Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(15)

“How long will it take you to pack tomorrow morning?”

“An hour,” she said. “Half an hour if there are shops at the other end.”

Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti,” he said.

“Somebody took a shot at us as we arrived at the house,” Stone said.

“Silencer?”

“I didn’t hear it, so yes.”

“I’ll get people on it. Time to flee the country.”

“Can you manage tomorrow morning?”

“You bet your ass, I can.”

“Where’s Viv?”

“Singapore. I’ll see if she can come home flying west, to England.”

“Good. Tell her to arrange some security for us tomorrow at Windward Hall and at the London house, and tell her Mike is welcome, too, if he can take some time off.”

“Will do. What time?”

“Faith has to arrange for a second pilot and do her flight planning. Let’s say ten o’clock at Jet Aviation.”

“That will give me time to make up some story about why I have to go to England,” Dino said. “You’re on.”

Stone hung up.

“It’s as easy as that?” Vanessa asked.

“It is if you remember to pack your passport.”

“And we don’t have to stand in line and get frisked, do we?”

“Nope. I’ll frisk you, though, just for the fun of it.”

“Oh, good.”



* * *



—

The car pulled up to the airplane at 9:45, and Faith and her copilot waited at the bottom of the airstairs. While they and Fred loaded the luggage, Stone and Vanessa walked onto the airplane to find a stewardess waiting for them with a silver tray containing two mimosas. Dino was already aboard. “Viv will meet us in England tomorrow,” he said.

By the time they had settled into their seats and fastened their belts, the engines were running. Stone went forward and replaced Faith in the left cockpit seat, and shortly they were at the threshold of runway one. The Gulfstream 500 accelerated down the runway and, with a smooth tug on the sidestick by Stone, took wing. They were off. Stone flew the airplane directly to their assigned cruising altitude, fifty-one thousand feet, then handed the airplane back to Faith and went back to Vanessa.

“I feel safer already,” Vanessa said. “Now tell me exactly where we’re going.”

Stone produced a map of southern England from a side pocket. “Here’s London,” he said, then moved his finger down the map. “This is the village of Bewley, spelled Beaulieu, this is the Beaulieu River, running down to the Solent, which is the body of water that separates the Isle of Wight, over there, from the mainland.” He tapped a spot. “The house is here, on the river.”

She inspected the map. “And where do we land? Heathrow? Southampton?”

“We land in my backyard,” Stone said. “During World War II, the RAF built an airfield there, which was not on any air chart and was used for dropping agents of the Special Operations Executive and their equipment and weapons into France and the Low Countries. Two owners after the war took good care of it, and I’m the third.”

“How convenient. What do we do about customs?”

“Customs and immigration will drive over from Southampton Airport and meet us, and so will a fuel truck, for the return trip.”

“How long are we staying?”

“Until the killer is apprehended or you get sick of the English or the countryside or me, whichever comes first.”

“Where are the nearest shops?”

“In London, which is an hour and a half’s drive. We can stay at my London house, in Belgravia, which is a stone’s throw from Harvey Nick’s and Harrods.”

“I don’t suppose they can bring the dress department over?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make the effort.”

“I can do that.”

Lunch, a lobster salad, was served, along with a Cakebread chardonnay. Vanessa was soon out like a light, and Stone moved across the aisle to the seating group where Dino was finishing his lunch.

“I guess you want a report about last night,” Dino said.

“I can wait until you’ve made the lobster disappear.”

“Good. That’s what I was going to suggest.” He finished his lunch at a leisurely pace and accepted another glass of the Cakebread from the stewardess.

Dino stretched his arms and legs. “Okay,” he said. “We found where the bullet hit a brick, and that tells us that it wasn’t a warning shot; he was trying.”

“Oh.”

“He missed you by a couple of inches. You were hoping for a warning shot?”

“My name is the last on his list. I had hoped that meant that he’d come after me last.”

“Dream on,” Dino said. “Did you see a car parked outside the house?”

“There were cars on the other side of the street. I didn’t pay much attention to them.”

“You should be more observant when somebody is trying to kill you,” Dino said.

“I was too busy trying not to get killed.”

“A natural reaction, but not helpful to the police.”