He went back to the bedroom, put on his necktie and jacket, and returned to the living room. As an afterthought, he closed Vlad’s bedroom door.
The bell rang, and he let himself out to find the bellman loading his cases onto a cart. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he said to the bellman, handing him a hundred-dollar bill. “Go ahead and load everything.”
“Yes, sir.” The man began pushing the cart away.
Majorov went back inside and checked for any of his belongings he might have left. Then, instead of taking the usual route along the hotel paths to the parking lot, he walked to the road, walked down the hill and into the lot, where he found the bellman closing the trunk of the hotel limo. He ambled, as casually as possible, to the car, where the driver held the door open, gave the valet a fifty, and got into the rear seat.
“LAX, sir?” the driver asked, as he closed his door.
“No, to Santa Monica Airport, Atlantic Aviation.” The car began to move. Good God! he thought. I forgot to call room service! He checked his watch: seven-fifty. “And step on it,” he said, “I’m running late.”
“I think we’d better avoid the freeway if you’re in a hurry, sir. May I take Sunset to Bundy and go that way?”
“Fine, whatever you say.” He was sweating, and he pulled the silk square from his breast pocket and dabbed at his brow, then he adjusted the air-conditioning for more flow.
• • •
Stone got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When he returned, Emma was sitting up in bed, reading The New York Times. “Breakfast in bed or downstairs?” he asked.
“Oh, I think in bed,” she replied.
“Order me bacon and eggs, orange juice, and coffee,” Stone said, getting into a robe. “I’ve got to give Peter his car keys.”
He grabbed the keys from the dresser and walked downstairs. Peter, Hattie, and Ben were having breakfast in the dining room. He gave Peter the keys. “Don’t be late for work,” he said.
“Dad, we’re traveling in the Strategic Services car.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Stone said. “Have a good day.”
“Dad, how long do we have to do this security stuff?”
“Not much longer, I should think,” Stone said. “I’m just guessing, of course.”
“Great.”
Stone went back upstairs, shed his robe, and got back into bed.
“Did you go somewhere last night?” Emma asked.
“Go somewhere?”
“I woke up at some point and you weren’t in bed.”
“I must have been in the bathroom,” he replied. “Or maybe you were dreaming.”
• • •
Majorov’s car arrived at the airport and was buzzed through the security gate. The Gulfstream was just being towed to a halt on the ramp. He waited until the airplane had been chocked and the door opened, then he showed the driver where to put his luggage. Finally, he took off his jacket, hung it up, and went to his usual seat.
He reclined the seat halfway, put a pillow under his head, and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down.
Teddy arrived at Santa Monica Airport, was buzzed through the gate, and drove to the hangar. He stopped at a taxiway to check for traffic and saw Majorov’s Gulfstream being towed out of a nearby hangar. So the man was not hanging around the Bel-Air to speak to the police.
He pulled into the hangar and closed the big door behind him. Tim was not at work yet, and Betsy would be upstairs. He had seen some things belonging to Livingston’s pilot, but where? In the flat? No, in the pilots’ lounge somewhere.
He walked quickly back to the lounge carrying Vlad’s weapons case and looked around. Not in the closet where he had put the safe; in the other closet, maybe. He opened it and found a uniform jacket, a cap, and a laundry box on a shelf above them. He broke open the box and found a shirt. A moment later he was dressed as a corporate pilot.
He hoisted Vlad’s case onto the table, opened it, removed one of the syringes from the bundle, filled it with potassium from the bottle, replaced the cap, and put it into an inside pocket near his holstered pistol. He put on the cap and his aviator sunglasses, left the hangar by the rear door, and walked toward the ramp. As he emerged from behind the hangar he saw a limo drive away from the Gulfstream and depart through the gate. He walked quickly toward the airplane.
As he approached, a stewardess came out of Atlantic Aviation carrying a heavy bag of ice in one hand and a caddy filled with wine bottles in the other. He caught up with her. “Let me give you a hand,” he said, taking her burdens from her.
“Thank you. I’ll go get the lunches—they weren’t quite ready.” She turned and walked back toward the FBO.
Teddy walked quickly toward the Gulfstream and up the airstair. At the top he peeked into the airplane. Cockpit, empty, but in the rear of the cabin, stretched out in a reclining seat, was Majorov, his head on a pillow, a blanket covering his lap, his eyes closed.
Teddy carefully set down the ice and the wine in the galley, stood very still for a moment, and watched the man for some sign of movement; he appeared to be sleeping, or trying to. Teddy reached into his inside pocket and retrieved the syringe, then began walking carefully down the aisle toward his quarry.
As Teddy approached, Majorov heaved a deep sigh and resettled himself in the seat, then he opened his eyes and looked at Teddy.
“Leave me,” he said. “I need sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” Teddy said, and stood where he had stopped. He waited a full minute for Majorov to settle down, then he walked silently toward the man. When he reached his side, he uncapped the syringe, put it in his right hand, and with his left, pushed Majorov’s head firmly into the pillow and held it there while he sought the carotid artery. Majorov began to struggle, but Teddy held his head down as he slipped in the needle and pushed the plunger home. Then he released Majorov.
The Russian sat up, rubbing his neck where the needle had gone in. “What have you done?” he demanded.
“Just something to help you sleep,” Teddy said. “Compliments of Billy Burnett.”
“You?” Majorov spat. “You are Burnett!”
“For the moment,” Teddy said.
The Russian suddenly convulsed and clawed at his chest. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.
“There, there,” Teddy said, pushing Majorov back into his seat and buckling his seat belt. “Just a heart attack. You’ll be gone in a moment.”
Majorov went limp, exhaling one last time. Teddy picked up a cocktail napkin and dabbed away a drop of blood that had escaped the needle prick, then he tucked the pillow under the man’s head, turned it to the right, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He switched off the light over the seat, closed the shade on the window beside the dead Russian, then walked back toward the cockpit, closing shades on both sides as he went. The cabin was now dark, the only light coming from the open door and the cockpit windows.
Teddy started down the airstair and met the stewardess coming the other way. He took the box lunches from her and set them in the galley. “Your passenger asked not to be disturbed,” he whispered to her. “He said he needs sleep.”
She nodded. “Thanks for your help, uh …”
“Just a neighbor. I’m in the Hawker across the ramp. Have a good flight.”
As Teddy walked back toward the hangar a car was let through the security gate, and two uniformed pilots got out, set down their flight bags, and, each with a clipboard, began their walk-around and preflight inspection.
Teddy walked back to the hangar, broke the syringe into three pieces, and tossed them over the fence; then he let himself through the rear door, went to the pilot’s lounge, took off the uniform, and laid it on the table. He had just gotten back into his own clothes as the big hangar door opened and Tim Peters drove in, closing the door behind him.
Teddy found a canvas holdall in the clothes closet, then folded the uniform and put it inside with the cap on top. He carried the bag to Tim’s office and rapped on the doorjam
b. “Good morning,” he said. “I found a uniform that apparently belongs to Livingston’s pilot. Can you send it to him, please?”
“Sure,” Tim replied. “I’ll drop it by his place on the way home tonight.” He tucked the holdall into the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and closed it.
When Tim had left, Teddy called Stone Barrington on his cell phone.
“Yes?”
“You recall a couple of people we spoke of?”
“I do.”
“It’s my understanding that they are no longer a factor.”
“Your understanding?”
“My certainty.”
“That is good to hear.”
“I thought you might think so. Goodbye.” He hung up.
Teddy went upstairs to make sure Betsy was awake. She was drinking coffee in the kitchen.
“Hey, there. How about some breakfast?” she asked.
“Stick with your coffee. I’ll toast myself a muffin.” He did, then sat down with her.
“You look well rested,” she said. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“You should know,” Teddy replied. “I was right beside you the whole night.”
Stone was getting dressed when Emma came out of the bathroom. They had spent half the morning making love, and she seemed aglow.
“You all packed?” he asked.
“Yes, and I just got off the phone with Tessa. She’s staying—oh well—in Hollywood. I made some calls to my New York office, too, and got some volunteers for a move to L.A.”
“I’m happy for everybody concerned,” Stone said. “What time do you want to leave for the airport?”
“In half an hour, I think. I’ll have lunch in the first-class lounge.”
Stone’s Strategic Services driver was finishing a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Stone came down. He stood up.
“Ready to go out, Mr. Barrington?”
“Dick,” Stone said, “I think I’ll drive myself today—and every day from now on. You can report back to Mr. Freeman.”
“As you wish, Mr. Barrington.”
Stone walked into the dining room and found Peter’s keys to the Cayenne on the table where Stone had left them earlier that morning.
He read the papers until Emma came down, followed by the butler carrying her bags. They got everything into the Cayenne and drove to LAX.
“How long before you’ll be back?” he asked, as a porter loaded her luggage onto a cart.
“Give me a month or so to sort out the personnel changes, and I’ll be back in New York with you. Or will you be here?”
“In New York, I think. It’s time I let the kids get on with their lives.”
“You’re no longer concerned about their safety?”
“I’m told that the problem has been resolved,” Stone said.
They kissed, then she followed the porter, and Stone got back in the Cayenne and headed for Centurion Studios.
• • •
Stone found everybody on the set, including Billy and Betsy. He watched as they shot a setup, then broke while the lighting was changed for the next shot.
Peter came over, and Stone handed him the keys to the Cayenne. “Okay, kiddo, you’re on your own again.”
“Should I go armed?”
“Unnecessary, I should think.”
“That’s good news,” Peter said, grinning.
“I’ll let your security detail know,” Stone said, glancing over to where the two guards were chatting up a pretty extra. He walked over and cleared his throat to get their attention. “Fellas, I’m afraid your careers in the film business are over. You can stand down, just as soon as you’ve given me a lift back to The Arrington.”
“As you wish, Mr. Barrington. Will Peter be needing us tomorrow?”
“No, Peter is going to be just fine on his own. We all have to let go.”
As he was walking from the building, Billy Barnett caught up with him.
“Good morning,” Stone said.
“Morning to you.”
“Did you sleep well last night?”
“Everything went about as it should,” Teddy replied.
“Both of them?”
“Vlad will get the attention of the LAPD,” Teddy said. “Majorov will be attended to by the Moscow morgue, when he arrives there.”
“Do I need to know anything else?”
“I don’t think there’s anything else you want to know,” Teddy said. “And it’s best to forget what you already know.”
“Are you going to work for Mike Freeman at Strategic Services?”
“Probably, eventually. First I have to get your boy an instrument rating and see that he’s at home in his new airplane. That will take a few weeks, and then my work here will be done, and Mike and I will talk again. You can tell him that for me.”
Stone shook his hand. “Thank you for my son’s life,” he said, “and those of Hattie and Ben, too.”
“You’re very welcome,” Teddy replied.
Stone left him, walked out to the car, and got into the rear seat. “Let’s take a turn around the lot before we go back to the hotel,” he said to his escorts.
“Yes, sir. Anything in particular you want to see?”
“Maybe the New York street. No, let’s see it all. I’ve done some hard time in this place, and I want one more look at it before I go.”
• • •
For a complete list of this author’s books click here or visit www.penguin.com/woodschecklist
Doing Hard Time (Stone Barrington) Page 23
