Stealth

by Stuart Woods

  “Has anyone ever died in training?”

  “If anyone has, I wasn’t told about it. I did hear that we came close to losing you by drowning. It was a good thing the truck with the winch happened along when it did.”

  Stone found the room service menu and shared it with her. They ordered dinner and a bottle of wine.

  “I’d like a shower before dinner arrives,” she said. “Join me?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t want to get caught in there with you by a room service waiter,” Stone said. “We might shock him.”

  Dinner arrived in due course, and two waiters set up the table and served them.

  Stone couldn’t think of anything else to ask Rose, and they dined quietly.

  “Have you run out of questions?” she asked.

  “You’ve worn me out,” Stone replied.

  “I will again.” And she did.

  17

  Stone woke the following morning with the sound of the shower running in the background, and he joined Rose there. They spent a quarter of an hour soaping and scrubbing and whatever else they could think of, then they toweled each other dry, and Stone ordered breakfast and the papers, then he got into a robe to prepare for the arrival of room service.

  Rose, on the other hand, came out of the bathroom entirely naked, toweling her hair. The doorbell rang, and she jumped under the covers.

  When the waiters had departed they sat down at the table, Rose still naked.

  “Be careful not to spill any hot coffee,” Stone said.

  She tied a napkin around her neck. “There. All safe.”

  “What time are you due at work?” he asked.

  “Nine.”

  “Did you drive?”

  “No, I took a cab. I imagine the doorman can get me another.”

  “I imagine so, too,” Stone said. He tried and failed to ask her further questions.

  Shortly before nine, now fully dressed, Rose grabbed her coat and her duffel and kissed him goodbye. “When are you coming back?”

  “When are you coming down?” Stone asked.

  “Next week perhaps. I’ll call you.”

  “Do that.” He kissed her and she left.

  Two minutes later, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s Felicity.”

  “Good morning, did your people get anything?”

  “They got a great deal,” she said, “but not much of value. You didn’t ask the right questions.”

  “You didn’t give me a script,” he replied, “and I didn’t want to appear to be grilling her. I did the best I could.”

  “Yes, well, we’re all aware how well you did,” she said.

  “You’re smirking,” Stone replied. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean the video was extraordinarily good. We had half a dozen angles, too.”

  “Video? What video?”

  “Oh, there are cameras everywhere. Would you like to know what you had for breakfast, or what wine you drank last night?”

  “You didn’t tell me that, Felicity. You said there was only audio.”

  “I said no such thing. I said the suite was wired. We even got good footage of your time in the shower this morning.”

  Stone checked his memory against that statement. “Shit,” he said. “I won’t do that again without some agreed ground rules.”

  “Oh, come on, my dear. You came off beautifully—so to speak.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now you are free to wander London as you will. And there won’t be a bill from the Connaught—our treat.”

  “What’s your next move with Rose?”

  “Well, we’re following her taxi as we speak, and we’ll check out the Ennismore Mews address. Would you like to have lunch a little later?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll be in your neighborhood. Shall we do it at the Connaught? One o’clock?”

  “Fine.” He hung up

  * * *

  —

  Stone got dressed and left the hotel. He stopped into his tailor’s, Huntsman & Sons, and had a fitting of some things he had ordered earlier, then he stopped by Turnbull & Asser and chose some neckties and a couple of nightshirts. He arrived back at the Connaught and found Felicity waiting for him in the restaurant.

  “What did you do with yourself this morning?” she asked, as he sat down and tucked his shopping bag under the table.

  “Tailor, shirtmaker. My goal is to have a complete enough wardrobe here that I don’t have to travel with luggage, except a briefcase.”

  “An admirable goal,” she said. They ordered. “Would you like to hear what our surveillance produced?” Felicity asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “She went to the Ennismore Mews address, changed clothes, then went shopping. While she was gone, her mail was read by MI-6. Just some catalogs and a couple of utility bills.”

  “In what name?” Stone asked.

  “Margot Balfour,” Felicity said.

  “Nice name.”

  “The deed for the mews house is in that name, too, so she owns it.”

  “Has it occurred to you that she may be renting from Ms. Balfour?”

  “Don’t be annoying, Stone, and don’t underrate us.”

  “So, you know that her name is Margot Balfour?”

  “We do. She is a real person, as opposed to Dr. Rose McGill. And people named Balfour own a farm in the county of Rutland, and the name appears on the medical register.”

  “Where else did she go besides home?”

  “Harvey Nicks, Harrods, a couple of shops in Beauchamp Place.”

  “Perhaps you can answer me this, without violating the Official Secrets Act,” Stone said. “Can a woman employed by MI-6 afford to shop at those establishments?”

  Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she replied. “If she has a private income.”

  “And are the Balfours of Rutland County well enough off to endow her thus?”

  “They are important landowners in that county and have been for two hundred years.”

  “So, Daddy and Mummy don’t feed the chickens and milk the cows?”

  “Her father is the cousin of a local duke and is a member of White’s and the Garrick Club. Her mother is a bulwark of half a dozen Rutland charities. She has a sister who seems to be edging toward an aristocratic marriage.”

  “My goodness,” Stone said. “Ms. Balfour seems to be too good for MI-6, doesn’t she?”

  “No one is too good for MI-6,” Felicity replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and see if that institution is still where it was this morning.”

  “Lunch is on me,” Stone said.

  “Of course it is,” she said, opening her handbag and fishing out a computer thumb drive. “Here is the recording of your escapades of last night,” she said. “It’s the only one.”

  With that, Felicity flounced out to her waiting car.

  18

  Stone had nothing further to keep him in London for the remainder of the day, so he got his things and asked for his car. On the drive down to Windward Hall he reviewed his evening and morning and decided he knew not much more than he had the day before, save a new name. Everything else he knew was the same.

  * * *

  —

  Back at Windward Hall he gave the car and luggage to Stan, then went to the library. Dino was asleep on the Chesterfield sofa, a light blanket over his feet. Stone found his book on the mantel—a new biography of Winston Churchill by Andrew Roberts—and sat down to read, pleased to see that he had passed page five hundred in a book of more than one thousand pages. He was immediately sucked back into the existence of the greatest Englishman as he became prime minister during World War II.

  He had read another twenty-five pages when Dino stirred, t
hen sat up, rubbing his eyes, seeming surprised to find Stone there. “How did you sneak in here without waking me up?”

  “I didn’t sneak in, but I did try not to wake you, and I didn’t.”

  “Then why am I awake?”

  “You are awake of your own volition, since I’ve been sitting here for an hour. Is Viv still in London?”

  “Yes. How long were you in the bugged suite?”

  “Yesterday afternoon and evening. We ordered dinner from room service. Rose left before nine this morning.”

  “Now, let me get this straight,” Dino said. “You agreed to have yourself filmed while fucking Rose?”

  “Dino . . .”

  “You can’t tell me that you spent hours with Rose in a room with a bed without fucking her and vice versa.”

  “I’m not telling you that.”

  “So, MI-6 now has what most people would call a ‘compromising sex video’ of you and Rose together?”

  “They do not.”

  “What did you do? Pull the covers over your head?”

  Stone retrieved the thumb drive from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Dino. “This is the only copy. Felicity gave it to me.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Believed what? It’s all right there in your hand.”

  “You believed there are no copies?”

  “If there were, I don’t believe Felicity would have bothered to lie about it.” Stone stood up. “Excuse me a minute.” He went into the attached powder room and used the facilities. When he came out, Dino was gazing at his iPhone and laughing. “This is hot stuff, Stone!”

  “Dino, you can’t watch a thumb drive file on an iPhone.”

  “You can watch this one,” he said. “It has a compatible fire-whatchacallit-plug.”

  Stone walked over to where Dino sat and looked over his shoulder, then he snatched the phone away from him, unplugged the thumb drive, and gave him back the phone. “You’re disgusting!”

  “Some folks would say that what I just watched was disgusting, but not I. I thought it was great!”

  Stone put the thumb drive into his pocket, sat down, and picked up his book. It wasn’t all that easy, because the book must have weighed ten pounds.

  “I especially liked the part where your head disappears between her legs,” Dino said.

  “Dino!”

  “I’ll bet all the spooks at MI-6 are watching it right now,” Dino said, “passing it around the shop.”

  Dino’s phone rang, and he picked it up. “Bacchetti. Hey, sweets, how’s it going up there?” A pause. “Okay, what train will you be on? Good, I’ll have Stan meet you at the station. Oh, and when you get here, have I got a surprise for you!” He hung up. “Viv has finished her business and is taking a train back down here. She’ll get in at six-fifteen, so will you ask Stan to meet her?”

  “Sure,” Stone said, picking up the phone and paging Stan. He gave him his instructions, then hung up. Then his phone rang.

  “Hello?” It was Felicity. “Hello, Felicity. He listened for a moment. “Viv is going to be on the same train, so find her, and the two of you can have a chat on the way down. Why don’t you come to dinner and stay the night? See you then.” He hung up. “Felicity is coming down on Viv’s train, so she’ll be here for dinner.”

  “And the night,” Dino corrected him.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Here’s a thought: you can watch your video together. I expect that will get Felicity going.”

  “Felicity does not require that sort of stimulus,” Stone said.

  * * *

  —

  Felicity and Viv came downstairs together, after having freshened up, and entered the library.

  Stone and Dino, freshly changed into suits, stood to welcome them.

  “How nice to see you again—and so soon,” Felicity said, kissing Stone on the ear and letting her tongue flick about.

  “Stone and Felicity had lunch in London,” Dino explained to his wife.

  “You could have driven down with me,” Stone said.

  “I didn’t know until I got back to the shop that I would be free,” she said.

  Stone poured everyone a drink, and they sat down around the fire.

  “Oh,” Viv said, “I have news.”

  “Tell us,” Stone replied.

  “I had a couple of my people look into the background of your friend Rose, and they came up with an address in Ennismore Mews, Knightsbridge. She lives in a little house there, formerly owned by one Lady Margot Balfour.”

  “Rose actually told me about that,” Stone said, “but without the Lady Balfour part.”

  “It seems,” Felicity said, “that Ms. McGill is, in fact, Lady Margot Balfour.”

  “No, no,” Viv said. “The good lady was supposed to have married the 4th Viscount Oakham last spring . . .”

  “But she didn’t,” Felicity interjected.

  “Well, no, she could hardly do that,” Viv said, “since her car was T-boned by a gasoline delivery truck when she was on the way to her rehearsal dinner. She and her maid of honor were killed instantly.”

  19

  Felicity was, for once, speechless.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Viv asked.

  “What is your source for that information?” Felicity finally asked.

  “A researcher at my London office found a Times obituary,” Viv said.

  “You said this was last spring?”

  “April, I believe.”

  “Looks like somebody forgot to change the name on the Ennismore Mews deed—and the utilities,” Stone said.

  Viv looked at her watch. “My office is closed,” she said. “I’ll speak to them again tomorrow.”

  “My office never closes,” Felicity said. She stood, walked to where her handbag lay on the sofa, retrieved her phone, and began using it. “Call me the minute you sort this out,” she said finally, and hung up.

  Stone held her chair for her.

  “My people are digging further,” Felicity said.

  “Have you spoken to Brigadier Fife-Simpson about Rose?” Stone asked.

  “I’m not ready to bring him into this,” she replied. “And I’ve instructed my staff to that effect.”

  They had dessert and were on coffee and brandy when Felicity’s handbag rang. She dug out her phone, sat before the fire, and spoke for a few minutes, then hung up. The others joined her.

  “Well?” Stone asked.

  “Here it is,” Felicity said. “Lady Margot Balfour is, indeed, deceased. She had a younger sister named Rose, who, while she was at Oxford, was married to a fellow medical student named John McGill. She divorced him two years ago, and has continued to use his name, but is still listed as Rose Balfour on the medical register. She was also named in her sister’s will as sole heir, so she now owns the Ennismore Mews house, or will when the estate is finally sorted out.”

  “So Rose has not been lying?” Stone asked.

  Viv spoke up. “There remains her contention that St. George’s Hospital is still located on Hyde Park Corner, which it has not been since 1989.”

  Stone turned to Felicity. “And do you still contend that MI-6 does not employ a Rose McGill?”

  “According to our records,” she replied.

  “Or a Rose Balfour?”

  “That is another question, which I cannot confirm or deny.”

  “Ahh, I’m relieved to hear that.”

  “Why are you relieved that she won’t confirm or deny it?” Viv asked.

  “Because that means that there is a Rose Balfour in their employ.”

  “Oh, all right,” Felicity said. “I’ll tell you this much: she became an MI-6 asset while a student at Oxford.”

  “Only an asset, not an agent?”

  “I can neit
her confirm nor deny that.”

  Everyone groaned.

  “I cannot, at my whim, revise the Official Secrets Act,” Felicity said primly.

  “Of course not,” Stone said, “even when you’re among friends.”

  “I am among friends, for this purpose, only when I am alone in my office,” she replied. “That is not to disparage any of you, but in my work, good practice demands extreme caution.”

  “We entirely understand,” Stone said placatingly, while he replenished her brandy.

  “And when are you seeing Rose, Stone?” Viv asked.

  “This weekend.”

  “When, this weekend?” Felicity asked.

  “She said she’ll call me when she gets her schedule sorted out.” He leaned over and whispered, “We’re on safe ground tonight.”

  “I heard that,” Dino said.

  “No, you did not,” Stone replied, fixing him with his gaze.

  “Right, I didn’t hear that, I just assumed it.”

  “Never assume,” Felicity said.

  “You know,” Dino said, “if I never told anybody anything in my office, and if I didn’t assume a lot, I’d never get anything done.”

  “It’s not about what you do,” Felicity said, “it’s about what you don’t do.”

  “I’ll try and remember that,” Dino said.

  Felicity put the back of her hand to her lips and yawned. “If you’ll all forgive me,” she said, “I believe I will get some rest.”

  “Let me show you the way,” Stone said, rising.

  20

  Brigadier Roger Fife-Simpson rapped sharply with his heavy umbrella handle on the gray steel door in an alley off Charing Cross Road. A tiny window in the door opened. “Fife-Simpson,” he said to the eye behind the door.

  “Wrong address,” a muffled voice said sharply, and the window closed.

  Fife-Simpson rapped again, this time harder. The tiny door opened. “Yes?”

  “I work here,” the brigadier replied.