Stealth

50

Stone met Felicity at his dock and took her lines, then they drove up to his house in the golf cart, chatting about the lovely weather and whatever else crossed their minds.

The table had been set for two in the library, but first, Stone made her a martini and himself a Knob Creek on the rocks. They raised their glasses.

“Collaboration,” Felicity suggested as a toast.

Stone raised his glass, too. “Collaboration.”

Felicity took a deep draught of her martini. “Tell me what you know about the brigadier’s situation,” she said.

“Certainly. Let’s skip backward to the evening before last,” Stone said. “I expect you’re up-to-date for the period before that.”

“All I know is that a car called for them — he in black tie and she stylishly dressed. Unfortunately, my people lost them again after that, and they did not return until after midnight.”

“Our people lost them, too, but they turned up at the Russian embassy, where the Agency, merely by chance, has a very complete and high-definition video and audio system — installed during renovations to the building last year.” Stone handed her an envelope of stills taken from the video, and Felicity went carefully through them.

“Well,” she said, “it’s like the senior dance at the school of espionage, isn’t it. I’m quite surprised that our Roger made the guest list — and at the head table, as well.”

“That surprised Langley, too,” Stone said. “This photo,” he said, pointing at one, “shows a gentleman, unidentified currently, handing Roger a Russian diplomatic passport with his photo in it and bearing the name Sergei Ivanovich Ostrovsky, which would seem to mean that they think highly enough of Roger to provide him with a means of escape from Britain or Europe, in the event that he finds himself in deep water.”

“Ah, yes,” Felicity said. “I’ve no doubt that they will be providing him with a complete identity package and a legend in due course, if they haven’t already.” She picked out a shot of the dinner table. “I know all of these people except this gentleman,” she said, pointing at Alex. “Anything on him?”

“A great deal, as it happens. He turns out to be an Englishman. You recall that you and I had dinner last year at the London home of the Duke of Kensington?”

“Of course.”

“Thomas is the duke’s family name, is it not?”

“It is.”

“The gentleman to whom you refer is Wilfred Henry Charles Thomas, the duke’s third son, who is also Earl of Chelsea.”

“I recall that the duke had an heir and a spare, but I thought that number three had been shuffled off into the Royal Army, the Royal Navy, or the Church, which are the usual destinations of third sons.”

“Apparently Wilfred exhibited a more independent streak. After studying at Harrow and Oxford, where he read languages, prominently including Russian, he set himself up as a dealer in rare and antique books, and also bookbinding, at a shop in the Burlington Arcade.”

“What a nice cover for a newly cultivated spy for the Russians,” she said. “I believe I have been into that shop once or twice.”

“As has Lance,” Stone added. “A little more history: Wilfred and a fellow named Elihu Sands, known as Eli, were friends from childhood and at school and shared rooms at Oxford, where they both found suitable girls to marry. It is rumored that Wilfred also found the time to impregnate Eli’s girlfriend, resulting in one Jennifer Sands, the brigadier’s new squeeze, who sits at the table next to Wilfred. Perhaps you can detect a family resemblance?”

“It seems quite obvious, now that you point it out. Do we know what the state of knowledge is among this group? Who knows what and who doesn’t?”

“I think we should assume that they all know, except Lady Thomas, who expired some four years ago. If he didn’t know at Oxford, certainly before his death Eli Sands had observed the resemblance of his friend, Wilfred, to his supposed daughter, Jennifer.”

“Very probably,” Felicity said. “Now, what does all this mean?”

“Lance and I were hoping it might mean something to you and your people because he doesn’t have a clue.”

“You overestimate my powers,” Felicity said. “It certainly explains the source of Jennifer’s net worth, and the new flat and new car. I rather think the girl might be in love.”

“Given what I know of the brigadier, I find that surprising. Perhaps you can give me a female’s perspective on the attractiveness of Roger to the opposite sex?”

“Medium, I should think,” Felicity replied. “Some women are as attracted to military rank as to money, and I imagine Roger has taken advantage of that over the years.”

They were called to dinner. Stone tasted and then poured the wine. “Something else,” Stone said. “Roger disappeared from anyone’s sight for, what, three days? We wonder where he went.”

“I believe I can shed some light on that,” Felicity said. “We lost him in the south London suburbs, and we deduced that he might have been headed to one of the airports south of London. We did our due diligence and discovered that a Falcon Jet departed Biggin Hill on that day with three passengers, filed for Copenhagen. Halfway there, however, the pilots changed their destination to Sevastopol International Airport, in Crimea.”

“Ah, a holiday in the sun,” Stone said.

“We had no track of him on the ground, but he was, no doubt, taken to a house on the sea, of which there are many, dating back to tsarist times. I expect he was made comfortable there while they indoctrinated him to a satisfactory degree.”

“Do you think Roger has inclinations toward the Russians?”

“I think Roger has inclinations toward money, and they have plenty of it to throw around, not to mention Jennifer’s fortune.”

“So, Roger has found both love and money.”

“It would seem so,” Felicity replied. “I wonder what it’s going to cost him.”

“Something else we might give some thought to,” Stone said.

“What might that be?”

“They’ve invested so much in Roger in a short time, and taken such pains to give him a new identity.”

“They certainly have,” Felicity admitted.

“The question arises: Why? What are they readying him for that would require so much effort? And why Roger rather than some clerk?”

“Yes,” Felicity said, “we will have to give that some thought.”