Stealth

8

The following morning, while Rose was in the tub, Stone called Mike Freeman.

“Are you still in England?” Mike asked.

“Yes, at the Connaught. We’re driving down to Windward Hall this morning, and we need our backs watched.” Stone told him about the incident in the Scottish Highlands.

“How soon are you leaving?”

“In about an hour.”

“I’ll have a chase vehicle for you by then. It will be a white SUV with darkened windows. And I’ll have a couple of men on duty at Windward late this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Mike.” They both hung up, then Stone called Felicity.

“Ah, there you are,” she said archly. “I was thinking you were afraid to speak to me after what you did to my beautiful motorcar.”

“You’ve heard about the sniper and the tire?”

“I have.”

“I took that to mean they were after you, not me.”

“Oh, really! They wouldn’t dare!”

“And your brand-new, duplicate motorcar will be delivered the first of next week, all paid for by the MOD.”

“I don’t know how you managed to get money out of that lot. I’ve rarely been able to.”

“My native charm, I guess.”

“I understand you did quite well on the course — for a senior person.”

“I was the oldest in the class.”

“Where are you off to now?”

“Down to Windward, then to New York sometime after that.”

“I understand you have company.”

“Word does get around, doesn’t it?”

“You can hide nothing from me,” Felicity said. “I should think you would know that by now.”

“I know it well, and I would never attempt it.”

“Let me know when you’re free again.”

“Certainly.”

Rose came out of the bathroom, and Stone hung up.

“Who was that?”

“We will have a chase car on our way south, and a couple of men watching over the house.”

“Very good. When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you’re packed,” he said, making for the bathroom.

A white Range Rover was parked across the street from the Connaught. The driver’s window slid down half a foot and the man at the wheel nodded at Stone. His car arrived and was packed by the bellman, then they were off.

“What sort of car is this?” Rose asked.

“It’s a Porsche Cayenne Turbo,” Stone replied.

“You should have brought it to Scotland.”

“If I had, it would now be on Station Two’s rubbish heap.”

“A good point, but perhaps they were shooting at the Aston Martin, not you.”

“Perhaps I’m overrating my importance.”

She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t see our protection.”

“You’re not supposed to, but it’s a white SUV with dark windows. So if you see anything like that, don’t be alarmed.”

They drove southwest, past Southampton and through the village of Beaulieu.

“I know this town,” she said. “My father brought me here to the motorcar museum when I was a little girl.”

“The museum is still there, if you’d like to pay another visit.”

An hour and a half after their departure they drove through the gates of Windward Hall.

“My word!” Rose said, looking at the house. “I wasn’t expecting anything so grand.”

“In the world of country houses, this is called cozy,” Stone replied. “If you want grand, there’s an Arrington Hotel next door.”

“How many are there?”

“Also Paris, Rome, and Los Angeles.” He stopped the car and a couple of staff materialized and took their luggage away.

Before they could get inside, the white Range Rover pulled into the drive and two men got out.

“See anything?” Stone asked.

“Yes, we did,” the driver replied. “A black van with a souped-up engine, but we crowded him a little, and he left the motorway an hour back. I expect he was surprised he got rumbled.”

“Keep surprising those people,” Stone said.

He led Rose into the house and gave her the tour. A table was set for lunch in the library, and they each had a glass of sherry first.

“So, what did our guards say?”

“There was someone behind us, but not anymore. Don’t worry, I didn’t order them shot. As soon as they knew they were being observed, they broke off the chase.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you had ordered them shot,” Rose said.