A Safe House

8

Stone was mulling over what Jenna had just said.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Jenna said.

“Excuse me, I have to make a call.” He got out his Agency-issued Apple phone and called Lance Cabot’s private number.

“Don’t tell me,” Lance said. “You’ve just finished breakfast, and you wanted to wake up somebody.”

“I’m sorry about that, Lance. I didn’t think about the time zone.”

“You’re lucky that I’m already up, or I would have somebody fire a Hellfire missile at your house. What’s up?”

Stone told him about the appearance of Senator Wallace Slade in London.

“That’s surprising,” Lance said. “I’ll put a tail on him.”

“You’ll have to find him, first,” Stone said. “He had breakfast at the Connaught this morning, where Dino also was. Dino followed him west of London, then southwest, toward Southampton.”

“And you,” Lance said.

“Exactly. He was accompanied by a man Jenna says is named Harley Quince, who Wallace hires for rough stuff and the occasional killing.”

“Description?”

“Hang on.” He turned to Jenna. “Can you describe Harley Quince?”

“About Wallace’s size, but slimmer and more muscular. He has yellow hair, like Donald Trump, after his dye job.”

Stone repeated that to Lance. “And he wears a black Stetson,” he added. “Wallace wears a white one. That should help with IDing them both.”

“How far would they be from you right now?”

“Assuming they’re headed here, about an hour. They should be on the M3 motorway by now.”

“What are they driving?”

“Dino says an elderly Rolls-Royce, and he has a driver.”

“What does Dino mean by ‘elderly’?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. Not a newer model, I guess.”

“Color?”

“He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“You’re both such a big help. Is Dino tailing him?”

“Not anymore. He was in a London taxi and he was out of sterling.”

“What do you have by way of weapons in the house?”

“I’ve got a matched brace of Purdey 12-gauge double-barreled shotguns and a deer rifle with a scope.”

“My advice is, use the deer rifle. Don’t wait until they’re close enough for the shotguns.”

“That’s helpful, Lance, thank you.”

“What you need is a couple of Kalashnikovs.”

“Well, don’t send any of those here. I’d have to explain them to the police, and they might not understand.”

“You’ve got that tame Chief Inspector Holmes around, haven’t you?”

“Sort of tame. He’s never bitten me, anyway.”

“I think he could get men with guns there faster than I,” Lance said. “We have a London station, but not a Hampshire one.”

“I’ll call Holmes. You call Felicity,” Stone said. “The request should go to her, and not from me.”

“All right,” Lance said, then hung up without further ado.

“What did Lance say?” Jenna asked.

Stone picked up the phone and dialed another number. “I don’t suppose you smuggled any automatic weapons into the country, did you?”

“I don’t remember doing so.”

“Hello, may I speak to Chief Inspector Holmes, please? My name is Stone Barrington.”

“This is Holmes,” a voice said sleepily. “Is that you, Barrington?”

“It is, Chief Inspector. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m informed that there may be men with weapons on their way to my house, with the intention of harming my houseguest, who is also a guest of the CIA.”

“Oh,” Holmes said drily. “I seem to get calls like this every day.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but do you suppose you could send a few well-armed men over here?”

“Armed with what?”

“Assault rifles would be a welcome sight.”

“This is not an American joke, is it?”

“It is not. I’ll be happy to put you in direct contact with the director of Central Intelligence, if it would help you make a quick decision.”

“How quick?”

“I’m told the assassins could be here in less than an hour.”

“My word. Let me see what we’ve got in our wee armory and who we’ve got who can fire a weapon without shooting himself in the foot. I’ll ring you back. You’re at the Beaulieu number, are you?”

“I am.”

Holmes hung up.

“What’s the news?” Jenna asked.

“I’m not sure,” Stone replied. “It’s hard to tell with the British. They don’t panic easily.”

“What do we need from them?”

“Panic.”

“I think I’d better get dressed, if we’re hoping for panic,” she said, running into her dressing room.

Stone got dressed, and went down to his study, where the gun cabinet lay.

He had just picked up the deer rifle when there was a hammering on the front door. He answered it to find two uniformed police officers and two plainclothesmen on the front steps, one of them Chief Inspector Holmes, and all of them were armed with light machine guns.

“Good morning, Stone,” Holmes said. “I believe we’re expected.”

“Not only expected, but very welcome,” Stone replied, waving them in.

Holmes looked at his wristwatch. “I see we’ve beaten the villains here.”

“You have. Come in and let me get you some coffee.” He stopped the passing butler and gave him instructions.

Shortly, the four men were arrayed in the library, their weapons on the floor beside them, drinking coffee and eating what they liked to call biscuits, which Stone was quite sure should be called cookies.

“Well,” Holmes said, setting down his empty cup and consulting his watch again, “the villains are late.”

Stone heard the crunch of gravel coming from the front of the house. “Aha!” he said, starting toward the front door, waving for his guests to follow him. He opened the door in time to hear something with a large engine driving away from the house and back toward the village.

“Chief Inspector,” Stone said. “Perhaps when you answer a call of this nature it would be better to arrive in unmarked cars.” He stepped outside and let them check out their vehicles, which were resplendent with markings related to the Hampshire Police.

“Ah, well, yes,” Holmes muttered. “Make a note, Willis.” Willis made a note.

“Well,” Holmes said, “we seem to have achieved our purpose by merely showing up. Gentlemen, shall we?”

“If you’re short of parking space back at your station,” Stone said, “you’re welcome to leave a car parked here for a week or so. You could park a couple of your machine guns, as well.”

“I’m afraid both those requests can only be honored by the home secretary,” Holmes said. “Do you know him?”

“I’m afraid not,” Stone replied. He thanked them all, and they drove away. He had forgotten to mention the elderly Rolls-Royce.