Стюарт Вудс - Cut and Thrust

Stone Barrington was about to leave his house for Los Angeles and the Democratic convention when the phone rang. “Just put the bags in the car and I’ll be right down,” Stone said to Fred Flicker, his factotum.

“Righto, sir,” Fred replied, and started moving cases.

Stone answered the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“It’s Ann.” He had been seeing a lot of Ann Keaton. She was deputy campaign manager for the presidential effort of Katharine Lee.

“Hi, I’m just leaving the house to pick you up.”

“Something has come up.”

Stone hated those words; he didn’t like changes in his plans, especially when they involved a transcontinental flight. “What is it?”

“Kate needs a lift.”

Katharine Rule Lee, in addition to being a candidate for president, was also the first lady of the United States, running to succeed her husband, William Jefferson Lee, and she never needed a lift anywhere.

“What, to the airport? Has the Secret Service run out of black SUVs?”

“No, to Los Angeles.”

“Whatever happened to Air Force One?”

“It’s just fine, thank you, but the Marine helicopter sent to take her to Dulles, where she was to meet Air Force One, is down with a broken wing, or something, and it would be much more convenient for her if she could fly with us. Is there room?”

“How big a party are we talking about?”

“Her secretary and two Secret Service agents.”

“No further entourage?”

“Just me, and I was going with you anyway.”

“Hold the phone and I’ll call Mike.”

“Right.”

Stone pressed the hold button, chose another line, and called the cell phone of Michael Freeman, chairman and CEO of Strategic Services.

“Mike Freeman.”

“It’s Stone. I have a request — feel free to say no, but you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

“In that case, yes.”

“You have just agreed to fly the first lady of the United States, her secretary, and two Secret Service agents to Los Angeles on your Gulfstream with us.”

There was only the briefest of silences. “Yes,” Mike said again. “I can do that.”

“Thank you, kind sir. See you at the airport.”

“I’m already at the airport.”

“Am I late?”

“No, I’m meeting with a client who’s passing through.”

“All right, I and my party will be on time. I can’t speak for the first lady.”

“That’s the beauty of owning an airplane — our ETD is whenever I say it is.”

“See you there.” Stone disengaged and pressed the hold button again. “The answer is a resounding yes.”

“Oh, good,” Ann said with a sigh.

“Next question, is she ready to leave for Teterboro?”

“She’s sitting in a black SUV at the East Side Heliport and she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. She may beat us there.”

“Tell her to meet us at Jet Aviation. It’s the one with the very large white airplane parked just outside the door. I’ll let them know she’s coming.”

“Don’t do that, she doesn’t like any fuss. She’ll just want to pee and get on the airplane.”

“Tell her she can pee on the airplane, it’s equipped for that, and she’ll save the bother of the Secret Service throwing everybody out of the ladies’ room at Jet Aviation.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Ann said.

“I’m leaving and I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said. “Let Dino and Viv know, will you?” Dino Bacchetti, Stone’s old NYPD partner, now chief of detectives, and his wife, Vivian, were coming to the convention with them, and, conveniently, they lived in the same Park Avenue apartment building as Ann.

“Certainly.”

Stone hung up, grabbed his jacket, and followed Fred and the luggage down to the street, where the Bentley Flying Spur sat idling at the curb, Fred already at the wheel. Stone got in. “Go. We’re picking up Ann Keaton and the Bacchettis on the way.”

“Righto, sir.” The car glided away. “By the way, sir, my New York City gun license arrived in this morning’s mail.”

“Congratulations.”

“All I need now is a gun.”

“There’s a gun shop downtown that all the cops use. Joan will give you the address. Take your license with you. And bring me the bill for whatever you choose.”

“Thank you, sir. And please thank Chief Bacchetti for me.”

Half an hour after collecting his guests, they pulled to a halt at the Jet Aviation FBO (fixed base operator). Dino, Viv, and Ann went ahead to the airplane while the doorman and a lineman unloaded all their luggage. Stone took the doorman aside. “Have you seen a couple of” — he looked up to see three black SUVs pull into the parking lot — “those?”

“I see them, Mr. Barrington.”

“One of them contains the first lady of the United States. Please take a couple of carts and whisk her straight through the terminal and onto the G650 on the ramp.” He gave the man a hundred, which always brought a doorman to attention.

“Yes indeed, sir!” The man grabbed two carts and pushed them quickly toward the caravan.

Stone waited for Kate to get out of the car and make sure all her luggage was aboard the carts, then she came and kissed him on a cheek. “Stone, you’re so kind to do this.”

“Save your thanks for Mike Freeman, who’s waiting for us aboard the airplane.”

“You haven’t met my secretary, Molly Cannon.” She and Stone shook hands. “And these are my Secret Service detail, Tom Brennan and Christy Thomas.” He shook their hands, too.

He offered Kate an arm. She took it, and they practically sprinted from the front door to the back door, without attracting too many stares, and out onto the ramp, where the big jet sat, one engine running. The linemen got the luggage stowed while the two Secret Service agents raced aboard and made sure that no members of al-Qaeda were flying with them. Shortly, they were all settled aboard and introduced, and the airplane’s other engine started.

“I’m sorry it’s not Air Force One,” Mike said.

“Oh,” Kate said, “it will do very nicely. And for purposes of this flight, we can call it Air Force One-point-Five.” She took the aisle seat next to Stone and across the table from Ann. “May I join you?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about while we’re en route.”

The airplane began to taxi up the ramp toward Taxiway Lima. As they reached it, Stone saw a dozen jets lined up and waiting for the Gulfstream to take the runway while ground control cleared it for immediate takeoff. “That’s something I’ve never seen before,” Stone said, nodding toward the waiting airplanes.

“I expect the Secret Service had a word with the tower,” Kate said. “They hate my waiting in line on the ground. Somebody might take a shot at us.”

“Now, that’s a thought that had never crossed my mind,” Stone said as the Gulfstream began accelerating, pressing him back in his seat. A few seconds later they were climbing and turning to the west.

“Oh?” Kate said. “We’ll be cleared direct to Burbank. No routing or delays.”

Twenty minutes later they leveled at cruising altitude, and mimosas were served.

“From now on,” Stone said, “I’m going to tell Air Traffic Control that you’re aboard all my flights.”

“Feel free,” Kate replied with a big smile.

Kate Lee waited until they had finished a salad-and-omelet lunch before placing her hand on Stone’s arm. “Now,” she said, “to business — or rather, to politics.”

“Tell me all.”

“I know from Will’s experience at conventions that after our arrival and throughout our stay there will be people who will wish to talk with me who I will wish not to talk with — not because I don’t like or respect them, but because their messages will sometimes be so important that they are better conveyed through intermediaries. Sometimes my messages to them will fall into the same category. Do you understand?”