Стюарт Вудс - Stealth

“A handsome house,” Jennifer said.

“Handsome inside, too.” Shortly they passed a van at the side of the road, and a minute later, it fell in behind them, a quarter-mile back.

Stone and Holly finished their lunch and walked back to their car. Fife-Simpson and his lady had disappeared. They drove back to the house, and as they entered the library, a phone was ringing. It was his Agency iPhone, sitting on the coffee table. Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

“Scramble.”

“Scrambled. What is it, Lance?”

“What were you doing at the same pub as Fife-Simpson and his paramour?”

“What a charmingly old-fashioned thing to call her,” Stone said.

“Explain, please.”

“We went to a local pub for lunch. So did Fife-Simpson, apparently, and they got there first and sat outside. We greeted them, then went inside. That’s about it.”

“I dislike coincidences,” Lance said.

“It doesn’t matter if you dislike them,” Stone replied, “they happen anyway.”

“Nevertheless...”

“Lance, how the hell did you know about this? We just came back. Are you having us followed?”

“No, MI-6 is having Fife-Simpson followed, and my people are following MI-6. You know that.”

“That’s right, I do. Fife-Simpson said he was trying out a new car and drove down here.”

“He wasn’t lying. We checked it out, and Ms. Sands bought it for him, though it’s registered in her name. She must not feel entirely confident of his continuing affection.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re following MI-6, instead of me.”

“Is Holly with you?”

“Yes.”

“Did she meet Fife-Simpson?”

“Yes, he invited us to share his table, but we elected to lunch inside.”

“Just as well. I wouldn’t want you photographed with those people.”

“Do you think the Russians are following him, too?”

“No, the woman is, effectively, the Russians. She’s living with him, so there’s no need for other surveillance on their part.”

“Do the Russians rent expensive flats and buy expensive cars for all of their foreign agents?”

“They do not. But Ms. Sands is wealthy and she seems to be in love.”

“Go figure.”

“I have nothing else for you. Do you have anything for me?” Lance asked.

“Alas, I am bereft of gifts.”

“Goodbye.” Lance hung up.

“How the hell did Lance know about this so fast?” Holly asked.

Stone explained about the pursuits by MI-6 and the CIA.

“Why do I feel that we’re in some sort of spy comedy?”

“Perhaps we are. Who knows? Can I interest you in an after-lunch nap?”

“Yes, as long as there’s no sleeping involved.”

“There won’t be.”

Roger and Jennifer got back to their flat in the late afternoon, and the phone was ringing.

“You’d better get that,” Roger said.

She did. “Hello? Yes, we just got in. I bought him a car, and we went for a drive down to the south coast. Guess who we ran into? Stone Barrington and the American secretary of state, Holly Barker. It’s only a coincidence. It doesn’t matter if you hate them, they happen anyway. Dinner when? I suppose so. Is that a good idea? All right, six-thirty for drinks.” She hung up.

“Alex?” Roger asked.

“Yes. We’re invited to a dinner at the Russian embassy tomorrow evening, black tie.”

“Is that a good idea?” Roger asked.

“Alex says it will be just family, which means nobody who isn’t Russian. I think he wants to show you off for his boss.”

“Who is his boss?”

“The London station chief, Leonid Bronsky, who is on the embassy’s rolls as cultural attaché. He’s a very slick article.”

“I always think of Russians as ham-handed oafs,” Roger said.

“Did you find Alex either ham-handed or oafish?”

“Well, no.”

“He is typical of these people, as you will learn tomorrow evening. There are no Leninists or Stalinists left — no commissars, either. The ambassador is the most elegant man I’ve met in London. By the way, you do own a dinner suit, don’t you?”

“I do, but it’s a bit tatty these days. I’m accustomed to wearing my naval mess kit on formal occasions.”

“You’d better get measured for a new suit, then. We may have other such occasions to attend.”

“As you wish, my dear.”

Holly had to be back in London for meetings, so Stone took the Cayenne and drove her to the city. “About your suite at the Connaught...”

“What about it?”

“If we stay there will we end up as sex entertainment for a bunch of guys at the embassy?”

“We will not. I have ordered it so, and I have a gadget that detects the presence of surveillance equipment. I used it in your bedroom.”

“In my bedroom?”

“Look, Stone, we are aware that you have attracted the attention of the world’s three most important spy agencies, if we leave out the Chinese. Do you think that any one of them would hesitate to wire your home for audio and video, if they felt it served their interests?”

“You have a point,” Stone replied. “Thank you for bringing the equipment.”

“Your entire house is clean, as far as I can tell.”

“Good.”

“Is anyone following us?”

“Now? We’re on the motorway.”

“Do you think those three incapable of tailing you on a superhighway?”

“I suppose I don’t,” he replied, checking his rearview mirror. “I don’t see anything.”

“Keep checking,” Holly said.

“Why would they want to follow us?”

“If not you, then me.”

“Do you care?”

“Of course I care. Suppose you drive carelessly, cause a fender-bender, and it turns into an altercation. Do you want to see that on CNN?”

“I suppose not.”

“I’m certain I don’t want to see that,” she said firmly. “When I get back I’m faced with a national campaign, and I don’t want the nation to witness me punching some jerk’s lights out.”

“So, you’re not worried about being the victim of road rage, but the perpetrator?”

“I have a temper, and when you combine that with certain skills...”

“I must remember not to annoy you.”

“Always a good policy,” she said.

“Are you smiling?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Just checking.” He looked into the rearview mirror again. “There’s one of those big Mercedes vans back there.”

“A Sprinter?”

“That’s the one. It was back there last time I checked, too. It hasn’t gained on us.”

“Assume it’s following us then, and be careful.”

The van stayed there all the way to the Connaught, then it parked half a block away. Holly checked in, and they were escorted to her suite. Stone liked it better than the ones he was accustomed to.

“Can I use this when you’re not here?”

“Imagine this headline: SECRETARY BARKER’S LOVER STASHED IN STATE DEPARTMENT’S LUXURY LONDON HOTEL SUITE.”

“Gotcha. I’ll get my own suite.”

“Didn’t you buy a London house from Felicity a couple of years ago?”

“Yes. It’s being redecorated now, which is why I didn’t take you there. Next time.”

“That reminds me. I have something for you.” She went to her suitcase and came back with a State Department envelope, sealed with wax, the old-fashioned way.

“What’s this?” Stone asked.

“I asked our ethics review board at State to consider the matter of the house I’ve been living in for the past two years, the one you gave us. They have determined that the department using such a residence for a secretary while she is fucking the gifter is ‘ethically questionable,’ as they so delicately put it, so they’re giving it back to you. The documents are in the envelope.”