Lucid Intervals

38

Stone arrived home, garaged his car and walked into his office to find Felicity and Joan sitting on the leather sofa, sipping tea. Felicity looked shaken.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Joan spoke up. “Felicity had an encounter with Dolce,” she said. “I was getting out of the Rolls,” Felicity said. “My driver was holding the door open for me, and suddenly this woman appeared out of nowhere with a knife in her hand. She swung it at my throat, but my driver got an arm in the way and took a bad cut on his forearm. Fortunately, the woman ran away.”

“Was he badly hurt?”

“We had the police and an ambulance, and he was taken to an emergency room. He’ll be back at work tomorrow morning.”

“And you… How are you?”

She held up her teacup. “Joan has kindly administered the cure-all for any British subject,” she said. “A nice cup of tea. I’m just fine.”

“Does Eduardo know about this?” Stone asked Joan.

“I called him as soon as it was over. He was shocked, of course, but he took it well. He said he would do everything possible to see that such an incident not happen again, but he advised you to leave the house for a few days while he takes care of it.”

“I can go back to the embassy,” Felicity said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Stone replied. “What do you need to work besides a phone, a fax machine and a computer?”

“Those are my basic tools while I’m here,” she said.

Stone went to the phone and called Jim Hackett’s direct office line.

“This is Heather Finch,” a voice said.

“Ms. Finch, this is Stone Barrington.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Barrington. Congratulations on your success with the jet. Dan Phelan has faxed us a glowing report on your performance.”

“I’m calling because Jim kindly offered me the use of the airplane if he didn’t need it.”

“He’s out of the country at the moment and won’t be back for another week or ten days, so I’m sure that will be all right. Just leave me a number where I can reach you.”

Stone gave her the number and his cell number, thanked her and hung up. He walked back to where Felicity sat. “Pack a bag,” he said. “I’m taking you away from all this tomorrow morning.”

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone backed out of his garage and drove Felicity to Teterboro Airport, with a black SUV in tow, containing two armed guards. An hour later they were in the air, headed to the Northeast.

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me where we’re going,” she said, when they were at 33,000 feet and Stone was no longer so busy with navigating his way out of New York airspace.

“If I didn’t tell you, then you couldn’t tell anybody else,” he said, “and I didn’t want anybody else to know. Once we’re there, you can tell whoever needs to know.”

“Once we’re where?” she demanded.

“I expect that, in the course of your work, you must have met Richard Stone.”

“Of course. Dick was the CIA station chief in London some years ago,” she replied. “He directed the agency’s European operations from there. I was very sad to hear of his death.”

Stone nodded. Dick Stone and his wife and daughter had been murdered on an island in Maine. “Dick was my first cousin,” Stone said, “and in his will he left me the use of his Maine house for my lifetime. After I’m dead it will be sold, and the proceeds will go to an agency foundation set up for the widows and orphans of personnel killed in the line of duty.”

“I had heard that you two were related and that you were responsible for the solving of the murders.”

“I was able to help,” Stone said.

“Where is the house?”

“It’s on the island of Islesboro, in the village of Dark Harbor, in Penobscot Bay, the largest bay in Maine. Dick had a very well-equipped office there, with everything you’ll need.”

“I can establish secure computer and other communications links with my office, then.”

“I rather thought you could,” Stone said. A little later, as they were descending through 11,000 feet, he pointed to the airport at Rockland before turning for Islesboro and beginning his final descent through the last 3,000 feet to the airfield, which lay dead ahead several miles.

“Can you land a jet on that little strip?” Felicity asked.

“We’re about to find out,” Stone replied. “I’m going to make an approach, and if I don’t feel good about it, we’ll go back to Rockland and get someone to fly us to Islesboro in something smaller.”

“Nothing like experimentation,” Felicity said.

Stone canceled his flight plan with Augusta Approach and descended toward the Islesboro airfield. He retarded the throttles, lowered the landing gear and put in a notch of flaps to lose speed. “The key is to cross the threshold at Vref,” he said, “which is the final approach speed, given the landing weight of the airplane. We’ve burned off a thousand pounds of fuel, and there are just the two of us, so we’re light.”

“That’s terribly reassuring,” she said, looking unconvinced. “Exactly how long is that runway?”

“Two thousand four hundred and fifty feet,” Stone said.

“Have you ever landed on a runway that short?”

“No, but I’ve landed on several that were only three thousand feet and with plenty of room to spare. Our speed is right on the money, and it takes only twelve hundred feet to stop the airplane once it’s on the runway, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Trust the airplane.”

“I hardly know the airplane,” she said.

“Shhh, I have to concentrate now.”

“Please do,” she muttered.

As Stone cleared the treetops near the end of the runway, he pulled the throttles back to idle and aimed just under the numbers. The little jet settled onto the paved strip, and Stone deployed the speedbrakes and stood hard on the brakes, which were excellent. They turned off the runway and taxied to a parking spot.

“May I open my eyes now?” Felicity asked.

“Of course,” Stone said. “We had about seven hundred feet to spare when we turned off the runway.”

“I suppose you’re very pleased with yourself,” she said.

“I am,” he replied, setting the parking brake and working through the shutdown checklist. He turned off the last switch, got out of his seat, opened the door and deployed the little set of stairs. A man stood outside the door, and Stone handed him his briefcase. “Hello, Seth,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. Seth Hotchkiss was the caretaker of the Stone property, and he drove a 1938 Ford station wagon, beautifully restored.

“Hello, Mr. Stone,” Seth replied. “You have a new airplane, I see.”

“I’m afraid it’s only borrowed,” Stone replied, unlocking and opening the forward luggage compartment.

Felicity appeared at the airplane’s door. “Is there actual earth I can set foot on?” she asked.

“No, there’s just tarmac,” Stone replied, taking her hand. “Seth, this is Felicity Devonshire.” The two shook hands.

He put the engine plugs in place, the pitot covers on, and switched off the airplane’s battery to preserve its charge.

TEN MINUTES LATER they were at the house, a handsome and roomy shingle-style home, and Seth’s wife was giving Felicity the tour. Stone dug a card from his pocket and called an extension at state police headquarters in Augusta.

“Captain Scott Smith,” a deep voice said.

“Captain, it’s Stone Barrington.” The two had met when Stone was investigating his cousins’ murders.

“Mr. Barrington, how are you? Are you in Maine?”

“I’m well, and I’m on Islesboro.”

“How can I help you?”

“I’ve just flown a friend here from New York. Yesterday she and her driver were attacked outside my house by a woman of my acquaintance wielding a knife. The driver was hurt, and the woman got away, but in the past she has been unusually persistent in finding me.”

The captain asked for her description, and Stone gave it to him. “Tell you what,” the captain said. “I have a regular patrol in the Camden-Lincolnville area. I’ll have the car swing by there whenever the outbound ferry is boarding and keep an eye out for her. They’ll see that nobody matching that description gets on until they’ve contacted you. I assume you’re at the Stone house.”

“That’s correct, and I appreciate it, Captain.”

“Glad to be of help.”

Stone hung up as Felicity entered the room. He unlocked Dick’s little office and showed her the room, with its computers and other equipment.

“This will do nicely,” Felicity said, taking a seat at the desk. “Now, if you’ll give me an hour or so, I’ll start letting my people know I’m still alive.” She looked at him over her reading glasses. “I hope the takeoff will be less exciting than the landing,” she said.