Stealth

51

With sunlight streaming through the windows, Stone looked up at Dame Felicity, who was astride him and lacked only a whip in her inventory of inventiveness, for which he was grateful. She was smiling, and then her face became beatific, as she issued the noises of pleasure.

Finally she fell sideways into bed, limp. Stone was limp, too.

“Something we forgot last evening,” Felicity said, turning to face him.

“I didn’t think we forgot anything,” Stone said.

“Forgot to discuss,” Felicity said, giving him a light slap across the chops to focus his attention.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“What?”

“If our suppositions are correct, Roger has already performed a task for his Russian betters.”

“I forget,” Stone said. “What task?”

“The shooting of Vice-Admiral Simon Garr.”

“Oh, yes. He had drifted from my consciousness.”

“Well, if Roger was the assassin, why?”

“I believe,” Stone said, “having trained with him a bit at Station Two, that Roger had some skills with pistols and knives that might qualify him for such work.”

“Yes, but why Simon? He had been retired for two years and, rumor had it, was exhibiting signs of dementia. Why on earth would the Russians want him dead? And, it follows, why Roger to do the job? Lots of people are good with a pistol, and the range was only a few feet?”

“Did Roger have a connection to Garr?” Stone asked.

“They were at the Naval College together, Simon a year ahead of Roger.”

“It might be good to read both their dossiers from that time and see if there’s something else to consider.”

“Well,” Felicity said, “it couldn’t hurt.” She picked up her iPhone and tapped in a message. “There. People will be awake soon, and we’ll hear back.”

Stone sat up, picked up the room phone, and ordered breakfast, then he lay back. “It occurs to me that we would know none of this new information about Roger, or about his newfound friendship with the Russians, if you had not had him followed after you gave him the boot.”

“Probably not,” Felicity said.

“Do you have everyone followed who resigns or is fired?”

“Not usually,” she replied, “unless the leave-taking is by an employee who is sufficiently disgruntled to wish us ill.”

“And Roger was disgruntled, wasn’t he?”

“Look at it from his point of view,” she said. “First, he was transferred to Station Two, and the Scottish Highlands, in winter, is not a posting most officers of rank would think attractive.”

“One reason for disgruntlement.”

“Then, somehow or other, he’s sent to MI-6, to a posting that he is unqualified for, and he’s promoted to brigadier.”

“Would the rank come with the posting?”

“Probably. If one is a colonel and receives a promotion, then the rank would follow, or retirement. It’s the same in your services, I believe.”

“Roger has a history of blackmailing gay superiors to get better assignments, does he not?”

“Yes.”

“Who, in this case, would have been his target?”

“The foreign minister, it would seem. He’s kept a boyfriend on staff for decades, and the deputy director job was within his gift, though normally he would discuss it with me first.”

“And he didn’t this time?”

“He did not.”

“How long did Roger serve in the post?”

“He claimed it for a couple of weeks, but I don’t think he served for a minute. The only task I gave him was to go to the States, to visit your lot and have a chat with them. I had intended to keep him traveling for a year or so, then find an excuse to sack him.”

“And why did you do so sooner than planned?”

“The thing with the foreign minister came to light, however dimly, and I did it to show him I would not allow my service to be a dumping ground for the incompetent and, in Roger’s case, the disagreeable.”

“That’s two reasons for Roger to be disgruntled.”

“Correct. I ordered him watched because I thought he was angry enough to look for a way to retaliate.”

“Quite right,” Stone said.

Felicity’s phone chimed, and she read a rather long message. “There is a connection between Roger and Simon Garr,” she said. “On Roger’s first night at Dartmouth, Simon tried to bugger him, and Roger gave him a bloody nose. After that, feelings were tense between them, and there was at least one successful attempt by Roger to blackmail Simon into getting him a promotion.”

“So they hated each other?” Stone asked.

“Apparently so.”

“And that could be the motive for Roger to shoot Simon in the head? An awful lot of time had passed, had it not?”

“Yes, but they both worked at the Admiralty at one time and would have had contact there, perhaps creating other opportunities for the engendering of ill will between them.”

“I believe I’m beginning to get the idea,” Stone said.

“What idea? Why would the Russians care if there was ill will between two retired flag officers?”

“Practice,” Stone said.

“Practice? What are you talking about?”

“They wanted to see if Roger would assassinate someone, and, for insurance, they chose somebody for whom he already had ill feelings, to give him impetus. It was a practice run, and Roger passed the test.”

“I don’t understand. Practice for what?”

“Another assassination?” Stone suggested.

“All right,” Felicity replied, “that’s bizarre, but it makes a kind of sense.”

“Also,” Stone said, “if Roger is caught and charged with Simon’s murder — or, after murdering someone else — he has a motive for the killings that would not seem to involve the Russians. They can just step back and allow him to take the heat.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t know where else to go,” Stone said.

“If you’re right,” Felicity said, “then all we have to do is figure out who the Russians want assassinated next.”

“Any thoughts on that subject?” Stone asked.

“Christ, I don’t know: the prime minister? The foreign minister?”

“Somebody important,” Stone said. “I’m thinking, you.”

Felicity blanched. “He wouldn’t dare,” she said.

“Remember whose car was the target at Station Two?” Stone asked.