Hot Pursuit

56

Quentin was at his desk at MI6 when he got a call. “It’s Turner at Hoover,” a voice said. “Something’s up at Mahmoud’s residence.”

“Tell me, and don’t leave anything out.”

“There have been two delivery trucks early this morning,” Turner said. “One was from an awning company—”

“What the hell is an awning company?”

“They rent tents and the like for outdoor parties, in case of rain.”

“Any rain in the local forecast?”

“Not for a week — I checked. We’ve got a video from the downstairs garage showing them unloading canvas and putting it in the elevator.”

“Not outside? Are they expecting rain indoors?”

“Beats me. The second truck delivered air freight — some large crates. I checked with customs, and they were shipped in under diplomatic seal from Dahai. Hey, hang on, have you got a monitor there?”

“Yeah, the one in the office.”

A transmission came up on the monitor. “This is from the Agency drone,” Turner said. “It’s the rooftop of the building.”

Quentin watched and saw some men unrolling large pieces of yellow-striped canvas. “They’re setting up a tent on the roof?”

“Looks like it. Wait a minute and you’ll get a three-sixty view. The drone is orbiting.”

Quentin saw the canvas from every angle. “Looks like what you’d see at a funeral, over the grave.” They watched as the men set up a metal frame, then hoisted the canvas in place. “Turner, has Mahmoud played with his drone again?”

“Yes, once. The Agency drone wasn’t up in time to photograph or follow it.”

“Wait, look to the left of the awning,” Quentin said. “They’re bringing the crates up to the roof.” The crates were wheeled under the awning. “Shit. You think they’re onto our drone?”

“They couldn’t be, we only got it up this morning. They’ve got reason to think about drones, though, so I think they’re just being careful.”

“Can we get the Agency drone low enough to see under the awning?”

“No, then the parapet gets in the way.”

Quentin went back into the conference room and found the group all staring at the largest monitor.

Ian Rattle was among them. “Hello,” he said. “We’ve got our hands on a drone — don’t ask who from.” He pointed at the screen. “That’s the roof of Regency House,” he said.

“Show me the delivery entrance,” Quentin said.

“We had a look at it a minute ago,” Ian said. “They got a lorry delivery from a marquee company.”

“Marquis, like a French aristocrat?”

“No, marquee...” He spelled it. “Like a tent. They must be having a garden party.”

“It’s not a garden party,” Quentin said. “They’re going to set up the marquee on the roof.”

“A roof party?” Ian asked. “It doesn’t look like that kind of roof — too industrial.”

“Then they’re going to bring those crates that we saw earlier up to the roof and unpack them under the marquee.”

“We didn’t furnish your office with a crystal ball,” Ian said. “Where are you getting this?”

“They’re doing exactly the same thing in Washington, at the Dahai apartment building.”

Ian stared at him. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“I don’t like it, either.”

“Can we get one of your black bag boys on the roof tonight?”

“We’re better off with the drone,” Quentin said. “Tonight, I think there’ll be people on the roof.”

“What do you think they’re doing?”

“My best guess? They’re assembling a drone of their own.”

Ian seemed speechless. “And what’s your best guess as to what they’re going to do with it?”

“There are too many things they could do with it,” Quentin replied. “The mind boggles.”

Millie came into the room. “What’s up?”

Quentin told her. “Where is the president?”

“In Rome.”

“When does she get back to Washington?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don’t suppose she could add another couple of cities to her tour, could she?”

“It takes weeks, maybe months, to plan that sort of thing.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Ian was taking all this in. He picked up a phone. “Get me Ten Downing Street,” he said, “the PM’s private secretary.” He waited for a while. “Sir Robert? This is Major Ian Rattle at MI6. Can you tell me, please, what is the PM’s schedule for the next few days?” He listened for a minute or so. “He looks to me as though he needs a rest. Do you think you could get him to go down to Chequers for a few days? I see. No, I’ll get back to you later today, after I speak to Dame Felicity.” He hung up and dialed an extension. “I’d like to come and see her now,” he said. “Right.” He hung up and turned to Quentin and Millie. “We’re seeing her in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later, Dame Felicity was sitting in an armchair, waiting for them. “Please sit down,” she said, “and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Quentin?” Ian said.

“No, you,” Quentin replied.

“Ma’am,” Ian said, “we’ve come to believe that the Kimbrough twins in London and Ali Mahmoud are assembling drones on the rooftops of their respective buildings.”

Dame Felicity thought about that for a moment. “Do you know what kind of drones?”

Ian looked uncomfortable. “Not yet. They’re doing the work under the shelter of marquees erected for the purpose.”

“Both of them? Simultaneously?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That is alarming.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Special Agent Phillips, has your surveillance picked up any phone calls or electronic messages that refer to this activity?”

“No, ma’am. I checked with my team in Washington. Mahmoud has gone all quiet, and we don’t have our taps here in yet.”

Dame Felicity picked up a phone from a table beside her. “Please video-conference me with Director Lance Cabot at the CIA and Assistant Director Lev Epstein at the FBI.” She put down the phone. “This is going to take a few minutes,” she said. “Special Agent Phillips, while we’re waiting, can you give me some idea of what we’re dealing with?”

“I’ll try, ma’am,” Quentin said. He took a deep breath and began.