Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

“Nothing like having the way paved for you,” Stone said, taking his seat and picking up his drink.

“Stone,” Holly said, “do you really believe these people missed us because they took the wrong road?”

“Makes sense,” Stone replied. “If they’d taken the right road, they would have found a suspicious black SUV blocking the driveway at the dead end, and that would have been a tipoff, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would,” she said. “I’m looking forward to being in your Key West house again.”

“It’s not bulletproof, but the place was built on the outside of the lot, around two courtyards, so there are no views of the streets or the neighbors, nor any for them of us.”

Bill Wright held up an iPad with an aerial image on it. “Is this the place?”

Stone studied the image. “That’s it. Google Earth?”

“Right.”

“Well, at least it’s a still image. Nobody can watch us having a drink around the pool. It’s also a few years old. I bought new pool furniture recently, and the old furniture is in this satshot.”

“Good to know.”

“By the way, Bill, I don’t know what your plans are for housing for your people, but one of my cars is in my hangar at Key West Airport, so you could put cots in the empty garage. Its rear entrance is off the laundry room, and there’s a full bath in there that they can use.”

“I’ll take a look. One team will be housed on the naval base, anyway. They’re already there.”

Holly and Viv warmed up roast chicken in the galley’s oven, then served it with rice and vegetables, while Stone retrieved a couple of bottles of good California cabernet from the wine cooler and poured them. The airplane leveled off at their assigned altitude and cruised on south through the darkness.

Looking out one of the big windows, they could see towns and villages lit up, and eventually cities, as they sped down the Eastern Seaboard at 490 knots. They picked up an offshore airway, after crossing Long Island, and got a look at the coastal cities from well out at sea.

Three hours and a half after takeoff, they set down on runway 9 at Naval Air Station Key West, on Boca Chica Field. Stone noticed a fire truck and other emergency vehicles parked near the end of the runway.

“Is that equipment for us?” Stone asked Bill.

“We’re carrying precious cargo,” Bill replied. “They’ll follow us to our parking spot. When we’re off the airplane they’ll put it in one of the big hangars to prevent viewing by those who entertain themselves with satellite images, whoever they may be.”

In little more than twenty minutes they were inside Stone’s house, while the van carrying their luggage disgorged its contents.

“Bill,” Stone said, “we’re going to put you or Claire and whoever else you want, in the upstairs guest bedroom. It’s the biggest.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll manage. We’ve got cots in the van, if we need them.”

“You’ll have to park the van around the corner after it’s unloaded. The street is too narrow to accommodate it, and so is my garage.”

“We’ve already found a ladder in your garage, and we’re stationing a sharpshooter on the roof.”

“Good idea,” Stone said. He checked on Dino and Viv, then went to the little freestanding cottage that housed the master suite. Holly was already in bed, half asleep.

“Want some company?” Stone asked, tossing his clothes into the hamper.

“Sure, as long as he doesn’t expect any action tonight. I’m bushed.”

And so, he found, was he. They were soon sound asleep.

Colonel Wade Sykes got an encrypted phone call while having breakfast. “Yes?”

“It’s me. We lost them during the night.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Well, this is kind of embarrassing, but we found out this morning that Broad Cove Cottage isn’t on Broad Cove Road. It’s on the next road to the north. We found the other road, with a house at the end. They were gone, but left lots of car tracks in the mud. We checked the airport at Rockland, and the big hangar’s door was open; nothing inside. They probably left in the middle of the night or, at least, before sunrise.”

“Hang on,” Sykes said, and turned to his laptop. “This Barrington fellow has a lot of houses: one in L.A., one in Key West, two in England, and another in Paris. His airplane has the range for any of them from either Bangor or Presque Isle, one of which is where they’d have to clear customs on departure.”

“Have you checked any destination airports?”

“Yes, we’ve checked Key West and both Burbank and Van Nuys, which are the most likely general aviation airports for an aircraft of that size. Nothing.”

“Where does he land in England?”

“One of his houses is in London, the other is in the country, in Hampshire. He can land at London City, but hangarage is jammed there. He could also land at Northolt, west of the city, but the hangarage there is packed, too.”

“Check Southampton and Bournemouth, in the south.”

“I’ll get back to you.” He hung up.

Sykes was washing his dishes when the phone rang again. “Yes?”

“Bournemouth and Southampton come up zero.”

“Maybe he drove someplace from Maine,” Sykes suggested.

“Why would he do that? The weather has cleared, and he could go anywhere in the Gulfstream, and much faster. We’d be wasting our time to do a search for a car, when we don’t even know if or what he’s driving.”

“All right, shut it down and come home. Thanks for putting in the extra time on this.”

“No problem. We’ll be there tonight.”

They both hung up.

Stone and Holly were having breakfast in bed when Stone checked his e-mail and found one from Sam Meriwether, the former senator from Georgia and the vice president — elect.

Stone,

I can’t find our friend anywhere. Has she fallen off the map? If you’re in touch, ask her to call me without delay; there are things afoot that she needs to know about.

Stone handed Holly the phone. “Maybe you’d better call him.”

They finished breakfast, then Holly called Sam on Stone’s phone.

“Well, you’re alive,” Sam said. “When are you planning to appear on Earth again?”

“Well, I know where I’ll be on January 20.”

“We need you sooner than that.”

“For what?”

“We didn’t have time to talk before you vanished into thin air, so nobody’s had a chance to tell you that you’re booked on the Sunday shows of all four networks this weekend.”

“Blow them off.”

“We can’t do that, Holly. You’ve already been gone too long. You need to take a victory lap, to let the folks who voted for you see your smiling face.”

“Hang on, Sam.” She covered the phone. “Stone, they’ve got me booked on all networks Sunday morning. When would we have to leave to make them?”

“Saturday night, latest,” Stone said.

“Sam says I have to do this.”

“I’m all for it,” Stone said. “Aren’t you getting tired of hiding?”

She went back to the phone. “All right, Sam. What time do you want me, and where?”

“Seven AM, Sunday, at your house. I’m assuming the Secret Service will transport you, but I’d like to have somebody in the car with you who knows the ropes with the networks.”

“Okay, have ’em ring the doorbell. The Service will want to board me in the garage. E-mail me a schedule on this phone, and I’ll pass it on to them, so they can make their arrangements. See you on the tube.” She made a kissing noise, then hung up.

“Well, so much for your vacation. I’m afraid it wasn’t much of one.”

“At least I got in some sleep and a few drinks,” she said. “Not to mention your body, and I want some more of that right now.”