Hot Pursuit

43

Holly was gone when Millie woke up, and after breakfast she busied herself with moving into the suite. The maids had just left after changing the bed and cleaning when her cell rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Ian. Sleep well?”

“It’s one of the things I do best.”

“Anything new from the FBI?”

“Yes. They were unable to match the photograph of Moe with any existing face in their database, but they came up with two drawings of how he might look now. I showed them to Holly Barker last night, and she believed she recognized one of them as someone she saw at a party in Washington on the night of the inauguration of the president. He may be an official at either the Saudi or the Dahai embassy in Washington. It’s being checked out.”

“I hope that’s true — it would be very helpful.”

“What did your people come up with?”

“Nothing on Moe. However, I’ve been chatting with some of our people who have served in Dahai in the past, and one of them provided an interesting rumor.”

“I love a good rumor.”

“Well, hang on to your hat. The rumor is that a favored woman in the sultan’s harem gave birth to twin boys around thirty years ago.”

“That works, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Apparently, there was great excitement surrounding the births. Some adherents of Islam believe that twins are a special gift from God and that they have unusual powers.”

“What sort of powers?”

“I don’t know, and I haven’t been able to find out.”

“Does Dahai keep birth records?”

“Yes, but we don’t know yet if members of the sultan’s household would be registered. It’s being checked. Another thing — the woman who was the mother was Egyptian and had very light skin. Most people took her for a European.”

“This all fits with the boys from Eton,” she said, “and with the special transportation provided for them when they left. Surely not even a sultan would send a large private jet for non-royals of no particular distinction. But if these boys are his sons...”

“Yes, it all ties in very neatly, and it’s not the sort of thing one could make up, is it?”

“What we need now is an asset in the sultan’s household. Does MI6 have one of those?”

“If we did I would deny it.”

“Are you denying it?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t tell you anything, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

“I believe the next step is to find out if your people down at that place in Virginia have such an asset.”

“If they did,” Millie said, “I think their attitude would be much the same as yours.”

“You said your boss was an old Agency hand — maybe they’ll tell her.”

“She left this morning to fly with the president to Paris, Berlin, and Rome.”

“I believe they have telephone service on Air Force One, do they not?”

“I’ll call her. You go and rattle the cage of your tech guys. I want to know if they were able do anything with that photograph.”

“Roger, over and out.” Ian hung up.

Millie called Holly and got her voice mail. “Call me, as soon as you can,” she said.

Less than an hour later, Holly called. “We’re in the motorcade to the Élysée Palace,” she said. “What’s up?”

Millie passed on the rumor regarding the twins. “Can you find out if the Agency has an asset in the sultan’s household? We need to know a lot more.”

“I’ll call Lance,” Holly said. “Gotta run, we’re passing through the gates of the palace.” She hung up.

Millie had nothing to do for the rest of the day, so she went shopping again.

Two hours later, while sharing the backseat of her car with half a dozen carrier bags, her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“I have Lance Cabot for you,” a woman said. “Can you accept the call?”

“Yes.”

“Is that Millicent Martindale?” a smooth voice asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“Are you on a secure line in a secure location?”

“I’m on my White House cell phone in an embassy car, in London,” she replied. “Is that secure enough?”

“That will do,” Cabot said. “This is the first time we’ve spoken, is it not?”

“It is.”

“I trust it won’t be the last. Tell me about this rumor you’ve heard. It’s from our friends at MI6, I believe?”

“It is.” Millie explained about the twins.

“I don’t believe our British friends have enough imagination to invent that,” Lance said. “I’ll see what assets we might have in place.”

“You might check with former or retired assets,” Millie said, “since the births would have been around thirty years ago.”

“Very good. Now, about the stooge you call Moe: we have ascertained that the photograph — the one with the beard — may be of the chargé d’affaires at the Dahai embassy in Washington. His name is Ali Mahmoud, and he’s quite the social animal around town.”

“That’s very interesting,” Millie said, “because the twins, while they were at Eton, received regular funds from an account at the Devin Bank in London belonging to a Sheik Mahmoud, of Dahai.”

“Very interesting, indeed,” Lance said. “Perhaps you should ask your friend at the Bureau to begin surveilling him.”

“I’ll do that.”

“You should ask him for maximum surveillance, which means by every available means.”

“I’ll ask for that.”

“When do you return to Washington?”

“I don’t know. That will depend on what I can get done here.”

“It sounds as if you’re getting quite a lot done. When you come back, perhaps you should come out to Langley for lunch and meet some people.”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

Lance hung up.

“Denny,” she said to her driver, “I’m starving. Where can I go for lunch?”

“Do you like Italian food?”

“Very much.”

“Well, then, it’s La Famiglia.” He made a quick U-turn and aimed at Chelsea.