Dishonorable Intentions (18 page)

T
hey made love for a while, then fell asleep in each other's arms. Stone was awakened by a noise, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He moved over in bed and discovered that his arm had grown numb from being under Gala's neck. He got up and went to the bathroom, massaging the arm, and gradually it came back to life. He was on his way back to bed when he figured out that the noise he had heard was his cell phone ringing. Once.

He found his pants and took the iPhone from the holster it lived in. There was one recent call. Then he remembered that one ring was an alert from Rob Poulter, and that another was cancellation of the alert. He had not heard the second ring. He took the phone into the bathroom, closed the door, and rang back Rob's number.

“Poulter.”

“It's Barrington. What's up?”

“I have a man down on your dock.”

“How bad?”

“Unconscious—apparent blow to the head.”

“Did you bag anybody?”

“We've started a search. I've called for more men.”

“Do you need transport for your man to a hospital?”

“He's being put into a vehicle now. We're six miles from the nearest casualty ward. He'll be there in ten minutes, and they've been advised of his arrival.”

“Do you need any help from me?”

“Thank you, sir, but I don't want to deliver you into the wrong hands. You stay put. Are you armed?”

“I have a hunting rifle and a shotgun.”

“I'd keep the shotgun handy. Would you like me to furnish you with a handgun?”

“Maybe later, and only if it can be done legally.”

“I'll have that worked on. Ring you back when we're clear.”

Stone hung up, put on a robe, and padded down to the study, where there was a gun rack hidden behind a panel. He loaded the shotgun, put a handful of shells in the pocket of his robe, and went back upstairs, the shotgun broken across his arm. He didn't want any accidents.

He sat in the shadows, in a chair by a window overlooking the front lawn. There was half a moon out, and he had a good view. He had been there perhaps fifteen minutes when the
phone rang once: all clear. He went back into the bathroom, closed the door, and rang Poulter.

“Poulter.”

“How's your man?”

“Conscious and talking. He came to in the van on the way to the casualty ward. Mild concussion, he'll be fine after some sleep.”

“How good is the opposition?”

“Anybody who could get over on my man would have to be either very good or very lucky. I'll assume very good.”

“Did your search turn up anybody?”

“Not yet. I'm of the opinion that, having discovered a guard on the premises, the opposition thought better of an intrusion. They'd have no way of knowing how many of us there are.”

“Do you have enough men?”

“I've doubled the guard. In a couple of hours more men will be arriving. I think we'll make ourselves more conspicuous, send a message to the opposition.”

“Good. Do you need anything from me?”

“No, sir, we're very much self-contained. We may fetch some coffee from your kitchen so that any remaining watchers can see us doing it.”

“Good night, then.” Stone hung up, dropped his robe onto a chair, first having removed the shotgun shells from the pocket and setting them on his bedside table. He laid the shotgun on the floor within reach and got back into bed. It was some time before he could doze off.

—

H
e was wakened by Gala shaking him. Sunlight was streaming through the windows. Stone had not adopted the English custom of drawing the drapes, shutting out the night.

“What?” he managed to say.

“What is
that
?” Gala asked, pointing down. She was quite naked.

Stone looked over the edge of the bed. “That's a shotgun. Didn't you recognize it?”

“I know what it is—what's it doing there?”

“It's lying in readiness.”

“Readiness for what?”

“You never know when a pheasant might disturb our sleep.”

“I'll tell you what would disturb my sleep—the sound of a shotgun going off in my bedroom.”

“I'll get a net for the pheasants—it's quieter.”

“I'm going to get myself into a shower, if you're fairly certain I won't be disturbed by gunfire.”

“I'm fairly certain.”

She stalked off toward the bathroom. Stone picked up the phone and ordered breakfast, then he joined her in the shower.

“I hope you're unarmed,” she said.

He pressed against her. “Not entirely.”

“Is that a shotgun?”

“No, it's just glad to see you.”

—

S
tone had finished his breakfast and was on coffee when his cell rang. He glanced at it, but the call was blocked.

“Good morning, it's Mike. I understand there was a kerfuffle last night.”

“How is your man?”

“He was released from the hospital this morning, and I gave him the day off for some rest. Another half a dozen men are already on the job.”

“Did your man remember anything about last night?”

“Nothing. It's disturbing that anybody could get past him.”

“Rob thought so, too. He thought that more men on the ground would send a message.”

“I've taken steps to get a pistol permit issued to you by the Hampshire authorities. It should be delivered to you before the day is out. Chief Inspector Holmes was very helpful. The shotgun is legal, as long as it's not sawn off.”

“I don't think Purdy's, the makers, would approve of that modification.”

“Probably not. Are you feeling a little rattled?”

“No. Last night I was for a bit. Took me a while to get to sleep again.”

“I'd like you a little rattled as long as this goes on,” Mike said. “We view this as a serious matter.”

“What's your advice?”

“You won't take it.”

“Try me.”

“Leave the country. Go back to the States, where you can shoot an intruder without bringing the world down on you. Pick your state with that in mind.”

“My choices are New York, Maine, or California. Oh, and my girl has a place in Santa Fe.”

“New Mexico fills the bill. Do you have your airplane in England?”

“Yes.”

“Use it. I'd like you on American soil as soon as you can get there.”

“Is tomorrow night soon enough?”

“What's wrong with tonight?”

“Am I in a hurry?”

“You should be.”

“All right, we'll sleep tonight in the Azores and make New York tomorrow and Santa Fe soon after.”

“Where in the Azores?”

“Santa Maria, for refueling.”

“I'll arrange dinner, bed, and breakfast. Two people?”

“Yes.”

“What time will you land?”

“I don't know, late afternoon, maybe.”

“Does your airplane have a satphone?”

“Yes.”

“Got a pen?”

“Yes.”

Mike recited a number. “Call that when you're an hour out. You'll be met, and there'll be fuel, a weather forecast, and a flight plan filed for tomorrow morning. I'm assuming you'll be stopping in Newfoundland.”

“Yes, St. John's.”

“Shall I call Joan and have your man meet you at Teterboro?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I've just gotten a forecast. The Atlantic weather is gorgeous, you'll have severe clear all the way. Don't tarry in New York for long.”

“Thanks, Mommy.” Stone hung up.

Gala came out of the bathroom. “Anything new?”

“Yes, on advice of counsel, we're leaving for the States. You've got an hour to pack.”

“Are things that bad here?”

“It's the best advice I can get.”

“Where in the States?”

“We'll stop in New York for a day or so, then continue to Santa Fe and hunker down there, if that's all right with you.”

“It's perfect for me. All this English greenery is getting on my nerves.”

Bob came trotting in. “I think Bob will like it, too.”

T
hey took off from the Windward strip and made Santa Maria, Azores, in four hours. Stone spotted a man wearing an orange slicker and holding up two lighted plastic sticks and aimed for him. He shut down the engines and switched off power, while Gala got the cabin door open. Bob bounded down the stairs as if the lineman was an old friend to be greeted.

Another man in a leather jacket and a fedora stepped up. “Mr. Barrington? My name's Fernando. I'm a friend of Mike Freeman. Let's grab your bags and get moving.”

They did so and got into an elderly Land Rover. “There'll be a man guarding your airplane all night, and you'll be ready to taxi at seven
AM
.”

“Are you expecting any opposition?” Stone asked.

“Let's just say we'll be ready for it.”

He drove them inland to a stone cottage on a hill. It was
well-furnished and comfortable. “My wife is in the kitchen preparing dinner,” Fernando said.

They dined on local fish and fresh vegetables, with a bottle of Pico Branca served as well. By nine o'clock they were asleep.

—

T
hey were wakened at five-thirty and told that breakfast would be ready in half an hour. After a quick shower, they sat down to omelets, orange juice, and strong coffee. At the airport, Stone signed for the fuel, looked over the forecast, and checked his fuel. Half an hour later they rotated and lifted off, headed northwest. Two hours later, Stone was startled by the ringing of his satphone.

“Hello?”

“It's Mike. Everything okay?”

“So far.”

“I don't like the look of things at St. John's,” he said. “We're diverting you to Gander.” Gander was an old military base on the north of the island, half an hour from St. John's.

“What's going on at St. John's?”

“Unidentified people and vehicles on the ground. At Gander, stay in the airplane. You'll get a quick turnaround, and the fuel will be billed to us, later to you. At Teterboro, you'll taxi straight to the hangar. Stay aboard while you're towed in. Your car and driver will be inside.”

“Whatever you say.”

Stone called air traffic control on his high-frequency radio and was cleared Direct Gander. Skies were still sunny at Gander, with its one, very long runway. A fuel truck was waiting. When the tanks were full, the fueler secured the caps and whirled a finger in the air for startup. Stone started the engines and got an immediate clearance to Teterboro from the tower. They were the only thing moving on the field, and five minutes later they were in the air.

—

A
t Teterboro, Stone followed Mike's instructions. Immediately after shutdown, the tractor towed them into the hangar, and the big door closed behind them. Bob went nuts when he saw Fred Flicker, who was waiting for them with all doors open. Luggage was loaded, Bob was emptied, and they were off for Manhattan. Once home, Fred drove into the garage, and they unloaded after the door was closed.

The sun was still up when they fell into bed.

—

T
he following morning Joan called while they were having breakfast in bed.

“How's the jet lag?” she asked.

“So far, so good.”

“We had a visit from the phone company yesterday,” she
said. “Guy with a foreign accent said he needed to get into our main box to fix a problem in the neighborhood.”

“How did you react to that?”

“I put my hand in my desk drawer and told him to bring me an authorization from his supervisor. We didn't see him again. I had Bob Cantor check out everything, and we're okay. How long are you staying?”

Stone thought about it. “We're leaving in an hour,” he said, and hung up. “That okay with you?” he asked Gala, and she nodded. It was okay with Bob, too.

—

A
t ten
AM
they lifted off for Santa Fe, and soon they were at flight level 400 and headed direct to their destination. It was a longer flight than Stone would have wished, with a big headwind, but they had the fuel for a nonstop flight, and with the two-hour favorable time change, they were landing in Santa Fe by early afternoon.

“Oh, my beautiful house!” Gala cried, looking around the immaculate place. “Marlene has cleaned so beautifully!”

Bob ran aimlessly around until he had located his dish, then demanded food and drink. Happily full, he went to his bed and fell sound asleep.

“Oh, I'm so happy to be home,” Gala groaned as she settled into bed. “Not that I wasn't happy in England. It was the change
I needed. I'm going to finish my screenplay in a couple of days, and then I can relax.”

“Great,” Stone said. She fell asleep immediately, but he could not relax until he and Bob had patrolled the perimeter of the property and made sure all the doors and windows were secured and the alarm turned on.

Stone read for a while, but it was nearly two
AM
before his mind relaxed enough for sleep.

Bob was way ahead of him.

—

S
tone was awakened by a low growl from Bob, which quickly became a series of loud barks.

Gala stirred. “What's going on?”

“It's nothing, go back to sleep.” He found Gala's pistol in the night table drawer, slipped on a robe and slippers, and let Bob lead the way. The dog trotted to the kitchen and stood by the back door. Stone put him on a leash and held it in his left hand, the pistol ready in the other. As soon as the door was open Bob practically dragged him outside and along the rear of the house. Then he stopped and sniffed the ground. There was enough light for Stone to see a large pile of animal scat, which Bob found fascinating.

They continued around the whole perimeter of the house and returned to the kitchen door from which they had gone out.

They went into the kitchen, where Stone gave Bob his breakfast, then poured a glass of orange juice for himself. He drank it at the kitchen table and let his heartbeat return to normal.

Finally, as dawn broke, Stone went back to bed and tried to get in another hour of sleep before Gala woke up. He managed half that before she turned up with scrambled eggs and bacon and set them on his belly.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Got to sleep late, woke early, then got a few minutes more. I'm tired.”

She took his tray away. “You go back to sleep,” she said.