Hot Pursuit

51

Ian Rattle ran up the stairs to his boss’s office and entered without knocking.

Dame Felicity looked up from her desk with an expression of half curiosity, half outrage at the intrusion. “Yeesss?” she drawled.

“We’ve got a hit on Larry and Curly,” he said. He quickly related his conversation with Millie.

“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest I wring the complete address out of that tailor and we descend on the property in force.”

“Well, that’s subtle,” she said. “And it would be unproductive.”

“It would break up whatever they’re planning,” Ian pointed out.

“Break up what? We have no idea what they’re planning. I should think that, after what we saw from Washington this morning, you’d see an alternative to a huge bust — one that might tell us what they’re up to and perhaps cast a wider net.”

“Of course, that’s a wonderful idea,” Ian said, “but we don’t have the technical knowledge to pull that off.”

Dame Felicity consulted her computer and glanced at her watch: very early in D.C. She dialed a telephone number.

“This is Epstein,” he said, sounding wide awake.

“Good morning, Assistant Director Epstein,” she said. “This is Felicity Devonshire in London.”

“Good morning, Dame Felicity.”

“First, I want to thank you for the brilliant demonstration of your Bureau’s surveillance skills that we saw earlier today.”

“Thank you — my people worked very hard on that.”

“I’m sure they did. Now I must ask you a tremendous favor, and I wanted to come directly to you, rather than your director, which I’m aware is a violation of protocol.”

“How may I help you?”

“First, let me tell you that we believe we have discovered the whereabouts of Larry and Curly: they are in London.”

“Excellent,” Epstein said.

“We know that they expect to be in London for another week, so we believe that we have a few days to discover what they’re up to. However, our surveillance skills and equipment are just not up to the job. I wonder if I can persuade you to send your team over here right away to conduct the same sort of surveillance that they did on Moe? We will, of course, provide transport, housing, and all expenses.”

“I believe I can make a case for that with my director,” Epstein said. “After all, our installations are complete. Now we are monitoring.”

“We would very much like to see Special Agent Quentin Phillips and his team here tonight,” she said. “I’ll call your director and pretend that you and I have not spoken. Then I expect he will call you.”

“I’m grateful for the advance warning,” Epstein said. “Do you have the director’s home number? He won’t be up and about just yet.”

“I do, thank you. We’ll be in touch.” She hung up the phone, looked up another number, and dialed it. “Good morning, Ambassador,” she said. “This is Felicity Devonshire.”

“Good God, Felicity! What time is it?”

“Quite early on your side, I believe. I would not have called were it not urgent.”

“All right, what’s going on?”

“I believe the Prince and Princess of Wales arrived at Andrews Air Force Base yesterday, in an aircraft of the Queen’s Flight, for a three-day visit.”

“Yes, that’s right. They’re upstairs — asleep, I should think.”

“Please don’t disturb them. On a matter of the utmost importance to our national security, I require their aircraft for the purpose of an immediate flight to London, with a quick turnaround.”

“I’m not at all sure that I have the authority to grant that request,” the ambassador replied.

“I assure you that by the time the crew arrive at Andrews, all permissions will be in place.”

“All right, I’ll get in touch with the crew. Oh, and I’d very much appreciate a cable on this subject.”

“Of course, Arthur. I’ll see that your arse is fully covered.” She hung up and buzzed her secretary. “Please get the prime minister on the phone,” she said, “and if he’s in a meeting, interrupt him. Highest priority.” She hung up and waited quietly until she was buzzed back.

“The prime minister’s secretary is on the line, Dame Felicity,” she said. “She won’t put the PM on until she speaks to you.”

“Right,” Dame Felicity said. She pressed a button. “Margaret, put the PM on right now, if you please.”

“Yes, Dame Felicity.”

“Yes, Felicity,” the PM said, “make it quick — half the Cabinet is waiting.”

“Prime Minister, we have located Larry and Curly.”

“Ah, yes — half the Three Stooges. Excellent.”

“We require the assistance of the FBI to install some brilliant new surveillance equipment, and that necessitates our borrowing the Queen’s Flight aircraft, now at Andrews Air Force Base, to fly the technicians here, with an immediate return to Andrews.”

“Well, that’s highly irregular,” he replied.

“It’s the only way we can have the FBI team at work tomorrow. The Waleses are in Washington for a three-day stay. They’ll never know it’s gone.”

The PM sighed deeply.

“This requires an immediate cable from you to the ambassador, in language that shelters his posterior. This, I assure you, is in the national interest, and of the highest priority.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll have to get the air minister involved, though. He’s waiting for me with the others.”

“Please don’t let your cable take more than half an hour to arrive in Washington.”

“You mean you want it done instantly?”

“Thank you so much, Prime Minister.” Dame Felicity hung up. “Now,” she said to Ian, “go to that tailor’s shop, and in the gentlest and most discreet manner possible, find out what they know. Call me when you’ve spoken to them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian said, then fled the room.

Dame Felicity consulted her computer address book again and dialed a number.

“What?” a sleepy American voice demanded.

“Good morning, Director, this is Felicity Devonshire, in London. My apologies for the early hour.”

“What time is it?”

“Oh, it’s lunchtime over here. I’m sorry to have disturbed your breakfast.” That got a laugh. She explained her request in the shortest and most urgent terms.

“Oh, all right,” the director said. “I’ll call Lev Epstein, who runs that group. How long will you need them?”

“I should think a week,” she replied. “Perhaps a day or two longer. We will provide transport, shelter, and all expenses.”

“Damn right you will.” He hung up.

Five minutes later her secretary buzzed. “A Special Agent Lev Epstein, from Washington. He says you’re expecting his call.”

“Of course.” She pressed the button. “Assistant Director Epstein,” she said.

“You apparently lit a fire under the boss,” Lev said.

“Not just your boss,” she replied. “A jet aircraft of the Queen’s Flight awaits your team at Andrews Air Force Base,” she said. “They will be met on this side and comfortably housed. Please ask them to be prepared to go to work tomorrow morning. Their liaison will be Major Ian Rattle. Will Special Agent Phillips be leading them?”

“Yes, he will, Dame Felicity. I would come myself, but there are pressing matters here.”

“How sad,” she said. “Perhaps next time.” She hung up, satisfied that she had earned her salary that day.