Distant Thunder

37

The following morning, Stone took Vanessa out onto the lawn, where they spread a blanket and watched the start of several yacht races, then they walked up to the pavilion for some lunch, where Lance joined them.

“I’ve made some calls,” Lance said, “and I’m advised that Russians are thin on the ground in London, so if you want to go up for a couple of days, I think it will be all right.”

Stone immediately phoned the Connaught and booked a suite. “Are you coming?” he asked Lance.

“All right.”

Stone booked a room for him, too.

After lunch, they went for a drive around the island for a couple of hours, with one of Lance’s cars staying a hundred feet behind them. They drove up to the Needles, the chalk rocks at the western end of the island, which had been worn down to lumps over the decades. Stone and Vanessa got out of the car and walked down to the big rocks and watched the waves break over them for a while. Then, as they turned to walk back to the car, Stone saw a man get out of Lance’s pursuit car and dive to the ground, sighting his rifle.

Stone hurried Vanessa into the car, and they accelerated quickly. His cell phone rang, and he answered it.

“False alarm,” Lance said coolly. “Some fellow with a shotgun out for rabbits.”

“I’m glad your people are alert,” Stone said, then hung up.

“Are we safe?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes, it was a false alarm; someone shooting rabbits.”

“I’m glad we weren’t the rabbits.”

They drove up to London the following day, uneventfully, with Lance riding shotgun and the pursuit car where it was supposed to be. They checked into the Connaught and ordered a room service lunch, then had a nap.

Later, Stone followed Vanessa up and down Bond Street where she deftly applied Stone’s credit card to the stripping of half a dozen shops. They sent the boxes and bags back to the Connaught, where the concierge sent them up to their suite.

That evening, they had a drink in the hotel’s American Bar, then strolled over to Harry’s Bar, a restaurant a couple of blocks away, for dinner. They had Blinis, then ordered. Their first course had just been set before them when a man and a woman were seated at a table directly across the room from them. Stone thought the man looked familiar, but, he recalled, half the people in the world seemed to look familiar.

They were having their main course when the penny dropped in Stone’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asked.

“Nothing,” Stone said, reaching for his cell phone.

“Yes?” Lance said.

“It’s Stone.”

“And how is Harry’s Bar?”

“As ever, except for one detail.”

“What is that?”

“A man I believe to be Valery Majorov has been seated, along with a woman, at a table in front of us across the room.”

“Are you certain?”

“No, since I’ve only seen the man once, a couple of years ago in Paris.”

“Where are you in your dinner?”

“Our main course was just delivered.”

“Finish it, sign your bill, then follow the headwaiter, who will take you to a rear door of the restaurant. You’ll find yourselves in a garden.”

“I know the place.”

“Can you find your way back to the Connaught from there?”

“Yes.”

“Keep it as casual as you can. Walk, don’t run.”

“Right.” Stone hung up.

“Did you say that the man directly across from us is Valery Majorov?”

“Yes. Don’t look at him. You’ll turn to stone.”

“I’ve already looked at him once, and I don’t want a second glimpse.”

“Then just look into my eyes,” Stone said.

“Are you packing?”

“Yes,” Stone replied.

“I’m so glad.”

“Relax, Lance has given us exit instructions. Eat your dinner.”

“I seem to have lost my appetite,” she replied.

“Doesn’t looking at me make you hungry?”

“Perhaps.”

“We’ll have dessert in our suite,” he said, as the check was put before him. He added a big tip, signed for the bill, and rose. “Don’t hurry,” he said.

The waiter pulled out the table for them and they followed the headwaiter to the garden door and stepped outside.

“How lovely,” Vanessa said, looking around.

“Just follow the walk, and we’ll take the first left.”

She took Stone’s arm and followed his instructions. Stone heard a door close behind them and held her back when she tried to hurry. They turned left and came out onto Mount Street and crossed it. The entrance to the Connaught was at hand, and they used it. A man followed them into the elevator, and Stone unbuttoned his jacket and felt for the butt of the pistol on his belt.

“Don’t bother, old man,” the man said. “I’m with Lance.” The door opened, and in a moment, they were inside their suite. Lance awaited them before the fire, a cognac in his hand.

“Do sit down,” he said.

They sat down, and Lance poured them a drink. “Was it Majorov?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know. He was a passable double, though. You’re not crazy, just a little paranoid.” He took a sip of his brandy. “I think we’ll go home tomorrow, though, just on the off chance.”