“No, that’d be CIA. The only thing I can think of …” Hugo rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the business card they’d found in Harper’s suitcase.
“You’re going to call them and ask for the code?” Pendrith asked, incredulous.
“Hopefully won’t have to.” He held the card so he could see it in the moonlight, then tapped the last four digits of the phone number on the keypad. For a second, nothing happened, then the gates jerked once and began to sweep inward toward the house.
“Nicely done,” Pendrith said, as they climbed back into the Cadillac.
“Well, it seemed like they were taking half-assed security measures, with no guards, cameras, or dogs, and look at the size of the place.”
“Meaning?”
Hugo left the headlights off but turned the running lights on as he steered between the brick pillars and started slowly up the driveway. “Meaning they probably have a lot of people coming and going, so they need a code that’s easy to remember or easy to distribute. Which is why it came back as not a real phone number.”
“Right, because it isn’t one. And no dogs because they don’t need wild beasts attacking their guests,” Pendrith said. “I get it.”
“Right. On the other hand, chances are the opening of the gate has alerted someone to our arrival.” He hit the brakes and turned off the running lights. “Out, quick.”
“What the …?”
But Hugo was at his door, pulling him out. “You’re driving.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to hide behind you, or in a bush somewhere, then check the place out. When you find someone to talk to, be up front about what we’re doing here, but if you get turned away, just head back down Braxton Lane half a mile and wait. I’ll call or just show up. And if I’m not out by morning, call the cops.”
“Wait, we haven’t discussed—”
“No time for planning. And I have to be the one to do this — wouldn’t be good for an MP to be caught sneaking about in the dark. Now get going.”
Hugo trotted behind the car as Pendrith drove slowly up the gravel driveway to the front door. Forty yards out, a waist-high privet hedge popped up on his right and he angled off behind it, following it away from the drive but parallel to the house.
The hedge went on for thirty yards and ended at a pagoda, giving Hugo an opening to get to the front of the house. He walked through the structure, running his fingers across several beams. New wood.
He started across the lawn, wrapped in darkness now but exposed should security lights come on. Within seconds he was close enough to see inside some of the lower windows and, directly ahead of him, he was able to look in on a library. Beside it, to his left, looked to be a long hallway, and to the right was a dining room. He stopped to take in that room, and it told him something about how the house was being used: it contained one long table rather than a bunch of them, so it wasn’t a hotel or commercial property.
He looked up before moving on but couldn’t see into any of the upstairs rooms, the windows were opaque rectangles that glowed yellow behind pulled curtains.
Still hidden in the dark, Hugo checked to his left and saw Pendrith in front of the main entrance talking to a portly and uncommonly short man who, even though he stood on the third or fourth step, was still eye level with the MP.
Hugo dropped to one knee and watched for a moment. The men’s faces were in shadow and their voices too low for him to make out any words, but from the short man’s gestures it seemed clear he wasn’t going to let the stranger in. The only question was whether Pendrith was getting any useful information, which Hugo also doubted.
Hugo had seen no other entrance to the house, so he moved to his right, glancing over his shoulder to measure Pendrith’s progress. As Hugo reached the corner of the house, he looked back and saw the MP climbing back into the Cadillac. I thought not. Hugo looked along the side of the house and saw a patio, empty of people and furniture. He moved on, staying close to the house, passing several windows that had curtains pulled, blocking his view. He assumed they looked into the dining room, and, when he reached the patio, he saw light spilling through two closed French doors. He stepped away from the wall and peered into the room. He was right, the dining room. Two people in white jackets moved about the long table, setting out plates and silverware. Servants? Hugo wondered. In this day and age?
He skirted the patio, staying out of the weak light that fell out of the dining room. At the far corner of the house, he stopped and looked along the backside of the house. The grass made way for gravel, and a dozen cars were parked in a tidy line. A stone outbuilding sat on the other side of the parking area, but Hugo couldn’t see a door or a window to the place.
He took out his cell phone, waited for a moment, and when he saw no movement, he dialed Pendrith.
“It’s Hugo. No luck?”
“None. Rude bugger, too, wouldn’t say who he was or give me any information at all.”
“He has his rights, Pendrith.”
“You Americans and your rights. Come to think of it, he has the right to shoot you, too.”
Hugo couldn’t help but smile. “Good point. What can you tell me?”
“Not much. He’s short, fat, and smokes good cigars. But he’d not been drinking, which is odd.”
“It is?”
“Of course. This time of night, to be smoking cigars without a glass of something, very odd. Also, he’s from the north. Yorkshire or Lancashire, I can never tell the difference.”
“OK, that it?”
“’Fraid so, old boy. Where are you?”
“Coming to the back of the house. Looking at a gravel parking lot and a barn of some sort.”
“And your plan?”
“I was hoping to find a way in.”
“And then?”
“Not too sure,” Hugo had to admit.
“Sounds like a great plan.”
“Thanks, I’ll call you if I find anything. Where are you?”
“In a lay-by about fifty yards from the gate. I’ll stay here as long as I can.”
Hugo closed his phone and watched for another moment before starting across the gravel. He made it ten yards before, from the far side of the house, a growing pool of light signaled an arriving car. He looked around for a place to hide and, seeing none, darted into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall of the house. A few seconds later, a small car crunched into the parking area. A city car, one of those two-seaters that he’d only ever seen in London. A Smart Car, he thought it was called. He moved slowly back the way he’d come, back pressed to the stone, and as he reached the corner he saw the driver get out of the little car and walk toward the house. A security light flicked on, momentarily blinding him and causing the driver, a woman, to shield her eyes. Hugo squinted but couldn’t make out her face, and seconds later she was gone.
This was his chance. He trotted toward the entrance she’d used, no longer worried about triggering the security lights, which stayed on as he moved. He got to the door a split second before it closed, and he saw that it would have self-locked. Whoever she was, she had a key.
Inside, he found himself in a small foyer. The floor was marble and the walls painted a rich red. Ahead, one of a pair of glazed double doors stood open, giving Hugo a view of a dimly lit hallway that led to and past the dining room. To his right, a wide staircase led upward, the lower steps watched over by a wooden owl perched on, and carved into, the end of the banister.
Hugo hesitated. He didn’t want to bump into the woman, and, while he couldn’t tell which way she had gone, he assumed a new arrival wouldn’t head straight upstairs; she’d be more likely to announce her arrival to whomever lived there. Or ran the place. Or whatever.
Hugo started up the stairs. He crossed a landing, eyes trained on the next flight, listening for any sound. He took the steps two at a time, and at the top of the next set he stopped and looked around. He was in a small seating area, furnished with a plush velvet sofa and two ornate bergère chairs. Behind the sofa was a bookcase, and even a cursory glance told Hugo, an amateur book collector, that it contained some expensive volumes. Ahead, a long and wide hallway opened up in front of him, and he could see on both sides high double doors, as if he’d reached the finest suites at a top hotel. An Oriental-style rug ran down the middle of the wooden-floored hallway, and delicate tables filled the spaces between the doors.