Stuart Woods: Severe Clear

“Tom Riley.”

“Tom, we got cut off. Here’s the director.” She handed the phone back to Kate.

“Tom, it’s Kate Lee. You recognize my voice?”

“Yes, Director.”

“Carry out Holly’s instructions and report back to her at every stage of the operation. Get the two men to that air force base in the Midlands and on an airplane to Guantanamo. The brothers are to be isolated from each other and everyone else. Am I clear?”

“Absolutely clear, ma’am.”

“Good-bye. Let us hear from you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Riley hung up.

Kate handed back the phone to Holly. “I hope this is productive,” she said, “because, believe me, this is going to come back and bite me on the ass. Probably the president, too.”

“You can always blame me,” Holly said. “I’ve still got my army pension.”

“I hope you won’t need it,” Kate said. “Can my husband and I get dressed now?”

Holly turned red. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“What do you want to bet this makes his memoirs?”

“Oh, God, I hope not.”

“You can hope.”

Holly ran for the door, then downstairs to her room and installed a fresh battery in her cell phone. Almost immediately, it rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Stone. Want to have some lunch?”

“Yes, please, I need to think about something else.”

“Something else than what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Meet me at the patio restaurant in ten minutes,” Stone said. “I’ve got a table.”

“See you there.” Holly ran into the bathroom, checked her makeup, then hurried out of the presidential cottage. She hopped into her electric cart and barreled down the cart path toward the restaurant.

Stone was sitting at a table, drinking iced tea. Holly joined him.

“This,” she said, “is the first time I’ve ever been able to see three movie stars in one place, live.”

“I know,” Stone replied, “the place is infested with them.” He waved at someone behind Holly.

“Who are you waving at?”

“Charlene Joiner.”

“Another movie star? How do you know her?”

“Don’t ask.”

“She’s the one who had an affair with Will Lee when he was still a senator, right?”

“I think it was more of a one-nighter, and they were both single at the time. I’ve heard some opinions expressed that when the news of that incident broke, he picked up half a million votes.”

Holly laughed. “America wanted a stud president?”

“I guess so. Now, what were you so discombobulated about when I called?”

“Well, I barged into Kate Lee’s bathroom without knocking and caught her in the shower with her husband.”

Stone burst out laughing. “No kidding?”

“I kid you not. She says the incident will probably make his memoirs.”

“It’s nice to know they still have that kind of relationship.”

“I guess so.”

“What was so important that you went into her bathroom without knocking?”

Holly sighed. “I wish I could tell you.”

“Are you forgetting that I’m still under contract to the Agency as a consultant and that I have the highest security clearance?”

“That’s right-you do, don’t you? All right, here’s what’s happened.” She told him everything from her phone call to Hamish at Annabel’s the day before.

“Who the hell is Hamish?”

“He’s an asset of the Agency who reports only to Kate and me.”

“How did that come about?”

“Your cousin, Dick Stone, was running him when he was still station chief in London, and when he left London he handed Hamish off to Kate, who kept him. I think she found it entertaining that she had her own asset that nobody else knew about.”

“I hope that relationship doesn’t come back to bite her on the ass,” Stone said.

“Funny, that’s what she said.”

A waiter brought them each a huge lobster salad.

“I hope you don’t mind my ordering for you,” Stone said.

“Not a bit if it’s lobster salad.”

“I understand the lobsters here are flown in from Ireland.”

“Ireland? Whatever happened to Maine?”

“The Irish lobsters have a very high reputation, but nearly all of them are sold to the French. It’s just one of those little touches that makes The Arrington The Arrington.”

Holly dug into her salad. “God, this is good. Maybe they have a point about the Irish lobsters.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I’d love that, but I have to remain stone-cold sober for the rest of the day. Iced tea will do nicely.”

Stone ordered her an iced tea. “Do you have any time off coming?” he asked.

“I’ve got about two years of vacation I haven’t used,” she replied.

“Tell you what, why don’t you fly back to New York with us and spend a few days there with me?”

“That’s very tempting,” Holly replied. “Let me talk to Kate-maybe we’ll have a bit of a lull when this business here is all over.”

“You do that.”

They finished lunch and chatted for a while. Holly checked her phone to be sure she hadn’t missed a call. “I’ve got to get back,” she said, “there’s too much going on.”

Stone signed the check and stood up with her. “Call me when you know if you can fly back with us.”

“I’ll do that.”

They headed off in different directions, Holly toward where she had parked her cart.

“Holly? Is that you?” a voice from a table behind her said. A familiar voice.

She turned and looked over her shoulder. He sat there, sipping an espresso, beautifully turned out in a white linen suit. “Hamish?!”

“Good afternoon,” Hamish said, rising to greet her.

“But I spoke to you in London yesterday. What are you doing here?”

“I caught a ride on a friend’s corporate jet. We landed this morning. I wanted to stay here, but of course that was impossible, so I’m at the Beverly Hills.”

Holly’s cell phone buzzed at her belt. She grabbed it. “Excuse me a moment,” she said to Hamish, then walked a few paces away for privacy. “Hello?”

“It’s Tom Riley: scramble.”

She scrambled. “Okay, what?”

“We went into the house this morning, but it was empty, except for staff.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, since Hamish is sitting at a table in The Arrington’s garden restaurant, sipping espresso, just a few yards away from me.”

“It begins to make sense,” Tom said. “We checked out the car phone on the Bentley and found an agency GPS card in it. We checked with the doorman at Annabel’s-the car was parked out front all evening, but Hamish and Mo were not in the club. We’ve been chasing our own tails.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Holly said defensively. “Now I’ve got to go and wrap this up. Bye.” She hung up and turned back to where Hamish sat. He was gone.

Hamish walked quickly through the back of the garden and got into the white Cayenne at the curb with Hans at the wheel. “Did you pick up my two bags?”

“Yes, in the back.”

“How about your device?”

“In the spare tire well, under the trunk.”

“Drive normally and get us out of here.”

Stuart Woods

Severe Clear

Holly darted around the restaurant, looking for Hamish. She opened the men’s room door and shouted his name. A man elbowed past her. “Sorry, wrong guy.”

“Is there anyone else in there?” she shouted at him.

“Not a soul, lady.” He hurried away.

Holly got on her phone. She had to look up Steve Rifkin’s number, which took a minute. Finally, she had it ringing.

“Rifkin,” he said.

“It’s Holly Barker.”

“I’m going to have to call you back,” Rifkin said.