “We’ve had thousands of hours of rehearsal in patrol cars,” he said.
“Seems more like millions,” Stone said. “I tried to call your wife today, and . . .”
“And you got a recorded message about satellite realignment,” Dino said. “Personally, I think the North Koreans have shot down a couple of those birds over Asia. Why did you want to talk to my wife? Are you two having an affair?”
“She’s in Singapore by this time. How could we be having an affair?”
“Phone sex,” Dino said.
“Better than no sex at all,” Vanessa chimed in.
“I was talking to Mike when the sat system went down, so I tried her, instead. He was about to say something meaningful about the hit list when we were cut off.”
“What was he saying?”
“How would I know? We were cut off.”
“What did he say before you were cut off?”
“He said he’d heard about the list, and then he started to say something about it, and then, pfffft!”
“Well,” Dino said, looking at his watch. “It’s tomorrow morning—or this morning—over there. I can never remember which.”
“That’s what Viv said.”
“You said you couldn’t reach her,” Dino replied.
“I spoke to her before she left Hong Kong,” Stone said. “Phone sex.”
“You were talking dirty to my wife?”
“I don’t consider sex to be dirty, just because it’s over the phone.”
“Hear, hear,” Vanessa said.
“Vanessa sounds like she’s in the House of Lords,” Dino said.
Stefan, the headwaiter, arrived with menus. “I hope I’m interrupting something important,” he said. “What would you like tonight?”
“Well, first of all,” Stone said, “we want to watch you make a Caesar salad, then I’d like the Dover sole.”
“Me, too!” Dino and Vanessa said simultaneously.
“And a bottle of the Puligny-Montrachet,” Stone said. Stefan vanished and then returned with a cart bearing a wooden salad bowl, romaine lettuce, egg yolks, olive oil, lemon juice, raw garlic, Parmigiano Reggiano, and anchovies. He donned a skullcap. “Required by law,” he explained. Shortly, he had done his magic with the ingredients and they were munching contentedly, if noisily.
* * *
—
They were finished with their sole and contemplating dessert when Stone’s cell phone rang.
“I’ll bet it’s Lance,” Dino said. “Better answer it, and ask him if the North Koreans have shot down some satellites.”
Stone answered, and they scrambled.
“How was your Dover sole?” Lance asked.
“Stop that, Lance. It’s like you have a tiny satellite circling my head and reporting back to you.”
“How odd you should mention that.”
Dino leaned in. “Lance, have the North Koreans shot down any satellites today over China?”
Lance was stonily silent for a long moment. Then, “How did you know that, Dino? It’s highly classified.”
“What?”
“I’m going to have to send some people over there to arrest you,” Lance said, “before you leak that information to somebody who shouldn’t know it.”
“Like the North Koreans?”
“Exactly,” Lance said. “You’ll be picked up before you finish dessert. Now, Stone, can we put aside this nonsense, or have Dino restrained, so that we can talk serious business?”
“Good idea about Dino,” Stone said. “Shoot. Oh, Vanessa’s here, too. Can you trust her?”
“Send her to the ladies’,” Lance said.
“You hear that?” Stone asked her.
She hipped her way out of the booth. “Oh, all right. I’m not wanted, I’ll go.”
“She’s gone,” Stone said. “What’s up?”
“Just a moment,” Lance said, then came back. “I can’t remember,” he said. “It was on the tip of my tongue, then Dino changed the subject.”
“Oh, it’s my fault you’re sliding into dementia, is it?” Dino responded.
“Just a senior moment,” Lance said. “I’ll call you back.”
* * *
—
Lance didn’t call back; Vanessa returned, they finished their dinner, and left.
“Where would you like to sleep tonight?” Stone asked Vanessa, kissing her on the ear.
“Mmmmm, let’s see,” she said. “There’s alone in a cold bed, and there’s in your arms. Which should I choose?”
“Home, Fred,” Stone said.
When they arrived, he told Fred to just pull up to the front door, instead of them all going in through the garage. They were halfway to the front door when Stone heard a noise and said, “Ricochet!” He ducked to one side of the front stairs, hoping that it was the good side, and freed his Colt .380 from its holster. He whistled loudly at Fred, but he was already pulling into the garage. A moment later Fred was at the garage door, a pistol in his hand.
It had gotten very quiet. “Fred, do you see anything?” Stone called out.
“Nothing, sir, but my night vision hasn’t made the adjustment yet.”
“Please close the garage door, go into the house, and open the front door from inside,” Stone shouted.
“Yes, sir!” The garage door slid shut.
“What’s happening?” Vanessa asked.
“Someone took a shot at us— Sorry, at me. He missed.”
The front door opened a crack. “All right, sir, I’ll cover you from here. When you’re ready!”
Stone was ready. He took Vanessa by the hand and, keeping his body between her and the street, ran around the staircase and hurried up the steps. Fred closed the door behind them.
“To answer your question,” Vanessa said, “I think I’ll sleep here tonight.”
12
They lay in each other’s arms, panting; the adrenaline produced by the assault had been put to a good purpose.
“How would you like to start your European grand tour in England tomorrow?” Stone asked, after he had caught his breath.
“Anyplace but here would be fine with me,” she replied.
“How long will it take you to pack tomorrow morning?”
“An hour,” she said. “Half an hour if there are shops at the other end.”
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti,” he said.
“Somebody took a shot at us as we arrived at the house,” Stone said.
“Silencer?”
“I didn’t hear it, so yes.”
“I’ll get people on it. Time to flee the country.”
“Can you manage tomorrow morning?”
“You bet your ass, I can.”
“Where’s Viv?”
“Singapore. I’ll see if she can come home flying west, to England.”
“Good. Tell her to arrange some security for us tomorrow at Windward Hall and at the London house, and tell her Mike is welcome, too, if he can take some time off.”
“Will do. What time?”
“Faith has to arrange for a second pilot and do her flight planning. Let’s say ten o’clock at Jet Aviation.”
“That will give me time to make up some story about why I have to go to England,” Dino said. “You’re on.”
Stone hung up.
“It’s as easy as that?” Vanessa asked.
“It is if you remember to pack your passport.”
“And we don’t have to stand in line and get frisked, do we?”
“Nope. I’ll frisk you, though, just for the fun of it.”
“Oh, good.”
* * *
—
The car pulled up to the airplane at 9:45, and Faith and her copilot waited at the bottom of the airstairs. While they and Fred loaded the luggage, Stone and Vanessa walked onto the airplane to find a stewardess waiting for them with a silver tray containing two mimosas. Dino was already aboard. “Viv will meet us in England tomorrow,” he said.
By the time they had settled into their seats and fastened their belts, the engines were running. Stone went forward and replaced Faith in the left cockpit seat, and shortly they were at the threshold of runway one. The Gulfstream 500 accelerated down the runway and, with a smooth tug on the sidestick by Stone, took wing. They were off. Stone flew the airplane directly to their assigned cruising altitude, fifty-one thousand feet, then handed the airplane back to Faith and went back to Vanessa.
“I feel safer already,” Vanessa said. “Now tell me exactly where we’re going.”
Stone produced a map of southern England from a side pocket. “Here’s London,” he said, then moved his finger down the map. “This is the village of Bewley, spelled Beaulieu, this is the Beaulieu River, running down to the Solent, which is the body of water that separates the Isle of Wight, over there, from the mainland.” He tapped a spot. “The house is here, on the river.”
She inspected the map. “And where do we land? Heathrow? Southampton?”
“We land in my backyard,” Stone said. “During World War II, the RAF built an airfield there, which was not on any air chart and was used for dropping agents of the Special Operations Executive and their equipment and weapons into France and the Low Countries. Two owners after the war took good care of it, and I’m the third.”
“How convenient. What do we do about customs?”
“Customs and immigration will drive over from Southampton Airport and meet us, and so will a fuel truck, for the return trip.”
“How long are we staying?”
“Until the killer is apprehended or you get sick of the English or the countryside or me, whichever comes first.”
“Where are the nearest shops?”
“In London, which is an hour and a half’s drive. We can stay at my London house, in Belgravia, which is a stone’s throw from Harvey Nick’s and Harrods.”
“I don’t suppose they can bring the dress department over?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to make the effort.”
“I can do that.”
Lunch, a lobster salad, was served, along with a Cakebread chardonnay. Vanessa was soon out like a light, and Stone moved across the aisle to the seating group where Dino was finishing his lunch.
“I guess you want a report about last night,” Dino said.
“I can wait until you’ve made the lobster disappear.”
“Good. That’s what I was going to suggest.” He finished his lunch at a leisurely pace and accepted another glass of the Cakebread from the stewardess.
Dino stretched his arms and legs. “Okay,” he said. “We found where the bullet hit a brick, and that tells us that it wasn’t a warning shot; he was trying.”
“Oh.”
“He missed you by a couple of inches. You were hoping for a warning shot?”
“My name is the last on his list. I had hoped that meant that he’d come after me last.”
“Dream on,” Dino said. “Did you see a car parked outside the house?”
“There were cars on the other side of the street. I didn’t pay much attention to them.”
“You should be more observant when somebody is trying to kill you,” Dino said.
“I was too busy trying not to get killed.”
“A natural reaction, but not helpful to the police.”
“Gee, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to frisk him and get his driver’s license.”
“That would be appreciated next time.”
“You think there’ll be a next time?”
“I can’t think of a reason why he might stop, can you?”
“No,” Stone admitted.
“Question is: When he finds you unavailable next time, will he wait for you to return or just go on killing the others?”
“What’s your best guess?” Stone asked.
“I think he’ll go after the others. I think he’s enjoying himself too much to stop.”
“Why?”
“Well, he doesn’t have a business reason, does he? Like insurance policies on everybody?”
“I guess not.”
“I don’t think he’s out for revenge. There are too many people on the list.”
“Maybe they were mean to him in high school,” Stone suggested.
“We thought of that. They all went to different high schools.”
“Do you think he travels? Like, to England?”
“Airline tickets are cheap, if you don’t mind flying steerage.”
“What a comforting thought,” Stone said. “Now it’s time for my nap.” He moved back across the aisle.
13
Major Bugg, the property manager, met them on the ramp with the Range Rover and drove them up, past some cottages, to the main house.
“The pilots and the security people will stay in a couple of the cottages, and here we are at Windward Hall,” Stone said. The car came to a stop in front of a large Georgian house, and the staff took charge of distributing the luggage. Stone walked Vanessa around the main floor of the house, finishing up in the study. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked her.
“I’d like to go upstairs and become unconscious right away,” she said. “I hate jet lag.”
“I’m afraid Gulfstream hasn’t quite solved that problem, except we get to choose our takeoff times.” He took her upstairs in the elevator to the master suite, where their clothes had been unpacked and put away in their respective dressing rooms.
Vanessa began stripping off clothes, leaving a puddle of them on the bedroom floor, then she kissed Stone and crawled under the covers. Stone was right behind.
* * *
—
They slept straight through until the following morning, when Stone pulled back the curtains and let sunshine pour into the room.
“What’s happening?” Vanessa said.
“You have completed your spaceflight and are now on the plant Urg. Enjoy the sunshine. It may not last long.”
Vanessa sat up in bed and looked out the window. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”
“Didn’t I tell you it would be?”
“No.”
“I should have, but it could rain at any moment.”
As he spoke, it began to rain, hard.
“Is there a little man behind the curtain pulling levers to make that happen?”
“Nature requires no assistance.” He looked out the window. “It will stop by the time you’re ready for breakfast.”
“Do I have to get out of bed?”
“No, I’ll have breakfast brought up, that’s my usual practice.” He picked up the phone and ordered. By the time it had arrived, the sun was out again. Stone checked the radar on his iPhone. “I think that will last the rest of the day,” he said.
“I feel wonderfully rested,” she said.
“Twelve hours of sleep will do that for you.”
“Do you have horses?”
“For plowing or riding?”
“Riding, please.”
“I do, but finish your breakfast and digest it for a while first.”
Stone looked out the window and saw a Gulfstream 600 turning onto its final approach. “Here comes Viv and Mike Freeman,” he said. The two had met up in Singapore, and from there they flew together to England. He called Major Bugg and asked him to have the airplane met and refueled. “I expect they’ll stay at least overnight,” Stone said to him. “The crew will need to rest.” A few minutes later, Bugg called back. “Everyone is tucked in. I don’t expect you’ll hear from them until dinnertime. I’ll let the cook know the numbers.”
Stone hung up and finished his breakfast. Vanessa, he noticed, was sound asleep again.
* * *
—
They loped south from the house, across the meadow. “You up for jumping a stone wall?” he asked her. “Or we can go around and take the road.”
“I’m up for it,” she replied.
They sailed over the wall, now on the property of Arrington House, the country hotel that Stone and his French partner, Marcel du Bois, had made from a huge country house. The car park was full, he noticed.
They cantered past the airstrip, now sporting two Gulfstreams, his in the hangar, then down to a bend in the Beaulieu River, where they dismounted. Stone produced lunch from his saddlebag, and they sat down under a tree to smoked salmon sandwiches and half a bottle of champagne.
“I feel wonderful.” Vanessa sighed.
“Someone once said, ‘Nothing is more exhilarating than having been shot at and missed.’”
