Millie tapped him on the shoulder. “I can get it for you, and without the red tape.”
“Did I just hear the voice of Ms. Martindale?” Lev asked.
“She says she can get us the drone without the red tape.”
“Then tell her to do it! I’m out of this! But don’t you arm that thing without my permission!” He hung up.
“Okay,” Quentin said. “Get me a drone.”
“For surveillance?”
Quentin thought about that. “Multipurpose,” he said. “I want something that can hang up there for days, and that can be armed if necessary.”
“Explain.”
He told her about Moe’s drone flying.
Millie kicked him out of the chair, sat down at the desk, picked up the green phone, and dialed Holly’s number.
“Hey,” Holly said.
“Where are you?”
“Berlin. We just got in from a big dinner. We’re off to Rome tomorrow morning.”
“Quentin Phillips just arrived with his team, and there’s news from D.C.” She told her about Moe’s drone and what Quentin wanted. “The FBI doesn’t have any drones, or at least, any suitable ones, but the Agency does, apparently out at Camp Peary. It’s going to take the president to order it.”
“What, exactly, does he want?”
“A drone with a camera that can hover for long periods of surveillance and that can be armed later, if it becomes necessary.”
“That sounds like two drones to me,” Holly said.
“Okay, two drones — one in the air, one on call.”
“I’ll get back to you,” Holly said.
Holly hung up as the doorbell rang. “That will be dinner,” Millie said. She opened the door and admitted a waiter with a tray table. When he had gone, she said, “Holly will get back to us.”
“Can she really get the president to make that call?”
“If anybody can, it’s Holly. Now eat.”
They were on dessert when the phone rang, and Millie ran for it. “Hello?”
“Tell Quentin to call Lance Cabot at the following number.”
Millie wrote it down. “Got it.” But Holly had already hung up.
“Okay,” she said to Quentin. “Call Lance Cabot, at this number.” She handed him the pad and gave him the desk chair. “Put him on speaker.”
Quentin sat down and asked for the number.
It rang once, then: “Lance Cabot.”
“Director Cabot, this is Special Agent Quentin Phillips, FBI.”
“Hello, Quentin. I hear you want to borrow my air force.”
“Only two drones, sir.”
“That is agreeable. I’ve already given the order to our people at Camp Peary. We’re doing this under the condition that only our people operate them. We’re not turning them over to you. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“The code name for the first drone is ‘Stalker,’ which will be your surveillance craft. Where do you want it?”
“The Dahai government maintains an apartment building for diplomats off Dupont Circle.”
“We know that place. We’ll station Stalker at two thousand feet, circling the building. The lenses aboard will bring you in close enough to read the warning label on a pack of cigarettes. My people will give you radio frequencies and phone numbers you can use to request changes in station or to follow a person or vehicle. The video signal will be broadcast from a satellite.”
“May we view the images in both Washington and London? I’m in London now.”
“It requires a relay, but the short answer is yes.”
“What about the second drone?”
“That is code-named ‘Condor.’ It can be armed with a Gatling gun and/or a Hellfire missile.”
“Both, please.”
“And it will not leave the ground or fire without a presidential order — that’s the president on the phone with me — do you understand?”
“I understand, sir.”
“I will now give the order to position Stalker over the embassy apartment building and to establish radio and phone contact with your people in the basement of the Hoover Building.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank me when it’s over — if it works.” Lance hung up.
“We’re in business,” Quentin said.
Millie took him by an ear. “Business later, sex now.” She led him to the bedroom.
54
The following morning Stone showered and dressed, then packed his bag; Pat was already packed, he noted. He walked into the sitting room for breakfast to find her at her computer, with a hotel printer on the desk.
“Morning,” she said. “Sleep well?”
“Pretty well.”
“Are you still worried about Paul Reeves?”
“A little. I wish he’d get it over with.”
“Relax, by noon you’ll be on your way to Reykjavik.” She handed him a sheaf of papers. “Your weather forecast and your flight plan, already filed for noon local. A sunny day, all the way to Goose Bay. I recommend you go all the way today — it’ll be worse tomorrow.”
Stone looked at the flight plans. “Seven hours in the air: I can do that.”
“There’s a decent hotel at Goose Bay. I’ll book you in.”
The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “It’s for you,” he said, handing it to Pat.
“Hello? Hi there, how’s it going? That’s really good news — it’s a good-weather day. We’ll be at Coventry between ten and eleven. I’ll file for twelve. See you then.” She hung up. “Good tidings: my client’s CJ4 is ready and flight-tested. He’s meeting me at Coventry.”
“Good for you.”
“We’ll be in Wichita tonight. I’ll fly back to New York tomorrow.”
“You’d better come to my house — we don’t know what’s going on at your place.”
“You talked me into it.”
Dino and Viv joined them, and breakfast arrived.
The bellman came for their luggage. Dino pointed at two pieces. “Those two go into the second car. My wife is going back to London. The rest go in our Jaguar.”
They put Viv into her car and said goodbye, then they loaded their luggage and drove away from Cliveden a little after ten. The weather was superb: warm and sunny with a nice breeze. He chose BBC Three on the radio, and the excellent sound system filled the car with soft classical music.
“I have a feeling we’re going to see Reeves at the airport,” Stone said.
“So what? At the very worst, you’ll get a chance to punch him in the nose. I wouldn’t try that with Kevin, though, if he’s there.”
“If he’s there, we’ll call the police,” Stone said. “Dino, you’re in charge of bringing the bobbies down on Kevin Keyes, if he’s at the airport.”
“I can do that,” Dino said.
They arrived at the airport and were buzzed through the security gate. The CJ4 had just landed and was taxiing in; Stone’s M2 was just being rolled out of the hangar.
Stone pulled up to his airplane, admiring her once again, and they loaded their luggage while Pat rolled her bag across the ramp toward the CJ4, which had just parked.
A lineman walked up to Stone. “We fueled her yesterday — topped off as you requested.”
“Thanks,” Stone said. “Is that Mustang still here?”
“No, Mr. Reeves took off half an hour ago.”
“Was he alone?”
“His pilot was with him.”
“Stone,” Pat called out, “will you put the car in the parking lot and leave the keys with the desk inside? Somebody will pick it up.”
“Sure, I’ve got to pay for my fuel and hangar, anyway.”
“Anything I can do?” Dino asked.
“Yeah, when I get back, you can turn on the master switch — that’s the red one on the left-hand side — and the landing light — that’s on the right side. I’ll need to check them as part of my pre-flight inspection.”