Hot Pursuit

by Stuart Woods

“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.”

  60

  HOLLY ANSWERED on the first ring. “Talk fast,” she said.

  “Holly,” Millie replied, “sit down. This is going to take time to explain. Where are you now?”

  “In the car with the president.”

  “This is what has happened, or what we think is happening.” She ran through her day as quickly as possible.

  “Tell me what you want to do,” Holly said when she had finished.

  “We need the president’s authorization for a surreptitious entry into a building owned by a foreign embassy, and, if the surreptitious part fails, to engage and detain foreigners carrying diplomatic passports.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  “That’s all so far,” Millie replied.

  “Well, I’m going to have to get back to you on that,” Holly said, then hung up.

  —

  MILLIE WAITED for the better part of an hour for a callback, and when it didn’t come she went into the conference room, where Quentin and his team sat around, looking nervous and occasionally monitoring the monitors.

  “I take it you spoke to Holly Barker,” Quentin said.

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And she’ll get back to us.”

  “We’re losing time,” Quentin said. “We’ve got to do this tonight, if we’re going to stop them. We can’t be put in a position where our only alternative is to shoot down the drone after it takes off.”

  “I’ve explained that to Holly, and I expect she’s explaining it to the president right now. If you want to be sure of being ready, I suggest you start planning for both alternatives now.”

  Quentin stood up. “Okay, everybody, we’re going to split into two teams: Ian, how’s this? We’re sixteen in all—you pick four Brits, and I’ll pick four Americans. One of us will plan a black ops rooftop incursion, the other will plan to destroy the drone after it flies off the roof. Which operation do you want?”

  “I think I’d better take the one that requires live rounds to be fired over London,” Ian said. “We can’t have Yanks doing that.”

  “That’s good reasoning,” Quentin said. “You and your people take the conference room, and my group will meet in my office.”

  Everybody started to move, but the ringing of Millie’s cell phone stopped them.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you with Quentin?” Holly asked.

  “Yes, we’re in the conference room with the whole team.”

  “Put this on speaker, then.”

  Millie pressed the button. “We’re on speaker, Holly.”

  “We’re now at the Rome embassy, and the president has just teleconferenced with Lance Cabot, Lev Epstein, and Dame Felicity. They have confirmed your account of the earlier teleconference as correct in every respect, so congratulations.”

  “Thank you. What are our instructions?”

  “You are to divide yourselves into two teams, each half Brit, half American. Team one, under the command of Quentin Phillips, is to gain surreptitious access to the rooftop of Regency House, there to capture or destroy whatever weapon it finds there, hopefully without being discovered or having to shoot anybody. In the event of the failure of that mission and the launching of a drone or other means of attack, team two, under the command of Ian Rattle, will destroy it the moment it leaves the roof, by any means deemed necessary, up to and including RAF aircraft. These operations are to commence at six AM, London time. The Washington operation will commence at one AM, local time. You are to capture and detain Larry and Curly, the twins known as David and Derek Kimbrough, unharmed if at all possible, and transport them, under guard, to RAF Northolt airfield, from where, later in the day, they will be picked up by an aircraft and flown directly to Dahai. Is that all perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, Holly,” Millie replied.

  “I assume you’ve recorded this conversation?”

  Millie looked at Quentin, who nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “Then play it back so that no one can doubt the instructions, then destroy the recording. Any questi
ons?”

  “Holly, it’s Quentin Phillips. How will the Washington operation be conducted?”

  “They will be commanded by Lev Epstein, whose instructions are identical to yours. The Dahai embassy has a sultanate aircraft on the ground at Dulles, and Ali Mahmoud will be placed on that aircraft under armed guard. It will be flown to Northolt, where it will be refueled and take on the twins and be escorted by teams of British and American fighters to the border of Dahai on the Gulf of Aden. The Dahai pilots will be told that if they deviate from that flight plan in any way, their aircraft will be destroyed. Any other questions?”

  Quentin shook his head. “No, Holly,” Millie replied, and they both hung up. “Well,” she said to Quentin, “you read their minds, didn’t you?”

  “It would seem so,” Quentin replied, then he opened the conference room door and called to Ian, “Do you have—either in service or under development—a helicopter that can fly very, very quietly?”

  “I thought you might ask,” Ian replied. “I have already requisitioned it.”

  “Thank you,” Quentin said, “and please ask them to have two invalid litters aboard.”

  “Already done.”

  Quentin smiled and closed the door.

  “Do we have such an aircraft in or around Washington?” Millie asked.

  “You bet your sweet ass we do, and you can also bet that Lev has already commandeered it.”

  61

  DINO BURST into the FBO, huffing and puffing. “What did you tell me on the phone?”

  “That Kevin Keyes somehow circled back to the airport, entered Paul Reeves’s Mustang, reinstalled the emergency door, and took off in the airplane, headed south.”

  “Holy shit!” Dino screamed.

  “He’s not going to get very far,” Stone said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because they flew that airplane from St. John’s, Newfoundland, to here, and they have not refueled.”

  “How far can he get?”

  “My guess is he has about a third of the full fuel load. He’s unlikely to get any great distance with only that.” Stone went to the wall where there was a chart of the state of Maine. “Going south, he could refuel at Bangor, Augusta, or Portland, but I think he’d prefer a smaller airport—say, Bar Harbor, here.” He pointed at the field. “Once refueled, then the world is his oyster, or at least the country is. Funny, I had thought he’d head for Canada, which is only a few miles, but I suppose he had other plans.”

  Dino turned to a Maine policeman. “Will you get on the horn and get that airplane met at Bar Harbor—also at Bangor, Augusta, and Portland, just in case?”

  “Yes, sir, Commissioner,” the cop said, and dug out his phone.

  Stone dug out his own phone. “We may be able to track him,” he said, opening an app. He entered the tail number of Reeves’s airplane and waited for a moment. “There he is,” he said. “This is called FlightAware, and it shows him headed dead straight for Bar Harbor and nearly halfway there. I’d say you’ve got about twenty minutes before he lands, and it will take him half an hour to refuel and take off again.”

  The Maine cop put away his phone. “My people from the Ellsworth station will be there in ten or twelve minutes. I told them no sirens, no lights.”

  Stone turned to him. “It might be a good idea to call the FBO at Bar Harbor—Columbia Air Services—and tell them to have trouble with the fuel truck. It might be a good time to drive it to the fuel farm and refill the tank, slowly.”

  “Is there radar at Bar Harbor Airport?” Dino asked.

  “No, not unless they’ve installed it since the last time I was there, last summer.”

  “Bob, call our pilots and tell them to get the engines started. We’re going after Keyes.”

  “I’m going to hand you off to the captain at that end,” the Maine cop said, handing him a slip of paper. “Here’s his cell number. If you’ve got a satphone, you can call him on the way.”

  Dino pumped his hand and thanked him. “Let’s go!” he yelled, and he, his two detectives, and Stone ran for the King Air, the engines of which were already running.

  In the air, Dino made contact with the police on the other end, then hung up. “They’re already at the airport,” he said. “You know, I should thank Keyes—this is going to be a lot easier than chasing him around the Maine woods with bloodhounds.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Stone said. “We’re getting lower—we must be about to land.” He looked out the window. It was dark, now, but the ramp was well lit. “There’s the airport, and there’s a Mustang on the ramp. No fuel truck present.” They turned onto final approach, and he lost sight of the ramp.

  They touched down and made the first turnoff. “Tell your pilot to taxi up behind the Mustang,” Stone said to Dino, and he went to pass that on to the pilot.

  Stone got a better look at the Mustang as they made the turn behind it. The cabin door was open and the stairs extended. No one was on the ramp near it. “He’s probably in the FBO,” Stone said. He followed Dino and his men, assault weapons at the ready, as they entered the FBO, to be greeted by a Maine State Police officers.

  “I’m Everson,” the man said. “We’ve been here for ten minutes, and we can’t find him.”

  Stone went to the counter. “Did the pilot of the Mustang on the ramp rent a car?” he asked the woman in charge.

  “No, but rental cars are over at the main terminal, next door. When he heard it was going to take a while to refuel him, he went over there.”

  “Lead the way,” Dino said to the captain, who did so, his men hot on his heels. They poured out of the building and down some stairs, then ran up a short hill toward the terminal and its parking lot. As they did, a car pulled out of the rental spaces and headed toward them.

  “That’s Kevin Keyes at the wheel,” Stone shouted, and the car came to a stop, short of half a dozen assault rifles pointed at it. A cop opened the driver’s door, collared the driver, and yanked him onto the pavement. In a moment he was cuffed and bent over the hood, as he was searched for weapons. Two handguns were found.

  Stone walked over to the car, bent over, and looked into Keyes’s face. “Ah, Kevin, we meet at last,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know that you’ve spent your last day on earth as a free man. One way or another, you’re going to die in prison.”

  “Put him on our airplane,” Dino said to the cops. “Bob, show the captain the warrant and the paperwork.”

  “Did you refuel at Presque Isle?” Stone asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Then you can make it to Teterboro easily on what you’ve got.”

  “We’ll take off just as soon as this guy is cuffed into a seat next to his buddy,” Dino said.

  —

  STONE WAS WAKENED from a sound sleep as they touched down at Teterboro Airport, in New Jersey. An NYPD van pulled up to the airplane, and the prisoners were transferred and driven away.

  Dino made a dusting motion with his hands. “I’m glad to be rid of those two,” he said.

  “No more you than I,” Stone replied, getting into Dino’s SUV and settling in. “Wake me when we’re home.” By the time they had driven off the ramp, he was asleep again.

  62

  MILLIE AND QUENTIN’S team crowded into a small briefing room at RAF Northolt. A large-scale map was pinned to the wall, and a red circle was drawn around a house bordering Regent’s Park. Everyone was in black battle dress, full body armor with helmets, including Millie.

  The helicopter pilot held a pointer. “This is the plan,” he said. “We’re going to reach this point down the road from the house at a hundred feet, no lights. Our machine is very quiet, but we’ll follow the road as we descend, so that any noise we make will sound like traffic on the ground. Just about here, we’ll hover. At that point we’ll lower you to a visual altitude of about ten feet
above the parapet, then we’ll inch toward the house sideways and play a red spotlight on the roof, so as not to interfere with the night vision goggles.”

  “Any weapons backup?” Quentin asked.

  “A man with a mounted, silenced, heavy assault rifle will stand in the doorway, ready to take out anybody you say. You’ll be in radio contact with your headset, and you will make that call. If anybody points a weapon at you, our gunner won’t wait.”

  “How long to get to the house?”

  “We will arrive above the house at precisely five AM,” the pilot said. “It is my understanding that the lady is coming along as an unarmed observer and will be strapped into her seat at all times. Are we clear on that?”

  “Perfectly clear,” Millie replied.

  “You will all remain hooked up at all times, until you enter the building. We’ll give you slack. Your headsets will work inside the house, so try and keep us posted on your progress. Another thing,” the pilot said, “my orders are, if anything lifts off that roof and begins to fly away, I’m to get the hell out of there in a hurry, because there will be incoming. We’ll snatch you as quickly as we can, but you’re going to get a ride while dangling, until we can get you winched up. If you’re still in the house, a van will be parked in the street to take you away, but we can’t help you get out of the house.”

  “Right,” Quentin said.

  The pilot consulted his watch. “Time to saddle up.”

  The men filed out of the building onto the tarmac, where the matte black helicopter awaited, its rotors turning. Millie climbed in first, and an airman belted her into a five-point harness that held her tightly in her seat. “Just turn the knob to release,” the man said, tightening the straps, “but not until we’re on the ground.” Millie nodded.

  Quentin and his men hooked onto their cables and sat in the open doors on both sides of the chopper, their feet dangling. They had had only one rehearsal, and Quentin was grateful for that.

  The machine lifted off and climbed to a thousand feet, then turned and headed toward London. Two minutes out from their objective and descending, the sound of the helicopter was reduced to a low whirr.