Shoot First (A Stone Barrington Novel)

by Stuart Woods

  He edged the gelding up into a full run, and Meg kept right up. They took another wall, then pulled up into some trees to rest the horses. Stone got down and took a small bag from its place behind the saddle. “Would you like a beer?”

  “What a good idea!” They sat down with their backs against a tree and drank the cold lager.

  “I would jump you,” Meg said, “if riding clothes weren’t so difficult to deal with.”

  “They’ll come off easily enough when we get back,” Stone said, kissing her lightly.

  “I’ll look forward to watching.”

  Stone gave her a leg up onto the mare, then got onto the gelding,

  Then Meg pointed back to where they had come from. “Look!” she shouted.

  Stone pulled his mount around to face Windward Hall. From the rear of the house a column of black smoke was rising. He dug his heels into the gelding. “Come on, we’ll run them the whole way!”

  The horses sprang forward and hardly noticed the stone wall when they topped it. Stone could hear a siren in the distance, and as they drew up in front of the house, a fire truck drove around to the rear.

  Stone and Meg jumped down and handed their horses to the waiting groom, then she followed him up the front steps, into the house and down a hall toward the kitchen. The fire was not inside but at the rear of the building. They ran out the kitchen door and found flames from some unidentifiable pile of material licking at the rear wall. The firemen were spooling out their hoses.

  Stone and Meg watched anxiously from the rear as the firemen applied water to the burning pile, then, when that failed to stanch the flames, they produced extinguishers and sprayed it with foam. Gradually, the flames lessened and finally stopped, buried under a white mass of fire suppressant.

  “Thank God,” Stone muttered.

  “Do you think this has something to do with Owaki?” Meg asked.

  “Who else hates me enough to want to burn down my house?” Stone asked.

  “Well, there must be a woman or two,” Meg said, “even in England.”

  * * *

  —

  THE FIREMEN had removed their protective gear and were being fed sandwiches and tea by the kitchen staff.

  “Do you know what the burning material was?” Stone asked their chief.

  “Never seen anything like it,” the man replied, between munches. “They had stuff like that during the war, you know, in the blitz. The devil to put out. Black stuff. Come to think of it, we were up at the motorcar factory earlier today, and I saw some black stuff piled up next to the trash-removal place. I’ll have my investigator look into that.”

  Stone thanked them all, then he and Meg went upstairs and undressed, and she climbed into the shower with him, soaping his body and scrubbing him with a rough mitt, then he did the same for her. They toweled each other off and fell into bed.

  * * *

  —

  HALF AN HOUR later, the phone buzzed. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Barrington, it’s Atkins. We had a call from the fire inspector, and he confirms arson, using some sort of tar-like substance as an accelerant. They’re looking for Owaki.”

  “Tell them to try the home secretary’s office in Whitehall,” Stone replied. “I believe Owaki may be having a chat with that gentleman.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but how would you know that?”

  “Like you, Carl, I have my intelligence sources.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Stone hung up and called Dino.

  “Bacchetti.”

  “It’s Stone. Owaki set fire to my house earlier this afternoon.”

  “Did the bobbies catch the bastard?”

  “He already had a date with the home secretary, set up by Felicity. My guess is he is, or will be soon, on his Gulfstream, winging his way west. Is there some opportunity for an international warrant?”

  “I can look into that, but the evidence would have to be very strong for them to get an extradition warrant from the U.S.”

  “Oh, the hell with it,” Stone said. “It will probably be easier to charge him with something in the States. That way he can be denied bail and will have to sit out the wait for trial in jail.”

  “That sounds just wonderful,” Dino said. “Do you have a charge on the tip of your tongue?”

  “Ah, not yet. Maybe they’ll find something actionable on his airplane, when it gets to Teterboro.”

  “I’ll give customs a call and ask them to be particularly thorough. I suppose I should give the U.S. attorney a heads-up, too, just in case.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Stone said. “Hang on.” He covered the phone and turned to Meg. “Home tomorrow okay with you?”

  “Yes. I had a call from Margo, and my board meeting is now on the day after and the closing the day after that, if they don’t hate me on sight.”

  Stone turned back to the phone. “We’ll fly tomorrow. Why don’t you and Viv come to dinner at my house, if she’s back from wherever she is.”

  “She will be,” Dino said. “Call me when you get in.”

  They both hung up.

  “It seems we have an hour to spare before we have to dress for dinner,” Stone said. “Is there something you’d like to do?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied.

  55

  Carl Atkins called. “We have intruders on the estate,” he said. “I have a party out searching for them now.”

  “Carl,” Stone said, “please send somebody down to the airstrip and make sure the airplane is safe and fully fueled. Take the fuel caps off and look inside—they should be full right up to the top.”

  Atkins got on his radio and gave orders. Five minutes later he got a call back. “The airplane is secure and already fully fueled,” he said, “and I’ve posted two men to guard it. Are you leaving immediately?”

  “No, but we’ll go at dawn tomorrow. We’ll be there before first light to do a preflight and get the airplane positioned at the end of the runway.”

  “And what will be your destination?”

  “Santa Maria in the Azores. We’ll refuel there, then fly to St. John’s, in Newfoundland, refuel, then to Teterboro. We’ll be there late afternoon, eastern time.”

  “Got it. Everything will be ready before sunup.”

  Stone explained the plan to Meg.

  “How far is it to the Azores?” she asked.

  “Fifteen hundred nautical miles,” he replied.

  “Do we have that much range? It will be upwind, won’t it?”

  “We can always divert to Lisbon halfway if the range doesn’t work. It will depend on the winds. I have at least two thousand miles of range, maybe considerably more, because of new winglets I had installed a couple of months ago.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  * * *

  —

  THEY HAD a candlelit dinner in the library then packed and got to bed early. They were up at four AM and at the airstrip half an hour later. They stowed the luggage, then Stone did his preflight inspection by flashlight; they got aboard and were towed to the end of the runway, where Stone completed his checklists, then started the engines. As the first rays of the sun showed, he pushed the throttles forward and they began to roll down the runway.

  Halfway down the strip, Stone saw some sort of commotion near the hangar, and there was the flash of gunfire. He gulped and kept rolling, his reasoning being that if he stopped, the airplane would surely be fired on, but if they took off he had a better chance of making it unscathed. If the airplane was hit and failed to pressurize, they could fly to Southampton, a short distance away, and land there.

  Stone eased back on the yoke, and the nosewheel left the ground, followed shortly by the main landing gear. He flew southeast, checking the cabin pressure gauge until they were at ten thousand feet, along the way calling air traffic cont
rol for a clearance. They were cleared to flight level 400 and turned on course. Twenty minutes later, Stone leveled off, set the throttles for cruise, and let the airspeed climb. When they were at 400 knots, he checked the range ring, which showed they would reach Santa Maria with a 150-mile reserve of fuel.

  “We’re going to be fine on fuel,” he said to Meg.

  “Is there any way Owaki can find out where we’re going?”

  “Yes, but we’ll be in Santa Maria, refueled, and off again before he could give chase.”

  “What about St. John’s? Could he have us met there?”

  “Half an hour out of St. John’s I’ll change our destination to Gander. We’ll be in and out of there in half an hour, and he wouldn’t dare try to pull anything at Teterboro. The police would be all over him. Fred and the Strategic Services people will meet us there, and escort us to the house.”

  “Good. My meeting with the co-op board is tomorrow morning.”

  * * *

  —

  THEY ROLLED into Stone’s garage at five PM, tired and happy to be home. Bob was beside himself with joy to have Stone back, and Joan was pretty happy, too.

  “I hear you had some aggravation across the pond,” she said. “Don’t worry, nobody’s tried to burn down this house, yet.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Dino called.”

  “Call him back and tell him we’re still expecting him and Viv for dinner, and let Helene know they’re coming.”

  Joan went to her work.

  Stone pulled the drapes in the master bedroom and achieved something like darkness. They fell asleep without further ado—unusual, because they had become accustomed to further ado.

  * * *

  —

  STONE HAD been asleep for an hour when the phone rang. Automatically, he picked up. “What?”

  “It’s Dino. I thought you’d like to know that Owaki’s Gulfstream 650 landed at Teterboro about seven PM, and a squadron of customs people greeted them. They took the airplane apart, and in the rear luggage compartment, under the floor panels, they found half a dozen Kalashnikovs and a dozen handguns, plus ammo. They took Owaki in.”

  “How long before he’s out?”

  “That depends on you.”

  “On me?”

  “Yeah, there’ll be a bail hearing at eleven tomorrow morning at the federal courthouse, and we need you to testify to your knowledge of Owaki. If customs and the FBI can get the judge to deny bail, he’ll spend the next few months on Rikers Island.”

  “I think that might be character-building for him,” Stone said.

  “In the big courtroom. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.” He hung up and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  —

  EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING he felt a hand creeping up his thigh. He glanced at the bedside clock: 9:30. “Hold it right there, missy,” he said. “I’m due in federal court at eleven, so if you want to come, get dressed quickly.” He freed himself, leaped out of bed, and thence into a shower. By ten-fifteen, munching on a muffin, he was in the rear seat of the Bentley with Meg and headed downtown.

  At a quarter to eleven his phone rang.

  “It’s Dino. Where the fuck are you?”

  “Enjoying the traffic in your fine city. Why didn’t you give me a motorcycle escort?”

  “Get your ass here, pronto!”

  56

  Stone got out of the Bentley, leaving Fred at the wheel and Meg, who didn’t want to be present in the courtroom, in the rear seat. He walked into the courtroom at the stroke of eleven on the big clock over the bench. Dino glared at him from the front row of spectator seats and waved him forward.

  Stone took a seat. He saw Owaki’s back ahead of him, next to a silver-haired attorney in a ten-thousand-dollar suit.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Dino growled under his breath.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Stone asked. “You’re not a fed.”

  “Once in a while I just like to enjoy myself, you know?”

  The bailiff called for all to rise, and the judge entered the courtroom and sat down. “Call the first case,” she said, and the clerk yelled, “Bail hearing for one Selwyn Owakow.”

  Stone suppressed a laugh, and the judge looked at him oddly. Stone had known her for a long time, but not for some years. He gave her a slight nod.

  She turned toward the federal prosecutor. “Counsel?”

  The prosecutor stood. “Your Honor, the defendant, one Selwyn Owaki—I believe I have the name right—last night arrived at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey aboard a Gulfstream 650, an aircraft valued at something on the order of sixty million dollars, upon which a search warrant, signed by Your Honor, was served by the United States Customs Service. Their search was fruitful, producing some two dozen illegal weapons, among them Russian automatic assault weapons. The defendant is an infamous weapons dealer, and extremely wealthy. He owns three jet aircraft with intercontinental range, the Gulfstream having a range of more than eight thousand nautical miles, and he has large quantities of cash in banks around the world. He has two passports, and thus is a monumental candidate for risk of flight, as well as being of poor character. We request that he be held without bail until trial.”

  “Do you have any witnesses to call on the question of risk of flight or character?”

  “Indeed I do, Judge. I call Mr. Stone Barrington, who is a member of the New York State Bar and who has experience of Mr. Owaki’s character and conduct.”

  “Swear the witness,” the judge said.

  Stone took the oath and had a seat.

  The prosecutor consulted his notes. “Mr. Barrington, how long have you known Mr. Selwyn Owaki?”

  “Too long,” Stone replied, glancing at his watch. “Almost thirty-six hours.”

  The courtroom burst into laughter, and the judge smirked. “All right,” she said, “get on with it.”

  “And how did you come to make Mr. Owaki’s acquaintance?”

  “I have a home in England, and I was there for a few days of relaxation when Mr. Owaki appeared at my door, uninvited. By way of context, I should explain that Mr. Owaki engineered the theft of some very valuable software belonging to a client of mine, and in the process, two murders were committed.”

  Owaki’s attorney was on his feet. “Objection, facts not in evidence.”

  “Goes to character,” the prosecutor said.

  “This is not a trial, I’ll allow it.”

  “The software was recovered, and I removed it and my client from the country after receiving threats from henchmen of Mr. Owaki’s. To my surprise, he turned up there, in England, where he had already bought a factory to manufacture the product of the stolen software, which certainly goes to intent. He offered either to buy the software or sell the factory. When my client declined to sell the software and made a derisory offer for the factory, Mr. Owaki became incensed and began to make vile threats. I asked him to leave, and he did so angrily. Less than an hour later a fire was set at my home, which the local fire department declared to be arson. I made plans to depart England the following morning before dawn, and gunshots were fired at my airplane while it was still on the private runway.”

  “And you attribute these actions to Mr. Owaki?”

  “I have no other enemies who would threaten my life and that of my client.”

  “Do you know whether Mr. Owaki had any interaction with the authorities during his stay in Britain?”

  “I am reliably informed that he was deported from the United Kingdom yesterday by the home secretary, with immediate effect. He was escorted to the airport, put aboard his airplane, then he left for Teterboro, where U.S. Customs met him and served their warrant.”

  “I have no further evidence at this time,” the prosecutor said.

 
“Mr. Kenneth Conway, I believe,” the judge said to Owaki’s attorney. “Do you have any questions for the witness?”

  The lawyer rose. “None, Your Honor, but I have a statement.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Your Honor, Mr. Selwyn Owaki is widely known around the world as a distributor of defense materials to legitimately constituted governments. He holds a United States passport, has maintained a home in New York City for many years, and has been a model citizen. This is the first occasion on which he has been arrested. He is no risk of flight and will willingly surrender his passport while awaiting trial.”

  “All of them?” the judge asked, getting a laugh.

  “He has only two.”

  “That we know of,” the prosecutor interjected, gaining a warning glance from the judge.

  “What’s the other one?” she asked.

  “Turkish, Your Honor.”

  “Is Mr. Owaki a native of either the United States or Turkey?”

  “No, Your Honor. He is naturalized in both.”

  “Why does he have so many airplanes?” she asked.

  “He does most of his business internationally and must always have an aircraft available.”

  “Do either of you wish to call Mr. Owaki to testify?”

  “No, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said.

  “No,” the defense attorney replied.

  “Do either of you have any other evidence to submit in this matter?”

  “No,” the defense attorney said.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said. He walked forward holding a thick file. “This contains facts about Mr. Owaki and his businesses from many sources. Your Honor might find it interesting reading. I have a copy for the defense.” His assistant handed one to Conway.

  The judge opened the file and leafed through it for a minute or two. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll rule.”

  Both attorneys and Owaki stood.