Hot Pursuit

52

Ian Rattle arrived in Mount Street after an interminable twenty-two-minute trip in heavy traffic. He leaped out of the car, leaving his driver, then, as he approached the door of Hayward, stopped, smoothed down his suit and hair, took a deep breath, and entered the shop.

A woman was hanging a handful of neckties on a rack just inside the door. “May I help you?”

“May I speak with your fitter?” Ian asked.

“He’s working in the rear,” she said, pointing.

Ian entered the rear room to find a man, a tape measure around his neck, applying a very large pair of scissors to a bolt of cloth. “May I help you, sir?” the man asked.

“You may,” Ian said, taking his ID from a pocket as he approached the cutting table and laying it on the tabletop for the man’s perusal.

“Ah,” the man said. “Whatever I can do.”

“It is my understanding that you have clients in the nation of Dahai,” Ian said.

“That is so.”

“I also understand that two of them, brothers, I believe, were in for a fitting this morning.”

“That is so, as well.”

“What address in London do you have for them?”

“Regency House, Regent’s Park.”

“And the names of the two?”

“David and Derek Kimbrough,” he said. “I believe they are the sons of Lord Kimbrough, whose house they stay in when in London.”

“Have they been your clients for long?”

“They were clients of Douglas Hayward when he was alive and they were at Eton. My employers bought the shop after Mr. Hayward’s death, and we have continued to serve them.”

“I see. How often do they come to London?”

“Around twice a year,” he replied. “We always see them when they’re here, and we’re in Dahai twice a year to service our clients there.”

“Do you have a shop there?”

“No, we work out of a hotel. For the Kimbroughs we call at their home, which is in the grounds of the sultan’s palace.”

“Does Lord Kimbrough spend time in Dahai?”

“I believe not. He and the boys’ mother have lived apart for many years. She apparently has connections to the sultan’s court.”

“Tell me, do you also have a client called Mahmoud?”

“Yes, two of them — the Sheik Hari Mahmoud and his son, Ali. They maintain a home here.”

“May I have that address, please?”

The tailor went to a large leather-bound book and leafed through it. “Here we are,” he said. “Malvern House, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea.”

“Do you know if he’s in town now?”

“If he is, we haven’t seen him.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Ian said.

“Always happy to oblige MI6.”

Ian left the shop, called Dame Felicity, and reported his conversation with the tailor.

“Ah, Lord Kimbrough,” she said. “I don’t need to look him up in Debrett’s Peerage — I knew him. He died twenty years ago, and without issue. I would imagine that soon after that the sultan would have acquired his house.”

“I believe we should concentrate our efforts on Regent’s Park and ignore the property in Belgrave Square. And I believe we should begin outside surveillance of Regency House immediately.”

“I agree,” she replied. “The FBI team will arrive at RAF Northolt this evening. I would like you to meet them and escort them to the Hyde Park Barracks, headquarters of the Household Cavalry, where they will be housed in some vacant officers’ quarters. You might take Millie Martindale with you, since she is acquainted with Quentin Phillips, the team leader.”

“As you wish, Dame Felicity.”

“Early tomorrow morning, I would like the FBI team to occupy the first-floor conference room here as their operational headquarters. Agent Phillips may use the adjoining office, which is being cleared for him. Please ask our tech people to see that they have whatever of our equipment they may need and to observe as much of their work as possible.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“I’m feeling much better about this operation,” she said.

“I’m glad, ma’am. So am I.” They hung up, and Ian made a call to his number two, and gave the order to begin surveillance of the Regent’s Park house. He started to call Millie on his cell phone, then realized she was right around the corner. He walked around to Harry’s Bar and entered. He could see Millie, Stone Barrington, and another man at a corner table, where they were just attending to the bill, so he waited in the bar.

Millie spotted Ian as they were leaving their table. He greeted them in the bar, and she introduced him to Dino Bacchetti.

“Hello, Mr. Rattle,” Stone said, shaking his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“It’s Ian, please. Millie, may I have a word?”

“Of course.”

“Stone, Ian can drop me back at the hotel, after I pick up a package in Mount Street. I wish you a happy flight back to Reykjavik tomorrow.” She thanked him for lunch, and they left.

“What’s up?” she asked Ian.

“Things are moving very fast.” He brought her up to date.

“I don’t think it’s necessary for me to be at Northolt to meet the team. I have a room at the Connaught for Quentin Phillips,” she said, “so you can bring him there after you’ve quartered the team at Hyde Park Barracks.”

“Very good. I’ll send a car for him at seven AM tomorrow.”

Lev Epstein arrived at his office shortly after seven to find a technician from the monitoring team waiting for him.

“Sir, I’ve already called Phillips about this, but I think you should know that, shortly before dawn this morning, we observed Ali Mahmoud leaving his apartment in his car. We weren’t set up to film him that early, but we followed him, at some distance, to Rock Creek Park.”

“What the hell was he doing there at dawn?”

He pulled his car behind some bushes, and we positioned our people so that we could see him remove a large object from the trunk of his car.”

“What was it?”

“We watched as he took it to a clearing, along with a case. It turned out to be a drone.”

“As in a pilotless aircraft?”

“Not pilotless, sir — Mahmoud was the pilot. The drone was one of those with four propellers — they are highly maneuverable. He did some assembly, which didn’t take long, and took a monitor from the case and set that up. Shortly, he was flying the thing, and it went out of our sight line. It must have been electrically powered, because it made little or no noise.”

“But you couldn’t see where it went?”

“No, sir. Apparently it had a camera aboard, because Mahmoud watched the monitor very carefully as he manipulated the controls. The drone returned after about an hour and landed. He repacked the equipment in his car and drove back to his home, then walked to the embassy.”

“So Mahmoud is a drone hobbyist,” Epstein muttered to himself.

“Yes, sir, and he appeared to be very proficient in flying the drone. He was very assured in handling it.”

“Could the thing be used as a weapon?”

“That doesn’t seem likely. It doesn’t have the power to carry much in the way of weight — probably only a camera.”

“So he wants to spy on something?”

“Possibly.”

“Thank you,” Epstein said. “Get back to your work.”

As he settled behind his desk, Epstein had the feeling that what he had just heard was not a good thing.

Quentin Phillips arrived at work and reported to Lev. “What time are you off?”

“We should be at Andrews between ten and eleven.”

“Have you heard the report about Mahmoud’s activities this morning?”

“No. What’s happened?”

Lev told him about Mahmoud and his drone.

“But we’ve no idea where he flew the thing?”

“None.”

“You don’t suppose he’s just a drone hobbyist?”

“No, I don’t, but your tech people say that such a drone could carry no more than a camera.”

“And it was electric?”

“Yes, very quiet.”

“I’ll talk more with the team about it during our flight.”

“All right.” Lev handed him a printed form. “Draw some pounds and distribute some of them to your team. How many men are you taking?”

“Eight: four operators and four installers.”

“Keep me posted. Good luck.”