Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(41)

Up ahead a deer-like animal burst from the woods into open country, hotly pursued by a lioness. After some zigging and zagging, she caught up, and the passengers on the tram made regretful noises.

“That’s how her cubs eat,” the driver said, as she was dragging away her kill, “even if it’s Nature at her cruelest.”

They traveled on, spotting more lions here and there, but not much other game. Then, as they came around a corner, Stone saw the airfield in the distance. A helicopter was lifting off. Clear of the ground, it turned and flew south toward the English Channel, still climbing.

“Is that the copter we saw this morning?” Kelly asked.

“I can’t tell,” Stone said. “We’re too far away. It might have landed, dropped someone off, and now is departing.”

“Or,” she said. “The subject of our interest may have departed with it.”

The road turned back into the woods.



* * *



—

AFTER A LUNCH SERVED from tables set up in the garden of the house, those interested followed a man carrying a flag to guide them for a quarter of a mile, or so, to where a skeet range awaited them. There were several shooting stations, and the group divided among them.

A tweedy gentleman from the gunmakers Holland & Holland lectured the first-timers on the etiquette of not shooting one’s neighbors and some tips on how to explode clay pigeons.

“You, madam,” he said to Kelly, “will you shoot first?” He loaded a gun and handed it to her. “When you shout, ‘Pull!’ a clay will be released. Remember, swing through it, like hitting a tennis ball. Whenever you’re ready.”

Kelly took her stance and shouted, then brought down a high-flying pigeon.

“Very good,” the instructor said, handing her more shells. “Keep going.”

She shouted again, and two low-flying pigeons crossed in front of them, and Kelly brought both of them down. After a half dozen more hits, the instructor cried, “That’s enough! We’ll run out of pigeons!”

Kelly received a round of applause from the others and surrendered the weapon to Stone. He did nearly, but not quite as well as Kelly.

Late in the afternoon they returned to the house to rest and dress for dinner and the ball that evening. Stone was out of the bathroom and dressed long before Kelly, so he knocked on the door of the adjoining room and roused Bill Eggers, who joined him on their terrace for a drink. Both wore dressing gowns over their trousers and vests, saving their tails for the evening.

“So,” Eggers said, “how are my spies coming along? Finding what Lance wants you to find?”

“We managed to poke around the airfield this morning,” Stone said. “Owaki has a G-650 tucked into one of the hangars.”

“About what you’d expect from one of the world’s richest men,” Eggers said.

“Is that the truth?”

“I’ve heard from the sort of people who know these things that he’s worth at least forty billion dollars.”

“‘At least’?”

“He could be worth more than Warren Buffett or Bill Gates—not more than Vladimir Putin, though, and Owaki doesn’t give it away. Not a philanthropic bone in his body.”

“How can an arms dealer have that much money?”

“You forget,” Eggers said, “his clients pay for their weapons from the treasuries of some of the richest countries on the planet. And he’s been at this for, what, thirty years?”

“So I don’t have to worry about the upkeep of Kensington House breaking him?”

“Not hardly. And running costs of the G-650 are just cab fare to him.”

“Have you noticed the lack of cell service here?” Stone asked.

“I have. You’d think he could afford the equipment.”

“You’d think.”

Then, from a great distance, they heard what could have been gunfire.

“The skeet range?” Eggers wondered.

“Not shotguns,” Stone said. “More like rifle fire.”

“Perhaps they’re shooting some venison for dinner,” Eggers ventured.

“Or perhaps some guests made a break for it,” Stone replied.

The ladies joined them, having made their own drinks. Kelly looked dangerous in a ball gown of red, with glittery attachments, whereas Charlotte was more demure in pale blue.

“We just heard gunfire from somewhere out there,” Eggers said, pointing with his glass.

“What kind of gunfire?” Kelly asked.

“Rifle, I think,” Stone replied.

“Auto?”

“No, nothing that frantic.”

“Stone thinks some guests tried to make a break for it,” Eggers said.

“Oh, really, Stone,” Charlotte said.

“Well, we’re not allowed cell service, and our car is locked away in a barn somewhere. I wanted to make a phone call, but there’s no phone in our room, and a footman said that, while there’s a phone in the office, it’s closed on weekends. Do you think there are this many people anywhere else in England right now being held incommunicado?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Eggers said.





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