Стюарт Вудс - Stealth

“Certainly. Do you think I’d have a weak conference table?”

“Do you often employ it for that purpose?”

“No, but I’m thinking about it. Right now.”

“It will have to wait for your next trip south, I’m afraid.”

“All right, I’ll see you this evening.”

“But you just got back to London.”

“I left Beaulieu too soon.”

“Well, if MI-6 can stand your absence I can certainly stand your presence. Come ahead.”

“Will you give me dinner?”

“Among other things.”

“I can’t talk about this anymore, or I’ll do something rash.”

“Better not.”

“Meet me at your dock at seven.” She hung up.

Stone hung up, but ten minutes later his phone rang: blocked caller. “Yes?”

“The PM has just called a national security meeting at six o’clock,” Felicity said. “The son of a bitch.”

“What’s a national security meeting?”

“All the intelligence heads: military, MI-5, MI-6, the signals-and-codes people. All hands on deck.”

“Does this mean there is an emergency?”

“Probably not, or he would have summoned everyone immediately, instead of at six. More likely, the PM just wants to bloviate about something.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to show. How about tomorrow night? You’ve got me thinking about it.”

“Great minds, et cetera. I can’t plan until I know what happens at the meeting. I’ll call you.”

“I’m not sure how long I can maintain this... state of readiness,” he said.

“You just relax, and I’ll attend to that at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“Promise?”

“Swear.” She hung up.

Stone hung up in a state of intense desire, and, if it flagged for a moment, it came back when he thought about their conversation. He and Felicity were not new to each other, but somehow, the flame still burned, and it was burning now.

He was in bed, trying to read a book, when his phone rang: blocked caller. “Yes?”

“All right,” she said wearily, “I’m out of the meeting.”

“How did that go?”

“I was right. The PM just wanted to bloviate. This always happens when we give him advice, and he ignores it, then everything goes wrong. His refrain is always, ‘Why didn’t somebody tell me?’ when everybody has told him.”

“I suppose it’s too late to come down here now.”

“I have an eight o’clock meeting tomorrow morning in London, and if I came down there, I’d miss it, because I’d wake up at five o’clock tomorrow morning, find you in bed with me, and want to stay all day.”

“When, then?”

“The weekend is as soon as I can promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’ll aim for Friday, seven PM on your dock.”

“Have you ever been fucked on a dock?”

“Probably, but docks have splinters. Your bed is more inviting.”

“See you then.”

“I’ll bring clothes for the weekend.”

“You won’t need them, but bring them anyway, if we should have a sudden urge to dine at the Squadron.”

“Done.” She hung up.

On Friday evening at seven, Stone was standing on his dock, waiting, peering into the gloom, when Felicity’s boat emerged from the fog. He took her lines, made them fast, and put her suitcase on the golf cart.

They said little until they were upstairs. “Dinner’s not until eight-thirty,” he said, and they both started shedding clothing and leapt into bed.

“I see I need not have worried about your ability to maintain an operational level of readiness,” she said.

“You make it sound like an MI-6 operation.”

“Our operations are not this much fun.”

“It happens when I clap eyes on you,” he said. “Every time.”

They conjoined and did it looking into each other’s eyes, until Felicity rolled over and on top of him. “This is my favorite position, you know.”

“I love the view from down here,” Stone said, reaching for her nipples.

“And I love having both your hands on my body.”

They stopped before exhaustion set in and dressed for dinner, then went down to the library.

“Osso buco tonight,” Stone said. “I remember how you love it.”

“Thank you, my dear,” she replied.

“Tell me about your week,” he said.

“It’s just as well I didn’t come down here Monday night,” she said. “It turned out to be a very busy week.”

“Have you heard anything further about Roger?”

“No, but someone brought up his name at the national security meeting.”

“In what light?”

“Everyone considers him a threat, now.”

“Good. How many people do you have assigned to you right now?”

“Four,” she replied, “and armed to the teeth.”

“Are they outside now?”

“Yes, and they are rentals. The desire for security among the cognoscenti is such that I have had to turn to your friends at Strategic Services to lend a hand, and no one is complaining about the cost.”

“Tell them to get some supper from the kitchen,” Stone said.

“They’ll appreciate that.”

“Lance will be relieved to learn that you’re taking the threat seriously.”

“Ah, Lance.”

“Anything new to report re: Roger?”

“He appears to be wallowing in connubial bliss,” she replied.

“‘Connubial’?”

“They went to a registry office and got married.”

“That says something about how serious the Russians are, that they would allow that.”

“I’m sure they encouraged it.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that connubial bliss would be a requirement for an assassin.”

“They clearly want him to be happy,” Felicity said. “I’m sure they think it will make him more responsive to their wishes, if he knows that, by refusing an order, he jeopardizes everything.”

“Good point. Is anyone doing anything to rattle these people?”

“Apparently not. Someone at the meeting had drawn up a list of Russians to knock off, should they get lucky with one of ours. A rapid response.”

“I don’t see how that does anything preventative.”

“Neither do I,” she replied.

“Are your people taking any steps, other than watching my house?”

“All of our people are now bearing upgraded arms,” she said. “Everyone now has a sniper scope with night vision capabilities. Everything is silenced, too.”

“Well, I’m glad for them not to disturb my neighbors.”

“You don’t really have any neighbors, Stone, except for the guests in your hotel.”

“Especially paying neighbors.”

She laughed and polished off her peach tart. “Now,” she said, “I’m ready to be bodily carried upstairs.”

“I think I can just about bodily drag you to the elevator,” he said, “but that’s about it.”

“Do with me as you will,” she said.

He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. “I fully intend to.” He took the elevator.

On Saturday, a few hours later and eighty miles or so north, another couple, housed in Eaton Place, were having much the same experience as Stone and Felicity.

“I’ve never been married before,” Roger breathed. “I like it.”

“And I only once, and I didn’t like it,” Jennifer replied. “Now I do. The odd thing is, we’re doing the same things to each other that we always do, but it seems to be better because we’re married.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

Roger’s phone rang. “The hell with it,” he said, thrusting.

“You have to answer it,” she said. “Otherwise, they’ll come looking for us.”

“Shit!” he yelled but did not disengage. “Hello?”