Hot Pursuit

44

Denny pulled up outside a modest-looking restaurant near World’s End, in the King’s Road. “La Famiglia,” he said. “I booked you a table in the garden. Alvaro Macchione, the owner, died a few months ago, but it’s still up and running, and the food has held up, too.”

“Thank you, Denny.” He opened the door for her, and she got out and went inside. She was wondering how chilly it might be in the garden, but she was led through the restaurant and into a space with a glass roof and heaters. It was quite comfortable. The menu was very large, but she was hungry and got through it in a hurry. She ordered the bruschetta and the roasted wild boar. She had never before had that.

The place was only half full, and she didn’t feel crowded, so she called Quentin at home.

“Hello?” he said sleepily.

“Aren’t you up and about yet?” she asked. “I’ve already consulted with MI6 and the CIA.”

Quentin groaned. “You’d better have something good,” he said.

“How about this: Moe — Harold Charles St. John Malvern — has been made.”

“You’re kidding me. How did you do that so fast?”

She explained the process she had been through. “His name is Ali Mahmoud, and he’s the chargé d’affaires at Dahai’s embassy in Washington.”

“Jesus, that’s troubling,” Quentin said.

“You have a point — too close to home.”

“Damn straight.”

“All the more reason to start surveilling him pronto. I’d like maximum surveillance, please, of every sort. I’m told the FBI is good at that.”

“We are indeed. I’ll have to get Lev Epstein’s approval, but he’ll go for it.”

“Will you get back to me the minute you’ve talked to him? I need to know that the work is under way.”

“All right. He gets in early, so I’d better get to the office. I’ll call you.” He hung up.

She had barely hung up when some Americans were seated next to her — two men and a woman. They seemed to have had a couple of drinks before arriving, and it was now one-thirty PM. They immediately ordered a bottle of wine, and continued to talk loudly, especially a red-faced man who looked as if he’d done a lot of drinking in his day — maybe on this day.

She finished her lunch and asked for the check. Then she heard a familiar name.

“So,” the younger and beefier of the two men said, “how are you going to handle Barrington?”

“I have already handled him,” the other man said, and they laughed loudly again.

Millie paid her bill, then went back into the restaurant and found the headwaiter. “Could you please tell me the names of the people at that table?” She nodded toward the garden door. “I think I may know them.”

The headwaiter consulted his reservations book. “The table was booked in the name of Reeves,” he said. “I’m not sure which gentleman he is.”

“Thank you. It was an excellent lunch.” She went back to the car, where Denny was waiting with the door open.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“National Gallery? Tower of London? Anything touristy you haven’t done?”

“Just back to the Connaught, I think.” She dialed Holly’s cell number. It was answered immediately.

“What have you to report?” Holly asked.

Millie told her about the conversations with the new men in her life. “Quentin has to get Lev’s authorization to set up the surveillance — they’ll get back to me. And Lance will call me back when he’s looked into the sultan’s household in Dahai.”

“Good. We’re making progress.”

“Something odd just happened.”

“Uh-oh.”

“At lunch today I overheard some Americans talking at a table next to mine.”

“What about?”

“Barrington. I suppose that could be Stone?”

“It’s not a very common name. What did they have to say?”

“One of them asked the other, ‘What are you going to do about Barrington?’ And the other replied, ‘It’s already done.’ Then they had a good laugh.”

“Any idea who they were?”

“The table was booked in the name of Reeves.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell with me. Write down a number.” She dictated. “That’s Stone’s cell number. Call him and tell him about it. I’m too busy right now.”

“Where are you?”

“At the Hôtel de Marigny. It’s sort of the guesthouse for the Élysée Palace.”

“What’s it like?”

“Palatial. Got to run.” She hung up.

Stone, Dino, Viv, and Pat were finishing lunch at the Waterside Inn in Bray, a spectacular French restaurant in the village of Bray on the banks of the upper Thames River, not far from Cliveden, when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Stone Barrington?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Millicent Martindale. I work for Holly Barker.”

“You’re a lucky woman, then,” he said. “How is Holly?”

“She’s very well. She’s with the president in Paris right now, and she asked me to call you.”

“Oh?”

“Are you still in England?”

“At the moment I am in surroundings so French that I could doubt that.”

“MI6 said you were in the country.”

“How the hell would they know that?”

“Apparently, they know when you enter and leave Britain, but I understand that you flew yourself this time, so somehow you slipped past them. Someone at a country hotel spotted you — a retired MI6 officer.”

“Well, that’s fairly creepy,” Stone said.

“It gets creepier. I was at lunch today at a restaurant called La Famiglia...”

“I know it well.”

“... and I was seated next to two men and a woman — all Americans — and I heard your name mentioned.”

“In vain?”

“Maybe.” She told him about the overheard conversation.

“Well, he’s wrong, I haven’t been taken care of. Any idea who they were?”

“The table was booked in the name of Reeves. That’s all I know.”

“Swell,” Stone said with some feeling.

“I hope that’s not too upsetting. Holly felt you should know.”

“And I’m glad you called. Thank you very much. Can you describe the two men?”

“One was in his mid to late thirties, very beefy-looking. The other was, maybe fifty, florid complexion.”

“I believe I know them,” Stone said. “How long ago did you see them?”

“I left twenty minutes ago. They had just sat down for lunch.”

“That’s good to know,” Stone said.

“I’m based at the American embassy for a few more days. Is there anything I can do for you in London?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”

She did, and Stone wrote it down. He hung up. “Another coincidence,” he said to his party.

“Reeves again?”

Stone nodded. “This time in a London restaurant, sitting next to one of Holly Barker’s people.” He told them about what she had overheard.

“You’ve already been taken care of?” Dino asked. “Is that what Reeves said?”

“Apparently. Do I look taken care of to you?”

“Nope.”

“Then that must lie in my future,” Stone said.

“I think you’d better be careful until we’re out of the country,” Dino said. “And right now, I’m going to have a look around this place.”

“I think you should call Sir Martin and tell him that Reeves and Keyes are at La Famiglia, World’s End, Chelsea.”

“Right.” Dino got up and left the table.

“Well,” Stone said, having some more cheese, “I’m not going to let this ruin a good lunch.”