Hot Pursuit (20 page)

MILLIE’S PHONE RANG
as she was having breakfast in bed. “Yes?”

“Good morning,” Ian said. “We have a teleconference to attend with milady at ten. A car will collect you at nine-thirty.”

“All right. What’s the subject?”

“We’ll both find out together.” He hung up.

Millie hung up, too, and she picked up her iPhone to check her e-mail. There was an unheard voice mail message waiting. She pressed the button.

“Hi,” Quentin said. “We’ve got some new material, and it’s being forwarded to your friends across town. I expect you’ll be hearing from them about it. Miss you much.”

She erased the message. He must have called in the dead of night, and she had been too out to hear it. She finished her breakfast, then got into the shower.

—

SHE WAS DELIVERED
to the rear entrance of the building and a plainclothes guard escorted her up to Dame Felicity’s aerie. She was the first to arrive, being ten minutes early, and she used the opportunity to have a good look around. An entire wall of the study was taken up with history and biography, mostly of a foreign policy nature. On a small shelf under a window, she was surprised to find a leather-bound collection of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels.

Then, from somewhere behind the paneling she heard the muffled flushing of a toilet, and Dame Felicity emerged, immaculate, from behind a bookcase that was also a door. It was exactly ten
AM
. “Good morning, Millie. I’m sorry to be tardy. I hope you amused yourself.”

“I was admiring your James Bond collection,” Millie replied.

“Oh, yes, I’m a fan. I knew Fleming when I was a girl. He worked for my father, during the war. I was besotted with him.”

“I’ve read a lot about the war,” Millie said. “It is endlessly fascinating.”

“I’m rather surprised that you didn’t plump for the Agency. Did you ever consider it?”

“A campus recruiter got in touch with me once, and I had a meeting with him. I didn’t hear from him again. But then, I suppose the interview was more of an argument.”

“Their loss,” Dame Felicity said. “I would have recruited you after the first five minutes.”

“That is high praise.”

There was a rap on the door, and Ian Rattle stuck his head in. “They’re ready for us in the conference room,” he said.

It was just the three of them; she was clearly holding this operation close.

Ian picked up the phone. “Tell them to push the material,” he said, “and be sure you record it.”

A large screen descended from the ceiling, and a picture appeared. The voice over the action was that of Quentin Phillips. “This is Ali Mahmoud leaving his residence,” he said. “The sultan bought the house a decade or so ago and converted it to apartments for his higher-ranking diplomats.” At least three cameras followed the man down the street toward Dupont Circle and across to his embassy. He walked inside and closed the door behind him.

Then there was a cut to a shot high up in a large room. The door opened and Mahmoud entered and went to a desk. Millie was astonished that they had a camera in that room. As he sat down and picked up a phone, there was a cut to another angle, and a slow zoom to a medium close-up. “In my office, now,” Ali said into the phone, and they could hear both ends of the conversation.

They watched, then, as Mahmoud addressed his security chief, followed by the entrance of two men in coveralls. “We cut ahead here to an hour later, after the men left. Note that his laptop was stored in a large safe behind a bookcase,” Quentin’s voice said. The screen split, and Mahmoud’s computer screen filled half of it. There was a message in Arabic. “Translation: ‘The birds have arrived from the south and are in nesting.’”

Then Mahmoud was on his cell phone, and they could hear only his end of the conversation. When he was done, the screen went dark, then Quentin appeared, sitting at a desk in a room full of monitors.

“There was nothing interesting after that, except that we have noted that Mahmoud does absolutely no work as chargé d’affaires
.
He is pure intelligence, or perhaps terrorist. We interpret this conversation as a confirmation of the arrival of two agents from Dahai. Please note his concerns about them. He could very well be talking about the twins. Over to you and yours, Dame Felicity.”

“Special Agent Phillips, please allow me to say that what you have just shown us is nothing less than brilliant.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Please tell Assistant Director Epstein that I would like to speak with him, at his first opportunity, about sending some of my people over there to learn about your techniques.”

“I’ll pass that on, ma’am.”

“Tell me, do you know the location of the other man on the phone?”

“We believe the e-mail came from London,” Quentin replied.

“Was there any other indication in anything you collected about a London location?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then I suppose it’s over to us, is it not?”

“As you wish, ma’am. We’ll continue to monitor the subject, and I’ll report anything that might help on your end.”

“Thank you, I would be very grateful for that. I look forward to speaking with Assistant Director Epstein.” They said goodbye and hung up.

Millie felt a warm glow of pride at the quality and extent of what she had just seen.

“Absolutely astonishing,” Dame Felicity said.

“I agree,” Ian said. “I had no idea they could do that—and so quickly, too. Those two techs spent an hour in that room and found nothing.”

“Now,” Dame Felicity said, “Larry and Curly. What are the residential facilities for senior Dahai diplomats in London?”

“There are two,” Ian replied. “A large house in Regent’s Park, not far from the American ambassador’s residence, and two adjoining houses off Belgrave Square, quite near their embassy. Rather large facilities for such a small country.”

“Then start there. Also, learn if any individual senior people from the embassy have flats or houses either in London or in the Home Counties.”

“Wilco,” Ian replied. “Is there anything else, Dame Felicity?”

“No. Report back when you have something for me.”

Ian got up and left.

“Well,” Dame Felicity said, “you must be feeling very proud of your FBI.”

“I am as astonished as you are, ma’am, and of course I am proud of them. I’m acquainted with the agent you spoke with, and he is very impressive.”

“A Harvard man, I understand.”

“Yes, ma’am. We knew each other there. I was very pleased when I learned that he was in counterintelligence at the Bureau.”

“Something occurs to me,” Dame Felicity said. “It appears that two agents in London are being run by another in Washington. I think there must be a very important reason for that, and I fear it does not augur well for either of us.”

“The FBI has only just begun, Dame Felicity. We’ll be hearing more from them.”

AFTER BREAKFAST,
Stone got a phone call on his cell from his tailor in London. “I’ll be there around eleven,” he said, and hung up. “Anybody want to go to London this morning?”

The women both declined. “We’re spending the day in the spa,” Pat said.

“Why are you going?” Dino asked.

“I’ve got a first fitting on some clothes I ordered, and getting a fitting today will shorten the time until they’re delivered.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dino said.

The drive to London took an hour, and Stone found a parking place in Mount Street, near Hayward. When they entered the shop the cutter was busy fitting a young man with a suit, and Stone took a seat and found a magazine, while Dino looked at fabrics for an overcoat.

“Anything else you’d like to order?” the cutter asked his customer. “We’ll be in Dahai for our semiannual visit in about six weeks. We could have fittings ready for you then.”

“Perhaps,” the young man replied. “David?” he called.

Another young man emerged from a dressing room, clad in a half-finished jacket. “Yes?”

“They’ll be in Dahai in six weeks. Anything else you want to order?”

Stone did a double take. The two were identical twins—blond, reedy, typically upper-class British.

“I’ll think about it,” David replied. Then he said something in a foreign language, and his brother laughed and replied in kind.

“I think we’ve bought enough,” the first twin said to the cutter. “When may we have these things?”

“How long will you be in London?”

“Another week or so.”

“Then we’ll have them ready before your departure,” the cutter replied.

“Will we need another fitting?”

“Only if you wish it.”

“Then just send the lot when they’re ready.”

“To the Regent’s Park address?”

“Yes, please.”

The two changed back into their own clothes and one of them paid their very large bill in euros, then they left.

Stone’s jackets were brought out, and he tried them both on. Tiny adjustments were made, then Dino was measured for a topcoat.

“I’m in no rush,” Dino said to the cutter. “This is for next fall, really.”

“We’ll be in New York at the Carlyle in June. We can give you a fitting then.”

“Sounds good.” Dino gave them a deposit, and he and Stone left the shop. Dino was looking to see if Stone was following, and he ran head-on into a young woman and began apologizing profusely.

“Millie?” Stone asked.

She turned. “Stone Barrington?”

“Yes, and the clumsy one is my friend Dino Bacchetti. Dino, Millie and I were dinner partners last evening.”

“Ah,” Dino said, “did she have to leave the table with the ladies, too?”

“No, she was important enough to be asked to stay. What brings you to this neighborhood, Millie?”

“I’m staying at the Connaught, just down the block.”

“Dino and I are about to get some lunch. Will you join us?”

“Why not? I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go around the corner to Harry’s Bar.”

It was a two-minute walk, and a table was available. Stone loved the food there, and he tried not to over-order.

“Well, I get a chance to talk to you,” Millie said. “Dame Felicity rather monopolized you at dinner.”

“We’re old friends, and I hadn’t seen her for a while. I apologize for giving you my back. Tell me, was your companion one of Felicity’s young men?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean by that,” Millie said.

“Not
that
kind of young man, though it wouldn’t surprise me. I meant was he MI6.”

She nodded.

“I had the feeling that the two of you were the entertainment for the evening.”

“I suppose we were. We’ve been working with them on something.”

“Ah, but of course you can’t tell me what.”

“Just chasing some Middle Eastern bad guys.”

“Speaking of the Middle East, do you know where a place called Dahai is?”

She looked at him sharply. “It’s a small sultanate on the southern border of Saudi Arabia. Why do you ask? Has Holly said something to you about it?”

“No, it came up when I was at my tailor’s. We were just leaving there when we—Dino—ran into you.”

“Came up how? Really, I’m interested.”

“There were two young men, brothers, being fitted for some clothes, and the tailor mentioned that he visits Dahai twice a year to see customers.”

“Can you describe the brothers?”

“Fairly tall, slim, blond, well dressed, terribly British.”

“Twins, by any chance?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Are they still in the shop?”

“No, they left ahead of us, perhaps forty-five minutes ago.”

“Did they say anything that would give you any idea where they might have been headed?”

“They said they’d be in town for another week and asked that their finished clothes be delivered to a Regent’s Park address.”

“Did you hear a name?”

“One of them was called David. Oh, and they spoke to each other briefly in a foreign language—Arabic, perhaps.”

“Excuse me, please,” Millie said, standing up. “Order me the veal, will you?” She walked quickly away from the table, digging out her cell phone.

“What do you suppose that was about?” Dino asked

Millie called Ian.

“Yes?”

“We may have a sighting of Larry and Curly.”

“Where?”

“In a tailor’s shop, in Mount Street.”

“Hayward?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Are they still there?”

“No, they left three-quarters of an hour ago. You remember Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“He was there for a fitting. He heard one of them called David, and they asked that their finished clothes be sent to a Regent’s Park address.”

“How did you learn about this?”

“I’m having lunch with Barrington and a friend right now.”

“Where?”

“At Harry’s Bar.”

“Go back and finish your lunch. Leave this with me.” He hung up without further ado.

Millie went back to the table.

—

“YOU LOOK TROUBLED,”
Stone said.

“Far from it. You may have just given us a very big break.”

“Would you like to tell me how, and what sort of break?”

“You’ll have to ask Holly,” she replied. “May I have a Bellini, please?” She gave him her best smile. “Now, Dino, tell me about you. Do you practice law with Stone?”

Dino gave her his card. “If you’d ever like a job as an interrogator, call me.”

IAN RATTLE
ran up the stairs to his boss’s office and entered without knocking.

Dame Felicity looked up from her desk with an expression of half curiosity, half outrage at the intrusion. “Yeesss?” she drawled.

“We’ve got a hit on Larry and Curly,” he said. He quickly related his conversation with Millie.

“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest I wring the complete address out of that tailor and we descend on the property in force.”

“Well, that’s subtle,” she said. “And it would be unproductive.”

“It would break up whatever they’re planning,” Ian pointed out.

“Break up what? We have no idea what they’re planning. I should think that, after what we saw from Washington this morning, you’d see an alternative to a huge bust—one that might tell us what they’re up to and perhaps cast a wider net.”

“Of course, that’s a wonderful idea,” Ian said, “but we don’t have the technical knowledge to pull that off.”

Dame Felicity consulted her computer and glanced at her watch: very early in D.C. She dialed a telephone number.

“This is Epstein,” he said, sounding wide awake.

“Good morning, Assistant Director Epstein,” she said. “This is Felicity Devonshire in London.”

“Good morning, Dame Felicity.”

“First, I want to thank you for the brilliant demonstration of your Bureau’s surveillance skills that we saw earlier today.”

“Thank you—my people worked very hard on that.”

“I’m sure they did. Now I must ask you a tremendous favor, and I wanted to come directly to you, rather than your director, which I’m aware is a violation of protocol.”

“How may I help you?”

“First, let me tell you that we believe we have discovered the whereabouts of Larry and Curly: they are in London.”

“Excellent,” Epstein said.

“We know that they expect to be in London for another week, so we believe that we have a few days to discover what they’re up to. However, our surveillance skills and equipment are just not up to the job. I wonder if I can persuade you to send your team over here right away to conduct the same sort of surveillance that they did on Moe? We will, of course, provide transport, housing, and all expenses.”

“I believe I can make a case for that with my director,” Epstein said. “After all, our installations are complete. Now we are monitoring.”

“We would very much like to see Special Agent Quentin Phillips and his team here tonight,” she said. “I’ll call your director and pretend that you and I have not spoken. Then I expect he will call you.”

“I’m grateful for the advance warning,” Epstein said. “Do you have the director’s home number? He won’t be up and about just yet.”

“I do, thank you. We’ll be in touch.” She hung up the phone, looked up another number, and dialed it. “Good morning, Ambassador,” she said. “This is Felicity Devonshire.”

“Good God, Felicity! What time is it?”

“Quite early on your side, I believe. I would not have called were it not urgent.”

“All right, what’s going on?”

“I believe the Prince and Princess of Wales arrived at Andrews Air Force Base yesterday, in an aircraft of the Queen’s Flight, for a three-day visit.”

“Yes, that’s right. They’re upstairs—asleep, I should think.”

“Please don’t disturb them. On a matter of the utmost importance to our national security, I require their aircraft for the purpose of an immediate flight to London, with a quick turnaround.”

“I’m not at all sure that I have the authority to grant that request,” the ambassador replied.

“I assure you that by the time the crew arrive at Andrews, all permissions will be in place.”

“All right, I’ll get in touch with the crew. Oh, and I’d very much appreciate a cable on this subject.”

“Of course, Arthur. I’ll see that your arse is fully covered.” She hung up and buzzed her secretary. “Please get the prime minister on the phone,” she said, “and if he’s in a meeting, interrupt him. Highest priority.” She hung up and waited quietly until she was buzzed back.

“The prime minister’s secretary is on the line, Dame Felicity,” she said. “She won’t put the PM on until she speaks to you.”

“Right,” Dame Felicity said. She pressed a button. “Margaret, put the PM on
right now
, if you please.”

“Yes, Dame Felicity.”

“Yes, Felicity,” the PM said, “make it quick—half the Cabinet is waiting.”

“Prime Minister, we have located Larry and Curly.”

“Ah, yes—half the Three Stooges. Excellent.”

“We require the assistance of the FBI to install some brilliant new surveillance equipment, and that necessitates our borrowing the Queen’s Flight aircraft, now at Andrews Air Force Base, to fly the technicians here, with an immediate return to Andrews.”

“Well, that’s highly irregular,” he replied.

“It’s the only way we can have the FBI team at work tomorrow. The Waleses are in Washington for a three-day stay. They’ll never know it’s gone.”

The PM sighed deeply.

“This requires an immediate cable from you to the ambassador, in language that shelters his posterior. This, I assure you, is in the national interest, and of the highest priority.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll have to get the air minister involved, though. He’s waiting for me with the others.”

“Please don’t let your cable take more than half an hour to arrive in Washington.”

“You mean you want it done
instantly
?”

“Thank you
so
much, Prime Minister.” Dame Felicity hung up. “Now,” she said to Ian, “go to that tailor’s shop, and in the gentlest and most discreet manner possible, find out what they know. Call me when you’ve spoken to them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian said, then fled the room.

Dame Felicity consulted her computer address book again and dialed a number.

“What?”
a sleepy American voice demanded.

“Good morning, Director, this is Felicity Devonshire, in London. My apologies for the early hour.”

“What time is it?”

“Oh, it’s lunchtime over here. I’m sorry to have disturbed your breakfast.” That got a laugh. She explained her request in the shortest and most urgent terms.

“Oh, all right,” the director said. “I’ll call Lev Epstein, who runs that group. How long will you need them?”

“I should think a week,” she replied. “Perhaps a day or two longer. We will provide transport, shelter, and all expenses.”

“Damn right you will.” He hung up.

Five minutes later her secretary buzzed. “A Special Agent Lev Epstein, from Washington. He says you’re expecting his call.”

“Of course.” She pressed the button. “Assistant Director Epstein,” she said.

“You apparently lit a fire under the boss,” Lev said.

“Not just
your
boss,” she replied. “A jet aircraft of the Queen’s Flight awaits your team at Andrews Air Force Base,” she said. “They will be met on this side and comfortably housed. Please ask them to be prepared to go to work tomorrow morning. Their liaison will be Major Ian Rattle. Will Special Agent Phillips be leading them?”

“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.