Stealth

14

Stone woke later than usual and felt groggy. There was an empty brandy snifter on the bedside table, and he vaguely recalled Rose pouring them both one at bedtime. He got up, pulled on a robe, and made his way unsteadily to the bathroom, used the toilet, and splashed some cold water on his face, then returned to the bedroom. He had expected Rose to be asleep; there was an envelope on Rose’s side of the bed, but no Rose. There was an empty snifter on her side, too.

He sat down on the bed, opened the envelope, and found a letter, handwritten on Windward Hall stationery.

There was a sharp rap on his door. “Stone?” Sounded like Viv.

“Come in,” he called.

Viv came in, dressed for the day. “You’re usually an early riser, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s nearly ten o’clock. Are you all right?”

“I guess I slept a little too well,” he said. “Have you and Dino had breakfast?”

“A couple of hours ago.”

Stone picked up the phone and ordered breakfast for one.

“Where’s Rose?”

“She had to go back to the hospital in London,” Stone said, handing her the note.

Viv read it, then pulled up a chair next to his bed and sat down. “I’m not surprised,” she said. She picked up the brandy glass on his bedside table and sniffed it.

“Why not?”

“Do you recall our conversation of yesterday? Rose’s and mine?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was suspicious of some of the things she said, so I did some checking.”

“Checking what?”

“To begin with, St. George’s Hospital at Hyde Park Corner closed in the late eighties and moved to South London, to a place charmingly called Tooting. I called them, and they have no record of a Dr. Rose McGill. The building at Hyde Park Corner, which was a stately home called Lanesborough House before it was a hospital, was renovated, redone, and reopened as a hotel of that name in 1991. It’s said to be the most expensive in London.”

“That’s odd,” Stone said.

“Also, the county of Rutland is not the smallest in the country, as Rose stated. The Isle of Wight is.”

“You’d think Rose would have known that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would. I also had a check done of the property records in Rutland, going back a couple hundred years, and there is not now nor has there ever been a farm in the county owned by a family named McGill, Rose’s name. Indeed, there is only one McGill family in all of Rutland. They have operated a betting parlor in Oakham for four generations and do not have a family member named Rose.”

“Viv, I believe you’re telling me that I have been had, in some sort of way.”

“It would seem so.”

“Maybe.” Stone picked up his phone, found Felicity’s number, and called her.

“Good morning, Stone,” she said, after her call had been screened.

“Good morning, Felicity,” he replied. “I wonder if you could check something for me.”

“I’ll try.”

“Can you consult your records and see if MI-6 has an employee named Rose McGill?”

“One moment,” she said. He could hear the tapping of computer keys. “Now,” she said, “security regulations prevent me from confirming the name of an employee. However, I don’t believe there is a regulation that prevents me from denying that such an employee exists. In fact, we often make such denials. I can, though, tell you honestly that we have no record of an employee by that name.”

“You recall meeting her at dinner?”

“Of course. I’m not denying her existence, just her employment. You met her at Station Two, did you not?”

“I did.”

“How?”

“She came into the ward while I was being examined by another doctor.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t recall, but he was middle-aged and had a very handsome military mustache.”

“Yes, that would be Major St. George, who is the only physician based at Station Two.”

“Rose said she was doing a locum there.”

“That term would be used only if she were replacing another doctor who was away from the station. Clearly, Major St. George was present.”

“Clearly.”

“Was Brigadier Fife-Simpson present in the ward at that time?”

“Yes, he came in to yell at me for wrecking your car — at least, I think that’s what he was yelling about.”

“Had you seen Rose before that meeting? In the dining hall, perhaps, or on the grounds?”

“No.”

Felicity was silent for a moment. “I am inclined to think that Dr. McGill is a creature of the brigadier’s,” she said.

“Have you known the brigadier for long?”

“I had met him once or twice in passing, but I had never had a conversation with him until I drove up to Station Two in my erstwhile Aston Martin. Oh, incidentally, its replacement arrived this morning, a bit ahead of schedule, and it is indistinguishable from its predecessor. I thank you for ordering it.”

“I trust the MOD paid?”

“Astonishingly, they did. I was prepared to do combat with them over that.”

“Felicity, what am I to do about Rose McGill, if that, indeed, is her name?”

“Do you have her address and phone number?”

Stone thought about that. “No.”

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything you can do.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“If you hear from her again, see if you can worm that information out of her, then I can investigate further. For the present, I think all this is best kept between us. I shall not mention it to the brigadier until I am on firmer ground. Now, I must run to a meeting on the Muddle East.”

“Thank you, Felicity.” Stone hung up and turned to Viv. “Rose McGill does not exist,” he said, “at least, not for MI-6.”

“I had rather thought she might not,” Viv replied. “Shall I ask my people to track her down?”

“Maybe later. Right now, let’s let Felicity deal with the situation.” His breakfast arrived, and Viv made to go. “I’ll be going up to London tomorrow morning,” she said. “May I have a ride to the station?”

“Of course.”