Severe Clear sb-24

by Stuart Woods

  Dr. Kharl entered the room. He had been near the top of the Pakistani team that had created that country’s arsenal and he had sold his talents to the highest bidders, which had turned out to be Iran and the People’s Republic of North Korea. Now he lived in Dubai, mostly retired, but he was available to credible and discreet clients. He had been provided with a passport that allowed him into the United States. He took a roll of plans, weighted one end, and spread it out on the table.

  “Did you bring this into the country?” Hamish asked, incredulous.

  “On film secreted on my person,” the doctor replied. “I had it printed at a photo shop. The operator hardly glanced at it. He thought it was a piece of refrigeration equipment.”

  Hamish breathed easier. “Will it actually fit into the trunk?”

  “I am tailoring the dimensions to the trunk.”

  “I see, and it’s a good idea,” Hamish replied. “A very good idea.” He thought he already knew how to get it into its final resting place. “Mo, where are the three smaller units?”

  “They are being assembled from parts we imported by an agent in place,” he said. “They will be delivered tomorrow, and you will be walked through their operation by Dr. Kharl, who will complete their assembly.”

  Hamish nodded. “I must set up a meeting in L.A.,” Hamish said. “Do we have a suitable place?”

  “I have rented a small hangar at Santa Monica Airport. Sorry, but I had to take it for three months. It wasn’t cheap.”

  “At least it’s convenient,” Hamish replied.

  “What transportation is available? I don’t want my name to appear on any passenger lists.”

  “There is a Cessna Caravan available with a reliable pilot. It will carry anything we can stuff into it.”

  “Good.” He sat down at the computer and sent a message to Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, summoning them to a rendezvous three days hence.

  28

  The following day Hamish was driven by Jasmine to a large storage facility outside Palo Alto, where a double garage had been rented. She opened the door with a remote control, drove inside, switched off the engine, and closed the door. The only objects in the garage were a large steel locker, a ratty-looking, chest-style freezer, and a folding table.

  A young man awaited them. He had set three small suitcases on the table. “Good day,” he said. No introductions were made.

  “Let’s see what you have for me,” Hamish said.

  The young man opened the three cases and exposed their contents. “I have followed the plans given me,” he said. “What we have is simple, really: the necessary wiring, a space to contain a cube of plastic explosive, six inches on a side-about a kilo-and a kitchen timer, which can only be started or stopped with a key.”

  “Show me,” Hamish said.

  The young man took three identical objects from his pocket: each was a T-shaped piece of stainless steel with a hexagonal tip. He inserted one of them into a device and turned it to the right. The kitchen timer came on, set to thirty minutes, and began counting down. “At zero, the blasting cap will fire and set off the plastique.” He turned the key back to vertical, then to the left. “If you turn it to the left, the cap will fire instantly.”

  “And the option requested?” Hamish asked.

  The young man put a fingernail under a small flap and raised it, exposing a row of four tiny switches. “As you see, all the dip switches are in the up position.” He flipped the left-hand switch down. “That’s all you do, and the two firing positions-timer and instant-are reversed.” He flipped the switch up again.

  “And how will the plastique be connected?”

  “In this space here,” he said, unlatching a larger flap and lowering it. He took out a short length of wire dangling into the space. “You simply plug this into the blasting cap, then push the cap into the plastique, and you’re good to go.”

  “Excellent,” Hamish said. “I prefer things simple. Jasmine, pay the gentleman.” He turned and walked toward the car.

  Jasmine opened her purse, took out a small pistol with a silencer, and shot the young man in the head. He collapsed into a heap, and she shot him in the head once more. “Give me a hand,” she said.

  The two of them dragged the limp corpse to one side of the garage where the beat-up freezer chest hummed. She opened it, and they lifted the body into the chest, then closed and padlocked it.

  Hamish closed the three small cases and put them into a steel locker next to the freezer, along with the keys.

  “When you arrive at Santa Monica airport tomorrow,” Jasmine said, “the explosive packs will be waiting for you.” She locked the cabinet and handed Hamish the key.

  “No, you keep it,” he said. “I’ll want you to pick up the three cases and the keys tomorrow and deliver them to the Cessna Caravan at the airport. I will be transporting my luggage.”

  They got back into the car, and she drove him to the flat.

  Everything go okay?” Mo asked as they came in.

  “Perfectly,” Hamish said. “Jasmine performed brilliantly.”

  29

  Stone heard the front door slam upstairs. They had arrived. There were bumping sounds as Peter put his luggage into the elevator, then footsteps on the stairs, and then Peter came into Stone’s office, followed by his girlfriend, Hattie Patrick, and Dino’s son, Ben Bacchetti.

  Stone embraced Peter and kissed him on the cheek, then Hattie, then had a manly handshake with Ben. “How are you all?”

  “Everybody’s fine,” Peter said. “I’ve got to run Hattie and Ben home, then I’ll be back for lunch, all right?”

  “All right. Helene’s in there cooking Greek food right now. You sure you won’t all stay for lunch?”

  They looked at each other.

  “Okay, I’ll put my car in the garage,” Peter said.

  They sat at the kitchen table and chattered as Helene served them moussaka.

  “I’ve got an appointment with Marla Rocker tomorrow to see some of her casting choices,” Peter said. “Is Marla coming to L.A. with us?”

  “No, she’s staying here to work on your play,” Stone replied. “She’s going to be very busy for a while, so I won’t be seeing much of her.”

  “So, she dumped you, huh?” Peter asked.

  Stone twitched. The kid was getting too smart. “We agreed to let it go.”

  “So you’re going alone?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have friends at the hotel. You’re meeting one of them in a couple of days.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Her name is Felicity Devonshire. She’s British.”

  “Who is she? What does she do?”

  “She’s a civil servant in London.”

  “A civil servant?” Ben asked. “Does that mean she’s in intelligence?”

  “Don’t ask,” Stone said. “And when you meet her, don’t start asking probing questions.”

  “Yeah,” Peter said, “we’d only get lied to. You said a couple of friends. Who else?”

  “Holly Barker will be there.”

  “The one at the CIA? Great! I finally get to meet her!”

  “Holly has recently been promoted. She’s now assistant director. In fact, she’ll be traveling with the president and Mrs. Lee, who, you will remember, is her boss.”

  “Who will Felicity be traveling with?” Peter asked.

  “With us, aboard the Strategic Services airplane.”

  “What kind of plane?” Ben asked.

  “A Gulfstream 550.”

  “Wow! I guess there’ll be room for us all-Dad, too.”

  “And Viv. Plenty of room for all.”

  “And where is Felicity sleeping?” Peter asked.

  Stone looked at him sharply.

  “Well, Dad, if Marla’s dumped you… you need female companionship.”

  “It runs in the family,” Hattie said.

  “Felicity will have her own quarters. She’ll be there to meet with the president and Mrs. Lee.”

>   “So, she’s a pretty high-up civil servant?” Peter asked.

  “Pretty high up.”

  “This is going to be interesting,” Peter said. “The three of us have made some L.A. arrangements of our own.”

  “Oh?” Stone asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Leo Goldman is going to give us all a tour of Centurion Studios.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “And I’m going to get to play with the studio orchestra, when they record a film score,” Hattie said. Hattie was a brilliant young pianist, who was studying musical composition at Yale, while Peter and Ben were at the School of Drama.

  “Good, then you can watch the movie on television for years to come.”

  “And we’re going to get to meet some movie stars,” Ben said.

  “You’ll meet lots of them at the hotel’s opening festivities. Centurion has taken twenty-five suites for their people.”

  “Then there’s the Immi Gotham concert,” Peter said. Immi Gotham was Centurion’s greatest star and a wonderful singer; critics had called her a combination of Meryl Streep and Barbra Streisand.

  “Along with the Beverly Hills Philharmonic,” Hattie said. “It’s really going to be something!”

  “The whole event is going to be something,” Stone said. “Every suite and room is booked.”

  “If there are two hundred suites and rooms,” Peter asked, “how are they going to fill up the fifteen hundred seats in the Arrington Bowl?”

  “There’s an invited audience,” Stone said. “The Bowl has its own entrance and parking, separate from the hotel’s. People have been fighting over the tickets for months. The Times says scalpers have been offering ten thousand dollars a ticket and getting no takers.”

  “There’s never been anything like this, has there, Dad?”

  “Not in my memory. Centurion is making a documentary film about it, and it’ll be shown on TV at Christmas.”

  “Dad, can we rent a car while we’re there?”

  “You have to be twenty-five to rent a car these days. I’ll arrange for you to go to Centurion in a hotel car, and Leo can send you back in one of his.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You’re going to have to get used to a lot of security at the hotel,” Stone said, “what with two presidents and a lot of other VIPs. You’ll be issued ID cards, and you can’t get in or out of the hotel grounds without them.”

  “All the time, or just for this event?” Peter asked.

  “Just for this event,” Stone replied. “After the opening, it’ll be just like any other hotel.”

  “Has there ever been another hotel like this one?” Ben asked.

  “Well, there are some very fine hotels scattered around the world,” Stone said. “But The Arrington will be unique, I think.”

  “You know, I think Mom would have liked all this,” Peter said. “I mean, she had already given her permission to build the hotel on the property, but I really think she would have loved the way it’s turning out.”

  “I think she would have, too,” Stone said.

  Then they all ate quietly for a while.

  Finally, Peter asked, “When is Felicity arriving from London?”

  “She arrived yesterday,” Stone said, “but she’s been resting.”

  “Is she staying with us?”

  “No, she’s staying at the residence of the British ambassador to the U.N. He has quite a nice house.”

  “Dad,” Peter said gravely, “I want you to know that it’s all right for you to have sleepovers when I’m here.”

  Stone didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Thank you, Peter, that’s very kind of you.” And he meant it.

  30

  Stone hired a driver and picked up Felicity Devonshire at the ambassador’s residence. “You look radiant, as always,” he said, holding both her hands and looking her up and down.

  “And you are a great flatterer, as always,” she replied. “Where are we having dinner?”

  “At a place that’s new to me, called Patroon. It’s not all that far away.”

  “Then why did you bring your car?”

  “I would be nervous taking you out on the street, since the last time you were here someone was gunning for you. The car is armored, so you will be protected.” He led her out and down the stairs.

  “Oh, you have a new car, a Bentley?”

  “Yes,” Stone said. “My Mercedes came to a bad end last year. Mike Freeman at Strategic Services had this in his fleet and sold it to me. Their armoring division had done a lot of work on it.”

  “Why do you have armored cars?” Felicity asked, getting into the rear seat.

  Stone got in beside her. “Accidental in both cases. I went into the Mercedes showroom to buy the first one, and they had it on the floor. It had been ordered by someone of shady reputation, and it arrived one day late. Somebody got to him, so I bought it from the widow. When I smashed it up, Mike was there to help.”

  “You are the most fortunate man,” she said.

  “If I were more fortunate I wouldn’t have totaled the Mercedes. By the way, thank you for your kind note after Arrington’s death.”

  “It was the least I could do,” she said.

  They arrived at the restaurant and were seated.

  “This is very nice,” she said, looking around.

  Stone ordered them drinks, and they were visited by the owner, Ken Aretsky. They chatted briefly, then the drinks arrived and he moved on to another table.

  “Is this your new Elaine’s?” she asked.

  “It’s one of them. Dino and I have learned that Elaine’s cannot be replaced-there is just no other place like it.”

  “To a better future,” Felicity said, raising her glass.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  “So you have a son now?”

  “You’re keeping up, aren’t you?”

  “What is the point of being in the intelligence game if you can’t spy on your friends?”

  Stone laughed. “You’ll meet Peter and his girlfriend, Hattie, as well as Dino’s son, Ben, and Dino’s new girlfriend, Viv. They’ll all be on the airplane.”

  “Why are you going out there in advance of the actual opening?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m an investor and on the board, as is Mike Freeman. We both want to have an opportunity to look the place over before the guests swarm in.”

  “What with having two presidents in residence, you and Mike must have some security concerns.” She didn’t look directly at him when she said this.

  Stone caught something in her statement; he wasn’t sure what. “Yes, the Secret Service will be there in strength, and so will the Strategic Services people.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “Felicity, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Want to but can’t,” she replied, looking into her martini.

  “Suppose something terrible happens, and you didn’t warn me?”

  “Then I would feel very guilty,” she replied.

  “Come on, unburden yourself.” But the menus arrived, and they took time to study them. “I’m not letting you off the hook,” he said when the waiter had taken their orders and gone.

  “Something did come across my desk,” she said, “but I don’t want to raise the alarm over what might be nothing.”

  “Do you recall that a couple of years ago you forced me to sign your Official Secrets Act?”

  She brightened. “That’s right, I did, didn’t I? Prescient of me.”

  “Yes, it was. Now give, please.”

  “Oh, all right.” She looked around to be sure no one was within earshot. “Our signals people have picked up a series of oddly signed messages,” she said.

  “Would the signatures be from a nursery rhyme?”

  Felicity’s jaw dropped. “Now you must tell me how you know that.”

  “No, I mustn’t.”

  “I have to know if there was a leak on my end.”

&n
bsp; “There was no leak. Those messages were picked up by the NSA.”

  Her eyes widened. “And they circulated that information to you, a private citizen?”

  “Actually, they probably don’t know that I was in the loop. Let’s just say they circulated it to someone I know.”

  “Someone at the CIA?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if I were in charge around here, I’d have this person you know taken out and shot!”

  “You may recall that I am still under contract to the Agency as a consultant,” Stone said, “and I have the appropriate security clearance-in spite of my friendship with you.”

  “But do you have a need to know? I believe that’s the phraseology they use.”

  “I have a very definite need to know,” Stone said, “since a substantial chunk of my inheritance from my late wife and of my son’s trust fund are invested in the hotel mentioned in the signals you referred to.”

  “Oh, all right, I suppose you’re not a security risk.”

  Their dinner arrived, and the subject changed.

  “How are you… coping since becoming a widower?” she asked.

  “You needn’t be so delicate,” Stone replied. “I plan to take you home and ravish you as soon as you’ve finished your Dover sole.”

  She giggled. “Oh, good. But where is your son?”

  “He occupies his own flat on the top floor of the house,” Stone said, “and he’s probably there, in the sack with his girlfriend, as we speak.”

  “Goodness, his generation starts young, don’t they?”

  “How old were you on the occasion of your first time?” Stone asked.

  Felicity blushed deeply.

  “Oh, come on, you can tell me. Official Secrets Act, remember?”

  “Sixteen,” she said. “With a young gamekeeper on my father’s estate.”

  “Shades of Lady Chatterley!”

  “It was only afterward that I read the novel,” she said. “But he was very sweet. He was twenty-two, and he seemed like much the older man. What about you? When was your first time?”

  Stone laughed. “I was sixteen, too, and she was nineteen. Much the older woman, and I was grateful to her for her experience.”