Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(21)

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stone replied, “but these seats recline fully, so perhaps we won’t need it.”

Shortly, the distant sound of engines starting could be heard, and soon after that the aircraft began to move. Stone reclined his seat and switched on the TV on the bulkhead facing him and, simultaneously, the TV behind him, for Kelly to view, and selected Morning Joe from a list of recorded programs.

“Shouldn’t that be over by now?” Kelly asked.

“The magic of Tivo,” Stone said. They settled in while the airplane taxied the short distance to runway 1, and a moment later they were rolling, then lifting off. The landing gear came up with a soft thump.

“It’s astonishingly quiet,” Kelly said.

“It is. First time I’ve flown aboard it. This is a new model from Gulfstream, one of the first three, I’m told.”

“Who are our hosts?” Kelly asked.

“Strategic Services is the world’s second-largest security company,” Stone replied, “with offices around the world. Their aircraft cross both big oceans on a regular basis, and it certainly beats the airport experience of flying commercial, doesn’t it?”

“It beats flying commercial on every point,” she said.

Before they had crossed the East Coast, both of them had fully reclined their seats and were asleep under cashmere blankets provided by the attendant.



* * *



—

THEY WERE AWAKENED for a hot lunch some four hours later, then watched a movie and early in the evening set down at London City Airport.

“That must be a pretty short runway,” Kelly said, as the airplane braked and reversed its engines.

“Just under five thousand feet,” Stone said, “but this airplane can land in a little over three thousand feet.”

“How about takeoff distance?”

“Need 6,700 feet, fully loaded, but with a six-thousand-mile range, it wouldn’t need full fuel for a transatlantic crossing and could handle the runway. You’re very curious about aircraft specifications.”

“My father was an airline pilot and talked about little else.”

“Ah, so you’re an aircraft nerd.”

“Born and bred, and I’m very impressed with this one. Is there room at this airport for a lot of airplanes?”

“No, mostly they land, deposit their passengers, then fly on to some more accommodating field. We’re only a few miles from central London, so we’ll be home soon.”

“Where are we staying?”

“At my house. I bought it last year from a friend, Dame Felicity Devonshire, and it’s just been redone.”

“I know who she is,” Kelly said. “I read about her in a piece in Vanity Fair. Who redid the house for you?”

“A London designer named Susan Blackburn.”

“She’s the hottest in London,” Kelly said. “How’d you get her?”

“She redid a country house here for the previous owner, and I gave her some advice about expanding her business, so I didn’t have to stand in line.”

They deplaned into a waiting Bentley, their luggage already in the boot. “Henry,” Stone said to the driver, “this is Ms. Kelly Smith.”

“’Owdja do?” Henry replied in a thick Cockney accent.

“Henry and his wife, Gracie, will do for us while we’re here. Have you spent much time in London, Kelly?”

“I’ve worked here half a dozen times,” she said. “Paris, too. Where’s your house?”

“In Belgravia, Wilton Crescent.”

“Oh, there’s a pub in Wilton Row, the Grenadier.”

“In the mews, right behind the house.”

“That’s convenient.”

Henry deposited them at the front door, where Gracie was waiting, while he drove around to the mews to unload their luggage and put the car in the garage.

Stone made the introductions on the doorstep, then stepped into his new house for only the second time—the first had been at a dinner party hosted by the previous owner. He was astonished at the completeness of the interior; it was as if he’d always lived there.

Gracie fed them supper in the library, which was filled with books he’d bought locally or sent over from New York.

“What are our plans while we’re here?” Kelly asked.

“Tomorrow evening we’re going to have dinner with your senator friend and a man named Selwyn Owaki.”

“Well, seeing Joe again so soon after abandoning him last night will be embarrassing. Is this Owaki an arms dealer?”

“Yes, he is.”

“I’ve read about him, too; sounds like a nasty piece of work.”

“Oh, you’ll find him charming,” Stone said, “as long as you don’t owe him money or stand in the way of one of his deals.”

“How do you know him?”

“I’ve met him only twice,” Stone replied. “Shortly before the first, he tried to have me killed, and I saw him a second time when I testified against him at his bail hearing.”

“Is he likely to try again at dinner?”

“I shouldn’t think so; in any case, we’ll be very well protected.”