Stealth

12

The following morning Stone was dressing when he got a phone call.

“It’s Felicity. Can you pop down to your dock, alone, for a chat?”

“Ten minutes,” Stone said.

“Perfect.” She hung up.

“Rose, I have to go out for a bit. Will you excuse me?”

“Can’t I come?”

“It’s a private matter.”

“Oh, all right. See you at lunch?”

“Sure. If you’d like to take a ride before then, invite Dino. When he was a boy his parents sent him to a dude ranch in Montana for a summer, to get rid of him, and he hasn’t gotten over it yet.”

“Perhaps I’ll do that.”

“Just press the button on the phone marked Stables.”

“Right.”

Stone went downstairs, got into the golf cart, and drove down to his dock, just in time to take Felicity’s lines. “Good morning,” he said.

“And to you. I have Bloody Marys already mixed. May I pour you one?”

“Thank you, yes.”

She opened a thermos bottle and poured two glasses.

“What’s up?” Stone asked, raising his glass and taking a sip.

“I wanted to speak to you about our newly minted brigadier,” she said.

“Your new number two.”

“Yes, but he was not my choice.”

“Then what’s going on, Felicity?”

She sat down next to him on the cockpit seat. “I appear to be under unusually intense scrutiny from above.”

“From how far above?”

“At least the foreign minister, to whom I report, but probably the PM, as well, and possibly the whole of the cabinet.”

“Then all that’s left is the editorial board of the Times.”

“That would not surprise me,” she said.

“What have you done to warrant all this attention from your betters?”

“I’ve thought about it, and I can’t imagine what.”

“Oh, come on, Felicity. You are always at odds on four or five things with the government. Pick one.”

“The strangest thing about all this is that I can’t think of one that would so turn up the temperature. It is a peculiarly tranquil time at the Circus.”

“All right, then why is Colonel — sorry, Brigadier Fife-Simpson, the instrument of their suspected displeasure?”

“I didn’t even know the man six months ago,” she said. “Then he was foisted upon me as director of training at Station Two, and he has, I must admit, done a very good job. The curriculum has been improved, and the failure rate among candidates has dropped markedly.”

“You mean, even I passed?”

“Well, yes, but that wouldn’t have surprised me.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “I knew you’d do well, that’s why I egged you on. What was your impression of the quality of the training?”

“High and intense. I haven’t learned so much in such a short time for many years — not since I took a cram course for the New York State Bar in preparation for taking the exam. Mind you, back then I was merely learning what I had already forgotten during the years since law school.”

“And the physical demands?”

“Demanding. Fortunately I was in pretty good shape — better than my classmates, who had been warming chairs for too long.”

“Those classmates, my dear, were the crème de la crème of our recruitment.”

“They were bright, I’ll give them that, but pudgy. The only one near my age who gave me a run for my money was Fife-Simpson himself, who took part in the long runs, and he looks to be a few years older than I.”

“He is three years older,” Felicity said.

“Oh,” Stone said. “I had to work hard to outrun him.”

“And what parts of the training did you dislike?”

“The knife training, using real knives. That was excessive, I thought — closer to street fighting than military. Fife-Simpson could have gutted me at will, I’m sure, and there were times when I thought he might.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Felicity said. “Legend has it that when he was a young lieutenant in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, he walked into the wrong pub and was set upon by half a dozen IRA toughs. He killed two of them with a broken bottle and reduced the other four to whimpering lumps of flesh.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that when we were training,” Stone said.

“I’m glad he showed some restraint,” Felicity said.

“Look, it sounds to me as though the powers that be have sent you a good man. Perhaps the thing to do is to use him well.”

“I knew you would say something sensible like that,” she replied. “Men!”

Stone laughed. “Would you rather they had sent you a bumbling idiot?”

“Yes, quite frankly. Bumbling idiots are easier to handle. They need only to be exposed. How would you handle this, Stone?”

“Either find a way to shunt him aside, or give him the toughest job you’ve got. That way he will either show himself to be inadequate to the task and humiliate those who sent him — or, he will solve your problem. I’d call that a win-win situation.”

Felicity sighed. “I was hoping you’d suggest that I just have him taken out and shot.”

“Then he wouldn’t be any good to you at all.”

Felicity kissed him lightly on the lips. “I wish they’d sent me you,” she said.

“Tell me, had you ever met Rose before our dinner together?”

“No, she is apparently too junior for me to have had contact with her. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Stone replied.