Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(54)
“Maybe nearer the end of the week,” Stone said. “I’m still working my way through ground school online.”
* * *
—
BACK AT THE HOUSE he found the others observing the cocktail hour and joined them.
“I tried to call you a couple of times,” Kelly said.
“No cell reception in the airplane. There’s a satphone aboard, though; I’ll get you the number.”
“Lance called to say that, with a little nudge from him, the Navy found a flight out of Key West for Senator Joe Box, so he’s out of our way. He wants you to continue to behave as if you’re being surveilled, though.”
“Well, tomorrow will be just like today,” Stone replied. “I’ll be doing some online study, then flying.”
Lance walked into the room. “I’m thirsty,” he said, and Stone took him to the bar and showed him where everything could be found. Lance stuck with scotch.
“Did Kelly tell you we’ve got the senator off our backs?” Lance asked.
“She did. It’s always nice getting away from him.”
“When are you contemplating returning to New York?” Lance asked.
“The end of the week, maybe. I want to take a checkride in this airplane later this week, then I’ll go back whenever the coast is clear.”
“The coast is not going to be clear for a while,” Lance said, “but it should get a little clearer, as time goes by.”
“Have you got a tail on Owaki?”
“No, he was too quick for us. When his airplane flew into Teterboro, he wasn’t aboard. He either took another airplane somewhere or drove. We’ve got his New York residence covered, since that seems the likely place for him to head.”
Stone looked at his watch. “It’s a little late to be calling England; I’ll call the duke tomorrow.”
“Kensington? What for?”
“He invited me to do so, and I’d like to know if he’s heard of any scheduling at Kensington House. Sometimes he’s paid to turn up at events there.”
“You’re thinking of a Russian event?” Lance asked.
“Yes. It’s cheaper to call the duke than keep the place under surveillance, isn’t it?”
“Quite right,” Lance said. “By the way, my people—the ones who drove you to the airport this morning—kept an eye on the field, and nobody turned up who aroused any suspicion. It may be that you managed to get yourself to Key West undetected. If we get another good day or two like that, maybe I can make better use of my people elsewhere.”
“That would be nice,” Stone said. “I thought we might go to Los Angeles from here. I don’t think Owaki would think of that.”
* * *
—
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Stone studied at the computer until noon, then met Peg at the hangar.
“All right,” she said, “we’re doing a mock checkride; let’s start with the preflight, and don’t forget to use the manual; the examiner will want that.”
“Right,” Stone said, and he walked himself through the preflight.
* * *
—
AFTER TAKEOFF, they went north to the practice area and ran through all the turns and stalls, then they started flying instrument approaches.
Taxiing back to the hangar later, Peg said, “Jenny was right; you’re ready. We’ll make a date with the examiner up at Punta Gorda for the day after tomorrow, if he has a slot open.”
* * *
—
KELLY AND VIV did the cooking that evening, and they dined on pasta and a Caesar salad.
“Lance called,” Kelly said, as they were putting dinner on the table. “He won’t be home for dinner.”
“Is that good or bad?” Stone asked.
“With Lance, you never know,” Kelly replied.
43
STONE SPENT THE MORNING completing his online ground course, took the exam and printed out his record of completion for his logbook, then he met Jenny at the airport, and they flew to Punta Gorda, where the FAA examiner operated. His name was Walt Bradshaw.
They completed the paperwork for the checkride, then walked out to the airplane where Walt asked him some questions about the preflight inspection, then they climbed into the cockpit and spent the next two and a half hours working their way through the FAA prescribed list of maneuvers and procedures. Stone didn’t screw up anything, so after they landed, Walt took Stone’s license and issued a temporary certificate with his new type rating on it. A new permanent license would be mailed to him.
* * *
—
THEY FLEW BACK TO Key West, and as Stone lined up for a visual approach to runway 9, something odd caught his eye: as they entered the downwind leg of the traffic pattern, an aircraft on final approach seemed to have French markings. He landed after the airplane and taxied a little faster than usual in order to get a good look at the French airplane. It was a Falcon, manufactured by Dassault, and was smaller than Owaki’s G-650.
Stone turned the Latitude so that the tail was pointing at his hangar, shut down the engines, then waited for a lineman to show up with the tow and back them in. As he waited, he watched the French airplane to see who got out of it.