Hot Pursuit

38

Millie walked out of the Connaught with Holly, and they turned up Mount Street, with its elegant shops.

“Pity there’s no time for shopping,” she said.

“Maybe later,” Holly replied.

“Are we going on with the president to Paris, Berlin, and Rome?” Millie asked.

“Would you like that?”

“I wouldn’t mind, but I think I might be of more use here, working with MI6.”

“You have a point,” Holly said. “I have to stick with her, since I came along to consult as we traveled, but you’re running out of things to do for her.”

“I’ve felt that.”

They walked up South Audley Street to the embassy and entered through the rear door, showing ID, even though the guards knew them by now. Holly led the way to a different elevator at the north end of the building. She ran her White House ID through a scanner to summon the car, and to Millie’s surprise, they went down a couple of floors before getting off.

When they did there was a door ahead of them marked “No Entry.” Holly ran her ID through the scanner again; there was a clicking noise and the door opened half an inch. “Follow me,” she said, pushing the door open.

Millie found herself in a suite of offices that did not resemble those on the upper floors of the building. They were smaller, dingier, and less decorated, and there were no windows. Holly led her down the hallway to a corner office and rapped on the door, looking up at a camera screwed to the wall. There was another click.

“Come in, Holly,” a deep male voice said.

They went into the room and Millie was surprised to find that the big voice belonged to a pale, skinny man wearing black glasses. “Heard you were in town,” he said, standing up to shake her hand.

“Bill, this is my colleague Millicent Martindale. Millie, this is Bill French.”

Millie shook his hand and accepted the gesture offering them seats.

“What’s up?” Bill asked.

“We’ve both been traveling with the president on this trip, but we’re also working on something with MI6.”

“And what would that be?”

“It’s not passing through the station,” Holly said.

Bill nodded sagely, as if that were neither unexpected nor a bad idea.

“I’m going on to the continent with the president, but Millie is going to stay in London to work with Felicity’s crowd and liaise with the FBI — in D.C., not here.”

Bill nodded again. “You need anything?”

“Do you have a vacant office where Millie could camp for a while?”

“I’ve got an officer on maternity leave — she gave birth last night. Millie could sit there, after we’ve swept it clean.”

“Thanks, Bill, that’s very good of you.”

Bill picked up the phone and pressed a button. “It’s Bill,” he said. “Please thoroughly clean and secure Vanessa’s office, ASAP,” he said. “We’re going to have a guest with us for a while.” He listened for a reply. “Thanks.” He hung up. “Half an hour,” he said. “Would you two like some coffee while you wait?”

“Sure,” Holly said. “Both black.”

Bill got up, opened a cabinet door, and came back with two steaming mugs. “How’s life at the White House, Holly?”

“Very interesting, but a little crazy.”

“Do you miss the New York station?”

“Every time I request something and have to explain why.”

“I know what you mean. How’s the living in D.C.?”

“I got lucky with an apartment in Georgetown. It was easy to secure. The owner is ex-military and has an antique shop downstairs. The apartment was his, until he moved into a house.”

“You wouldn’t believe what the housing prices are like here. The city has been ruined for regular folks. Everything’s a zillion dollars. I heard a big-time movie star wanted to buy a flat here — nothing terribly special — and the price was fourteen million pounds.”

“That’s pretty breathtaking,” Holly replied. “Who has that much?”

“Arabs and Russians. The Arabs have been around forever, but who knew there would suddenly be Russian billionaires?”

“How about schools?”

“That’s pretty easy for us, with the embassy doing the looking. As long as the kids can cut it, they’re in. My boy is at Harrow, the girl is at Lady Eden’s. They’re going to have to learn to talk American again when they get home, or they’ll be beaten up daily.”

“I was an army brat,” Holly said, “so it was pretty easy for me. Every time we moved, all I had to do was either talk southern or talk Yankee, depending.”

Bill’s phone rang, and he picked it up. “Yeah? Thanks.”

He hung up again and got up. “Come on, I’ll walk you down there.” A few yards down the hall Bill stopped at a cubicle and spoke to a middle-aged woman. “Hey, Tip,” he said. “This is Holly Barker and your sublet, Millie Martindale.”

Tip shook both their hands. “The place is clean,” she said, handing Millie a key card. “I’ll help you with whatever you need — don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve got time on my hands with Vanessa out.”

“Thanks, Tip. What’s the name short for?”

“Tatania — everybody here thinks it’s too Russian.”

Millie laughed.

“Millie’s clearance is White House,” Bill said to her.

“Got it.”

“Right there,” Bill said to Millie, pointing. “I’ll leave you to it.” He walked back toward his office.

Millie went to the door and unlocked it with her key card, then entered a room larger than what she had expected. She sat down at the desk. “No computer,” she said.

“They’ve locked that up. Ask for a fresh one — better yet, use your laptop. Some things you should know: if you want to receive phone calls from outside, use your cell. Anybody who calls the embassy switchboard will be told they’ve never heard of you. Your White House ID will unlock secure doors and elevators. You can make outgoing calls on your desk phone. There’s a decent cafeteria in the building — Tip will direct you. You never bring anybody down here, of course.”

“What about FBI?”

“Is Quentin coming to London?”

“Who knows?”

“If you want to bring anybody down here — on business — give his name and affiliation to Tip, and she’ll get him in the computer, just as I did for you. If you want to meet with somebody who’s not cleared, ask Tip to get you a room upstairs. The key card she gave you will work there. By the way, don’t lose that card — replacing it is a genuine pain in the ass, and you may be locked out of your office for a few hours.”

“I can imagine.”

“When you leave the station your office will automatically lock for everybody but you and Tip.”

“Can I call on Bill for file searches and technical assistance?”

“You can call on Tip for everything. She’ll get the necessary permissions. Try not to ask Bill for help, unless it’s something Tip can’t handle, then don’t hesitate to ask.”

Millie nodded.

“Do you have any experience with firearms?”

“I grew up hunting with my father. I’ve had a forty-hour handgun course at SigArms, in New Hampshire.”

“Ask Tip to get you a weapon. There’s a range downstairs.”

“After yesterday, I think I’ll do that.”

“I took pains to see that your name wasn’t mentioned in the press reports of yesterday’s incident. That will help, but it’s possible you’ve been seen with me, like during our stroll over here this morning. Tip can always get you a car and driver — don’t be shy about asking, even when you leave the hotel in the evening. Request light armor — that means doors and glass, it won’t protect you from a large bomb.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Felicity has assigned an MI6 officer who will be your contact with her and her organization, generally. Do everything through him.” She handed Millie a card. “His name is Ian Rattle.”

Millie nodded.

“When I leave tomorrow, you can move into my suite — it’s leased by our government. If somebody more important than you — that’s almost anybody — wants a room, you’ll be moved, probably back to the room you’re in now. The suite is secure — reinforced outer walls and armored glass. There will always be those who don’t like us.”

“I understand.”

Holly looked at her watch. “I’ve got to see the president. If you want to do some shopping, now would be a good time. I’ll see you around six for drinks in the suite, then dinner?”

“That’s fine.”

“Have a nice day,” Holly said, then left.

Millie gave her five minutes to clear the building, then picked up the phone and pressed a button with Tip’s name on it.

“Yes, Millie?”

“Could you find me a weapon? Something light and concealable, maybe a.380?”

“Ten minutes,” Tip replied.

“And can you please get me a car and driver, light armor?”

“Twenty minutes, out back,” Tip said, then hung up.