Hot Pursuit (23 page)

QUENTIN REARRANGED HIMSELF
in his chair and began. “I’ve been studying up on this. We can put drones into three categories for our purposes: One, aircraft that are like large, remote control model airplanes that can be launched simply by running with the drone and throwing it. Their payload is fuel—liquid or battery, maybe a small camera. Two, let’s call these mid-sized—drones that are like a cross between a flying saucer and a multi-vaned helicopter—usually with four small propellers. These are amazingly maneuverable. I’ve seen a video with a dozen of them flying in tight formation inside a gymnasium, controlled by a computer. They can be controlled by a man with a joystick, too, and they can carry more payload—a camera and other equipment, even a significant amount of explosives. The operator can control the airplane when it’s out of his sight line by watching the camera feed on a monitor. Three, military drones, which can vary from something the size of a very small airplane, all the way up to something that looks like a pilotless jet fighter. These can carry multiple cameras, can stay up for days, and can carry serious armaments like the Hellfire missile. The Hellfire, which was originally intended as an anti-tank weapon, is old technology these days: it weighs about a hundred pounds, and twenty to thirty pounds of that is in two explosive charges—the first designed to penetrate armor, and the second, right behind it, to blow shrapnel everywhere. It’s laser-guided: you point it at a target, and it goes directly there, even if the target is moving.”

“It seems likely that if Moe, Larry, and Curly use drones, they will be in the middle category. We know that’s what Moe has been practicing with in Rock Creek Park—something about three feet in diameter.”

“With what sort of payload?” Dame Felicity asked.

“A larger version could carry twenty to thirty pounds,” Quentin replied. “Including the camera. The one Moe was operating in the park seemed to be electric, because it was very quiet. His type of drone is excellent for surveillance work—it can fly right up to an office building and hover outside an assigned window.”

“If they have an armed drone, how would we deal with it?”

“If it has a gasoline engine, we could bring it down with a heat-seeking rocket. If it has an electric engine . . . well, that’s another story. It would be hard to shoot at and hit. Think of how hard it is to swat a fly: they have very fast reactions. The drone could carry a GPS unit that could fly it to selected coordinates, while using a computer-controlled flight path that could zig and zag on its way to the target. The control unit could be no larger than a hardcover book, maybe even a paperback.”

“Is there a guided missile small enough to be carried by such a drone?”

“Not that I’m aware of. You’d have to design one from scratch, and that’s a time-consuming and expensive operation. But—and here’s the rub—if you want to go after a fixed target with a drone, you don’t need to fire a missile at it, you can just crash the drone into the target. Without the multiple warheads and electronics of a Hellfire missile, you’d just have the explosive, some shrapnel, and a contact detonator as payload, and with an explosive of twenty to thirty pounds. That’s quite a lot of C-4 plastique.”

The phone rang, and Dame Felicity picked it up. A monitor came alive with a split-screen image of Lance Cabot and Lev Epstein.

“Good morning, Dame Felicity,” Lance said, and Epstein gave a little wave.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I want to thank you both for your participation in this mission, and I want to bring you up to date. From the available evidence in both London and Washington, it would appear that the Three Stooges may be assembling drones, each on the roof of an embassy building here and in Washington. These drones would be large enough to carry a considerable explosive payload, and they are highly maneuverable. The work is being conducted under canvas awnings that hide them from view.”

At the invitation of Dame Felicity, Quentin repeated his theory of how the drones might work. When he had finished there was a long silence from everybody on both ends of the conference call.

Finally Lance Cabot said, “This is very worrying.”

“Yes, sir,” Quentin said. “We can’t see what they’re doing, and we can’t enter these premises to find out because both buildings are embassy properties. We also can’t arrest the suspects because they have diplomatic immunity. Not that we have a case that could be prosecuted, anyway, except after the fact of whatever they plan to do.”

Lev spoke up. “If we had hard evidence that they plan a terrorist attack of some sort, I would not hesitate to order agents into those buildings and face the consequences later.”

“Nor would I,” Lance said. “Have you given any thought to what their targets might be?”

Ian spoke up. “I have. If I were a terrorist, I would go for the most important available targets, both from a political and a publicity point of view. In the absence of large airliners to use as weapons, I would go for something more pinpoint.”

“Such as?” Lev asked.

“Such as the president of the United States and the prime minister of Great Britain. I’ve checked: the president will return to Washington from Rome tomorrow afternoon, and the prime minister will be mostly at Number Ten Downing Street for the next three days. The day after tomorrow at nine o’clock
AM
London time, he will be holding a Cabinet meeting. That would be four
AM
Washington time, when the president would presumably be in bed asleep, so she won’t be surrounded by advisers. However, she is with child, and her assassination would inflame the world.”

“They can both be moved to secure locations,” Lev said.

“But for how long?” Ian asked. “All these people have to do is wait. They are secure in their physical positions and need be in no rush.”

“Then why do you think the day after tomorrow is such a strong possibility?” Dame Felicity asked.

“I’m sorry to have to use the word,” Ian said, “but it’s a hunch, one based on the earliest moment when it would be advantageous to execute an assassination.”

“It sounds like a pretty good hunch to me,” Lance said. “Is there a place at Number Ten where the PM and his Cabinet could be made secure?”

“There is such a place,” Dame Felicity said. “And I assume that one must be available in the White House, as well.”

“I expect so,” Lance said. “Quentin, what do you think the chances are of our shooting down their drones with our drones?”

“Somewhere between slim and nil,” Quentin replied, “and we can’t afford a lack of certainty.”

“Neither can we afford the risks associated with firing Gatling guns and air-to-air missiles over densely populated areas,” Lance said. “Those bullets and rockets, if they missed, would end up on the ground, and no one could predict where.”

“I can suggest a way to get one clean shot at them,” Quentin said.

“Please do so,” Lance replied.

“I can’t speak for MI6, but in Washington we have the possibility of stationing an armed drone above the Dahai building and firing on a drone the second it tried to take off.”

“That is a possibility in London, as well,” Ian said. “But if something goes wrong, then what?”

“It seems clear to me,” Lance said, “that we cannot allow those drones, if that is what they are, to be launched, and that we must use whatever means are at our disposal to see that they are not.”

“And face the consequences later?” Dame Felicity asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Lance replied.

“We certainly cannot do that without the concurrence of our masters,” she said.

“I agree, of course,” Lance said. “In the meantime, we must do everything in our power to bolster our case, and it seems inevitable that that will require the laying on of eyes on both of these rooftops, even if the means are extra-legal.”

“I agree,” Dame Felicity said.

“The question is,” Lance pointed out, “shall we ask permission, or shall we just do it and preserve deniability for our superiors?”

“I will have to go to the prime minister,” Dame Felicity said.

“Then I will go to the president,” Lance Cabot replied. “Shall we conference again when we have done that?”

“Agreed.” The conference call ended, and the participants returned to their work.

Millie and Quentin returned to the conference room. “I have to use your office to make a call,” she said.

“Go ahead,” Quentin replied.

Millie went into the room, closed the door behind her, and called Holly Barker.

STONE LOOKED
out the window and saw the single runway of Presque Isle airport. As they turned to final approach, he searched the apron beside the runway for any sign of a Mustang and a King Air and saw neither. “Reeves didn’t beat us here,” he said to Dino.

“Did you see a King Air with NYPD painted on it?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Pat set down the CJ4 lightly on the runway and braked. A moment later she was taxiing toward a waiting lineman near the FBO. She stopped and waited for the man to chock the nosewheel, then she shut down the engines and turned off the master switch. “Everybody stay on the airplane until customs tells us we can get off,” she said, as she made her way out of the cockpit, followed by her client. She opened the cabin door and flipped down the folding stairs, then they both took a seat.

“Good flight,” Stone said. “How much fuel did we have left? On landing?”

“Seven hundred pounds,” she replied.

“Very good. The winds held, huh?”

“They got better on the last third of the flight.”

“You’re a lucky pilot.”

A man stuck his head inside the door. “Who’s the captain?” Holly raised a hand, and he waved her out.

Dino followed her to the door and watched as she went down the stairs to meet them.

“Anything to declare?” The customs man asked.

“Nothing,” she replied, handing him a sheet of paper. “Here’s our general declaration.”

“There are several police officers waiting for you in the FBO,” the man said.

“May we go inside?”

“You’re cleared. Go ahead.”

Dino got down from the airplane, followed by Stone and the client. Dino showed them his ID. “We’re expecting two men in a Mustang,” he said, “and we’re going to arrest them.”

“We were notified of only one man, a Paul Reeves,” the customs man said.

“There will be another man aboard. You may have to look for him, and you should do so armed, because he will be.”

“Whatever you say.”

“If you like, my officers and the Maine State Police can handle that part.”

“You have more experience of that sort of thing than we do.”

“I suggest that you ask Reeves to go inside the FBO with you. After that, we’ll approach the airplane.”

“As you wish.”

They sent their luggage over to the King Air, and Dino beckoned for Stone to follow him inside, where the two NYPD detectives and two Maine State Police officers awaited. Dino told Pat, her client, and Stone to sit down, then he briefed the officers. He looked at his watch. “We expect them in about forty-five minutes, but they could be early. There were tailwinds up there. Let’s get suited up for this.”

The officers all left the building and came back with flak jackets and assault weapons.

Dino came over to Stone. “This guy Keyes has never seen me, has he?”

“Not on this trip,” Stone replied. “But you’re on TV from time to time. Maybe he saw you there. If you’re thinking of approaching him without the body armor, I wouldn’t.”

Pat joined them. “You’re not going to kill him, are you?” she asked Dino.

“That’s not our intention,” Dino replied, “but it’s really up to him. Were you present when he was arrested in the past?”

She nodded. “Twice.”

“Did he go quietly?”

She shook her head. “He went nuts. It took four men to hold him down.”

“I guess we’d better be ready for that, then.” Dino went to pass the news on to the officers.

—

STONE WAS DOZING OFF
in his chair when the FBO’s radio crackled. “Presque Isle traffic: Citation Mustang turning a five-mile final for one-niner.”

“There he is,” Dino said. “Let’s go, guys.” He led them out the rear door of the building and they took positions behind parked airplanes as the Mustang turned off the runway and began taxiing toward a lineman, who stood with his hands up, indicating where they should park.

Dino looked at the Mustang as it turned to park. “The window shades are all down on this side of the airplane,” he said to his men. “As soon as Reeves is inside the building with the customs officers, we’ll approach the airplane from this side and duck under the nose.”

—

STONE WATCHED
from a window as the customs men approached the airplane. The door opened and Paul Reeves came down the stairs and handed them a sheet of paper. They indicated that he should follow them inside. They started for the building, and he saw Dino leading the four cops toward the airplane from the other side.

Reeves walked into the FBO building and stopped, staring first at Pat, then at Stone. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“We’re the reception committee,” Stone replied.

—

DINO DUCKED
under the nose of the airplane and approached the door. He stuck his head inside, then quickly withdrew it, then motioned his men to stand behind him. When they were ready, he called out, “Kevin Keyes! This is Bacchetti of the New York Police Department! I have a warrant for your arrest. Put down your weapons and exit the airplane with your hands up!”

Dino was leaning on the airplane, and he felt it move a little. “Come on out!” he yelled. Then he heard the sound of something metallic hitting the pavement, then the sound of feet on the opposite wing, then the sound of a man running.

“Shit!” Dino said. “I forgot the emergency exit in the rear! He’s loose on the other side!” He ran around the airplane just in time to see a man disappear into the woods.

Back in the FBO Stone saw the man, too. “He went out the emergency exit, opposite the toilet,” he called back to Pat. “He’s on the run!” He looked out the window again. “It’s getting dark,” he said. “This is not good.”