Severe Clear sb-24

by Stuart Woods

  She sighed. “All right, it’s Algernon.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “I wanted to wait until we got to the hotel and speak directly with the Secret Service, but I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “The name Algernon appeared in signals intercepted by our GCHQ facility, which is analogous to your NSA.”

  “When?”

  “A while back,” she said, “in July 2005, shortly before the suicide bomber attacks on the London underground.”

  “Oh, shit,” Stone said.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Any more details?”

  “The messages were similar to those more recently intercepted,” she said.

  Stone waved at the stewardess and made telephone motions. She brought him a cordless satphone handset, and Stone dialed the number.

  “Mike Freeman.”

  “Mike, it’s Stone.”

  “Good morning, Stone.”

  “I have some news you need to get to the Secret Service detail.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The Brits at GCHQ intercepted previous messages with the code name ‘Algernon.’”

  “Yes?”

  “They were right before the suicide bombing attacks on the London underground. As I recall, fifty died and hundreds were injured. The messages were much like the ones the NSA intercepted more recently.”

  “I’ll call Agent Rifkin immediately,” Mike said.

  “I wonder if the president’s visit should be canceled?” Stone said.

  “Air Force One arrived at LAX at eight this morning after an overnight flight from Rio to Washington, thence here. The president and his party are probably all asleep by now. The president of Mexico is due in momentarily.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll call Rifkin now, and I’ll see you later today.” Mike hung up.

  “Did I hear you say the president’s visit should be canceled?” Felicity asked.

  “That’s what I would do, if I were the Secret Service detail commander, but of course, I’m not. The president arrived early this morning and is in bed asleep. The president of Mexico is due shortly.”

  “What sort of quarters does the president have?”

  “Both presidents are in large cottages that have bulletproof windows and walls, and each has a basement bomb shelter. I’m told there’s no place in Los Angeles that is more secure.”

  Mike Freeman watched as Agent Rifkin talked on a telephone at the other end of the living room. There was a conversation of ten minutes, then Rifkin came back and sat down beside Mike.

  “We appreciate the information, Mike, but our director, after consulting the White House, believes we don’t have sufficient information to scrub the visit. A huge amount of staff work has gone into the preparations for the talks between President Lee and President Vargas, and the powers that be are unwilling to disrupt their conferences. A major treaty is to be signed at the conclusion of their talks, and there would be a huge flap in the media if we scrubbed it, and that wouldn’t be to the benefit of your hotel.”

  “I understand,” Mike said. “Did you rerun the background checks on the list of hotel employees I gave you?”

  “Every one of them, and we didn’t turn up a single piece of information on anybody that we didn’t learn in the first investigation.”

  “I guess I’m glad to hear that,” Mike said. “My people had the same result in their rerun.”

  “My director has told me that he’s putting another fifty agents outside the hotel grounds, patrolling the surrounding neighborhood, so if there’s somebody out there with a rocket-launched grenade or two, we’ll have a shot at finding him.”

  “I think that’s a smart move,” Mike said.

  The Gulfstream landed at Burbank, and was met by three Bentleys from the hotel, along with a Porsche Cayenne for the overflow luggage. Half an hour later they drove through the main gate of The Arrington and were immediately shunted into a parking area where they were asked by Secret Service agents to get out of the vehicles.

  Stone looked around and saw landscapers unrolling swaths of sod and trimming shrubs. The grounds were very beautiful.

  Peter came over. “Vance planted hundreds of specimen trees here,” he said, “and they seem to have saved them all.”

  “I remember the landscape architect mentioning that,” Stone said. “The sod looks like the last of their work.”

  Passports and other ID were examined and checked against the guest list, the luggage was unloaded and the cars thoroughly searched by a swarm of security personnel. Finally, they were all cleared, the cars were reloaded, and they were driven to their cottages up the hill.

  They dropped Felicity at her cottage first, then Stone and his party were delivered to the main building, which was formerly the Vance Calder mansion, and across a road from the two presidential cottages. The cars drove around the building to deliver the luggage, but Stone wanted to see the finished reception building.

  He took a few steps inside and froze in his tracks. Dead ahead of him stood Arrington.

  Peter came and stood beside him. “I remember this well,” he said. “It embarrassed Mother, and she took it down.”

  Stone stared at the portrait, which was life-sized. Arrington was dressed in riding clothes and stood next to a beautiful horse, which seemed to be nibbling at her shoulder. He didn’t know who the artist was, but he had caught Arrington perfectly. Her hair was a little windblown, and there was mud on her boots, all of which added a natural quality to the work.

  The hotel manager walked up and greeted Stone and his party. “I expect you’ve seen this before,” he said.

  “No, I never have,” Stone replied, “but it’s beautiful.”

  “We found it stored in a back room of the house, and we decided to hang it here. I hope you approve.”

  “Yes, I do, and it’s the perfect spot,” Stone said. “Who was the artist?”

  “Jamie Wyeth.”

  “I know his work, and this is the best thing of his I’ve ever seen.”

  “Did you know the car could have delivered you to your cottage?” the man asked.

  “Yes, but I wanted to walk through this building.”

  “I’ll give you the tour, then. This way.”

  After the tour they walked to the new cottage; Stone made the room assignments. He unpacked his clothes in the master suite, then walked around the ground floor, checking out the house. It was impeccable. There were bouquets of fresh flowers everywhere, the bar was fully stocked, and there was a kitchen staff awaiting food orders.

  The doorbell rang, and a staffer admitted Mike Freeman. Stone mixed them a drink and they sat down on the rear patio.

  “What was the reaction of the Secret Service?” Stone asked.

  Mike told him of the steps that had been taken. “Everything that can be done has been done,” he said.

  “Good.”

  Perhaps two hundred yards away, Hamish McCallister, who was accredited to the grand opening and the presidential conferences as a correspondent for a London newspaper and a travel magazine, watched a movie on the large-screen television set in the living room of his suite. There was a knock on his door and he answered it. Hans stood there with the Vuitton trunk on a hand cart.

  “This way,” Hamish said. “Just set it next to the window in the bedroom.”

  Hans did as he was told.

  “Any problems getting through security?” Hamish asked.

  “None at all.”

  “Hide your small case somewhere in your workplace,” Hamish said.

  “We had all assumed that would be the case.”

  “Wait for my e-mail message,” Hamish told him. That was still a couple of days away. “Soon our work will be done.”

  34

  Late in the afternoon Stone answered the phone in the living room. “Hello?”

  “It’s Holly.”

  “Well, hello, there. I heard you g
ot in this morning.”

  “Yes, the president stopped in D.C. on the way back from a conference in Brazil and picked up the first lady.”

  “And you.”

  “And me. Have you settled into your new quarters?” she asked.

  “Yes, everyone’s here and unpacked.”

  “The first lady asked me to call you. They’d like to get together for a drink, but there are too many staff and Secret Service here to be having guests.”

  “We’d be delighted if they’d join us here for drinks,” Stone said. “We’re just across the road.”

  “I think she was hoping you’d suggest that. In an hour?”

  “That’s perfect. They have to be back over here at seven-thirty, since President and Mrs. Vargas are coming for dinner.”

  “We’ll see you in an hour.” They both hung up.

  Stone stood up and clapped his hands. “All right, everybody, go scrub up and change clothes. The president and first lady are coming here for drinks in an hour. Don’t overdress, though.” He called Felicity and Mike Freeman and invited them.

  The group scattered to their own rooms, and Stone went to the kitchen and asked the staff to have canapes ready and to find a bartender, then he went to the master suite, showered, shaved, and changed into a tan linen suit, which didn’t seem too formal.

  By the time he got back to the living room, there was a team of Secret Service agents checking out the house, upstairs and down. Their work done, they vanished. Mike Freeman and Felicity Devonshire arrived soon, and Stone introduced them. Each pretended it was the first time they had met. Stone knew of their history and said nothing to make either of them uncomfortable.

  At the appointed hour the doorbell rang, and Stone answered it himself.

  President Will Lee came in first, his hand outstretched. “Stone, it’s good to see you,” he said. Then the first lady entered, followed by Holly Barker and a female Secret Service agent. Another agent remained outside the door. Air kisses were exchanged.

  Stone led the group into the living room where he introduced Dino’s girlfriend, Viv, Ben and his girlfriend, Emma, plus Peter and Hattie. They were acquainted with Felicity, but Mike was new to the Lees.

  A bartender and two waiters worked the group quickly, then got out of their way. The first lady, Holly, and Felicity were drawn together, and after some polite chat with the group, the president asked Stone and Mike to show him the patio. The three men walked outside and took seats at a table beside the pool.

  “First of all, Stone,” Lee said, “I want to thank you again for your and Dino’s brilliant assistance when you were in Washington last year.”

  “We were delighted to be of help, Mr. President.”

  “Why can’t I get you to call me Will when we’re alone?”

  “Maybe when you’ve left office,” Stone said. “When I try, I become speechless.”

  “Mike, I’m glad to meet you at last,” Lee said. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you and your company.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “I knew Jim Hackett, of course,” Lee said, referring to the late founder of Strategic Services. “He was a good man.”

  “He certainly was.”

  “I want to thank you both for the way you’ve worked with Kate, the NSA, and the Secret Service concerning this visit.”

  “We haven’t done much, except listen,” Mike said.

  “I find it reassuring when all the relevant groups are agreed on the threat and the way to proceed. It makes it easier for me to make decisions. Stone, I’m grateful to you and your partners in the hotel for making the facilities of The Arrington available for this meeting. Our respective staffs have done a great deal already, but President Vargas and I still have a thorny point or two to negotiate, starting at tonight’s dinner, and we’re both appreciative of the solitude and beauty of this place, not to mention all you’ve done to make it secure.”

  “It was the great pleasure of all concerned to do what we could, Mr. President,” Stone replied.

  Will Lee sat back in his chair and sipped his ginger ale. “Now tell me bluntly-bluntly, please-what you think is going on with this nursery-rhyme trio,” he said.

  Stone and Mike looked at each other, and Stone nodded to Mike.

  “Mr. President,” Mike said, “as you pointed out, all the relevant parties are in agreement on the information we have so far. We think there is an active al Qaeda team in California, probably in Los Angeles, whose mission it is to disrupt your talks with President Vargas.”

  “And perhaps kill both of us and a great many prominent people, as well,” Lee pointed out. “You’re going to have an extraordinary grouping of entertainment, business, and media folks gathered in one place, and that has to be an inviting target for them. It was suggested to me that I should cancel the event, but I decided to go ahead for many reasons, not the least of them that to cancel in the face of a mere threat would put our government in a bad light.”

  “I can’t disagree, Mr. President,” Mike replied, “and I’m impressed with the way the government agencies are cooperating. Interagency rivalry has been put aside.”

  “That’s something I’m trying to engender all the time,” Lee said, “and not always with success.”

  Stone spoke up. “Felicity Devonshire at MI-6 has been very helpful, too.”

  “Yes, I understand they’ve connected one of the names to the subway bombings in London a few years back. That’s very disturbing.”

  “And that information has caused a redoubling of all our efforts,” Mike said.

  “My wife and I appreciate that,” Lee said. “Has there been anything new while I was sleeping?”

  “No, sir,” Mike replied.

  “Then let’s rejoin the others,” Lee said. “Since it’s a special occasion, I think I’ll stand myself to a second ginger ale.”

  They went back to the living room. “This is a beautiful house,” Kate Lee said to Stone.

  “Thank you. Arrington worked with the architect on the design until shortly before her death,” Stone replied.

  “We saw her portrait in the reception area,” Kate said. “I loved it.”

  “I hadn’t seen it before today,” Stone said, “but I loved it, too. How did the intelligence summit go?” he asked, indicating Felicity and Holly.

  “I wish all my intelligence were so smooth and cordial,” Kate said, and the others laughed.

  A young woman wearing a Secret Service button in her lapel approached. “Mrs. Lee, you asked me to remind you when it was time to return to the residence for dinner.”

  “Thank you, Agent,” Kate said. “Will,” she called across the room. “Dinnertime. I hope you haven’t had too much ginger ale.”

  Lee set down his drink and joined his wife. “I’m still steady on my feet,” he said. Good-byes were exchanged, and the presidential party left.

  “I hope we can all get together before this weekend is over,” the president said, as he led his party out of the house.

  “Wow!” Peter exclaimed. “I can’t believe I just met the president of the United States!”

  35

  That night Felicity and Mike stayed for dinner, and everyone was in a good mood, in the afterglow of their brush with the president. Almost everyone turned in early, tired from their cross-country travel.

  Felicity left by the front door, then, half an hour later, parted the curtains of the master suite and stepped in from the patio.

  “Haven’t we met somewhere before?” Stone said.

  Felicity sat down on the bed, released a silk stocking from her garter belt, and rolled it down her beautiful leg. “Yes, and you know very well that the man you call Mike Freeman and I have met before, too.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Stone replied, pushing back the covers for her. He was already in bed, naked. “Who else on your side of the pond thinks he may have met Mike before?”

  “I believe myself to be the o
nly one. Of course, I’ve done everything I can to paper over that crack in the history of my service.”

  Mike Freeman, when younger and under his original name, had been a rising star in MI-6, until an episode in his private life made him a target of people who wanted to see him dead. He built an identity for himself in the United States and was brought into Strategic Services by its founder, Jim Hackett. Stone and Felicity had both been instrumental in seeing that he was not exposed.

  “I’ll tell Mike that,” Stone said.

  “Please don’t, I’d rather that only you and I shared the details of that episode. There are still people in high places who would feel great resentment toward us, if they knew. Let sleeping dogs snore.”

  Stone laughed. “My lips are zipped.”

  Felicity went into the second bathroom with a small bag she had brought. Stone dimmed the lights and waited for her to emerge, naked, and get into bed with him.

  She snuggled close. “One of these days I’m going to retire from the service, and when I do you are going to be in big, big trouble,” she said.

  “I could use some of that kind of trouble,” Stone replied, turning to her and slipping a leg between hers, where he found her to be already wet. He kissed her eyes and her face, then bit her softly on a nipple. “I believe this is the start button?”

  “Yes, and it’s in perfect working order,” she breathed. She pulled him on top of her and brought him inside her. “There,” she said, “that’s where you belong.”

  And he remained there for some time.

  Before dawn, Felicity dressed and slipped out onto the patio, then let herself out of the garden and strolled down the pathway to her nearby cottage, passing a Secret Service agent on the way. He gave her a little salute, but they did not speak.

  It was eight hours later in London, so she called her office on her encoded cell phone.

  “Aren’t you up very early?” her secretary asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep-jet lag,” she lied, “so I thought I’d check in.”

  “Do you want your messages?”