Стюарт Вудс - Stealth

“Good morning, Roger,” Alex said.

“It is, isn’t it.”

“I trust the honeymoon is over.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“It’s time to talk about a new assignment.”

“Does it have to be today?”

“It does. Come to a shop in Burlington Arcade called Literary Antiquities, at eleven AM. Take the usual steps to avoid followers; it’s critically important today.”

“Got it,” Roger said.

“Don’t bring Jennifer, but you may employ her in your evasion tactics.”

“All right.” They both hung up.

“It was Alex, wasn’t it?” she asked, still moving with him.

“Of course. And at the most inconvenient time.”

“What time does he want you?”

“Eleven AM, in three hours.”

She increased her pace and brought him off almost immediately. “There,” she said. “Now I’ll get us some breakfast. You stay where you are.”

Roger followed her instructions and dozed off. He was awakened by the weight of a tray on his lap. She plumped the pillows for him, and he sat up. Eggs, back bacon, buttered toast, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a pot of strong coffee on the bedside table. He tucked into it.

“Is today likely to be another hit?”

“I expect so,” Jennifer replied. “They know now how good you are at it.”

“After the trial run,” he said.

“How did you feel about that?” she asked. “You haven’t said anything.”

“I knew it would be Garr,” he said. “They were smart to choose him.”

“They are very smart,” she said. “Not just Alex. Everyone you met at the party. They’re the smartest people I’ve ever known.”

“Smarter than those at Oxford?”

“Their intelligence is less fuzzy, more directed. There’s nothing dreamy about them. Where is your meet? Do you need my help?”

“It’s at a shop in the Burlington Arcade.”

“Literary Antiquities?”

“That’s the one.”

“It’s Alex’s shop,” she said. “Or rather, Wilfred’s.”

“Is that his real name?”

“Yes. Wilfred Thomas.”

“Is he English?”

“Very much so — the third son of a duke.”

“An aristocrat!”

“Quite so. He’s also very likely to be my father. Did you notice a resemblance?”

“No, but now that you mention it...”

“He and the man who was supposed to be my father, Eli Sands, were at Oxford together, and they both married there.”

“But Alex — excuse me — Wilfred and your mother were having it off?”

“It certainly seems so. He goes out of his way to take care of me in a paternal way. He refers to himself as ‘Uncle Wilfred.’”

“Did he recruit you?”

“Yes, but he waited a long time.”

“How long have you two been... associated?”

“Professionally, a little over four years, since his wife died. I always saw a lot of them, especially after my father died. Wilfred stepped into the breach.”

“Did his wife know about you?”

“She’d have been a fool not to. I look a lot more like Wilfred than Eli.”

“Is it odd for me to meet him at his shop?”

“It’s unusual. I’ve only been there a few times in the past four years. I think he wants to make you more trusting of him by exposing himself a bit. We will need to be especially careful about being followed.”

“That’s what he said.”

A little after ten they went down to the garage. “I’ll drive today,” she said, and he got into the passenger seat. “Now, put your head in my lap and keep it there, until I let you out. If we’re under surveillance, we want them to think I’m alone and you’re back at the flat.”

He followed her instructions.

In a van a block from the Eaton Place flat, a voice came over the radio. “The Wren is out of the nest. She’s alone. What news from the flat?”

“The TV is on, but I don’t hear anyone moving about. Stay on her.”

Jennifer drove the car twice around Hyde Park Corner, then turned into Piccadilly, then left into Mayfair. She stopped behind a construction dumpster. “Out, quick,” she said.

Roger got out, keeping low, and ducked behind the dumpster. He waited five minutes before walking back to Piccadilly and hailing a taxi. “The Savoy Hotel,” he said to the driver.

When the cab pulled into the tunnel that led to the hotel entrance, he got out of the cab and into another, headed in the opposite direction. “Savile Row,” he said, “the middle.” In Savile Row he walked slowly up one side and down the other, peering into the tailors’ windows, checking reflections, then he made his way slowly to the Burlington Arcade with ten minutes to spare.

He repeated his action of walking up one side and down the other, checking the shop windows. He lingered in front of Literary Antiquities, inspecting the titles in the window, then, after one last look around, went inside, as if he had decided to buy something.

Stone called Rose.

“Dr. McGill,” she said into the phone.

“It’s Stone.”

“How nice to hear your voice.”

“And yours, as well. I’d love to see you this coming weekend.”

“What a good idea,” she said. “I’ll take the train down on Friday, if you will have me met.”

“I certainly will.”

“Will Felicity be there?” she asked.

“Would you like me to ask her?”

“I think I would.”

Stone thought he detected a new level of interest in Felicity in Rose’s voice.

“Then I will ask her, if you’re comfortable with that.” He waited to see if the hint had registered.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m more comfortable with it than I had previously thought,” Rose said.

“I’m quite sure Felicity will be comfortable with it, too.”

“See you Friday, then,” she said, then hung up.

Stone called Felicity’s private cell.

“Hello, there,” she said, with warmth. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. Are you contemplating another weekend at Beaulieu this coming week?”

“I am. I was going to call you.”

“Then come to dinner on Friday.”

“Shall I bring my toothbrush?”

“Just in case.”

“In case?”

“Rose is coming down, too, and she requested your company at dinner.”

“Did she really?”

“Really.”

“I had thought her rather cool to the idea of... me.”

“She’s given it some thought and now seems more warmly inclined to the idea of... you.”

“How interesting.”

“I thought you would find it so.”

“How sweet of you.”

“I’ll have you met at the dock.”

“Oh, by the way,” she said, “my houseman, in doing some work in the cellar, came across some very fine and very old clarets. Shall I bring a couple of bottles?”

“That would be wonderful. If you could send them over a day or two before, they can be set upright to allow the lees to settle before I decant them.”

“I will do so,” she said. “And please tell Rose I’m looking forward to seeing her.”

“I will.” They both hung up.

“May I help you, sir?” a man behind a counter asked.

“I think perhaps you may,” Roger replied. “I’m looking for an Oxford English Dictionary , second edition, nicely bound in leather.”

Alex went to the front door, locked it, and turned over the sign to read: CLOSED. “This way,” he said, and started down a spiral staircase.

Roger followed.

Alex put on a kettle, and it boiled almost immediately. “Tea?” he asked.

“Earl Grey, if you have it.”

Alex spooned tea into the pot, poured in the water, and allowed it to steep while he got down cups and saucers from a shelf, and pastries, too.