Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(63)
Everyone sat down at a grouping of furniture before a large fireplace and a warm fire. Drinks had just been served, when the butler made another announcement: “Mr. Lance Cabot and Dame Felicity Devonshire.”
The men all stood again.
“I believe further introductions are unnecessary,” the duke said, and they all sat down.
Conversation wandered through the weather, the grouse season, the weather, and soon they were called to dinner.
They filed into what Stone figured must be the family dining room, since it seated only twelve and was paneled, instead of gilded, and the flatware was sterling, instead of gold.
They got through three very well-prepared courses, then the port decanter arrived and four of the ladies got up and excused themselves. Dame Felicity sat where she was, and Stone put a hand on Kelly’s arm to indicate that she should stay.
Stilton was served, and the port decanter made its way to the left around the table. Stone thought it a perfect old wine, though he couldn’t place the vineyard.
The duke cleared his throat. “The prime minister would like to say a few words,” he said.
The prime minister, a chunky but handsome man with thick white hair, carefully barbered, did not rise. “Thank you all for coming,” he said, “and for your, ah, efforts in this endeavor thus far. Suffice it to say, they have been insufficient.” It somehow got quieter in the room. “The device we seek still eludes you, and that simply will not do. I hope I make myself perfectly clear.”
Stone thought the P.M. could have added that they would all be shot or beheaded if their efforts continued to be insufficient, but he had restrained himself.
“Perfectly clear,” the duke replied smoothly. “Phineas?” he said to the home secretary, who sat up straight.
“Prime Minister,” the home secretary said. “On Tuesday evening next, the duke and duchess will be honored guests at Kensington House, accompanied by Mr. Barrington and Ms. Smith.”
The prime minister nodded.
“It is our belief,” the home secretary continued, “based on the latest and best intelligence, that the device will be present on the estate that evening—very likely in an aircraft, perhaps a helicopter. Mr. Barrington, who has previously visited the airfield and its hangars, will ascertain the presence of the device and in what aircraft it is loaded. Then he will communicate this information to the Special Air Services group waiting on Salisbury Plain by satphone.” He turned to Felicity. “Dame Felicity?”
“Prime Minister,” she began, “our actions upon location of the device will depend on whether the aircraft containing it is at rest or about to take off. If it is at rest, SAS will conduct a raid with twenty-four members in three silenced helicopters and recover the device intact. In the unfortunate event that the aircraft containing the device is on the move it will be destroyed on the ground or in the air by a flight of four Aero L-159 Advanced Light Combat Aircraft—Czech, close-support fighters, which the intelligence services have employed to good effect in past operations. They will each be armed with 50-calibre machine guns and four American Hellfire missiles, carrying reduced charges, given the prospect of villages and farms in the district. Preference is: one, to pursue the target aircraft to the Channel and bring it down into the water; two, to destroy it over the Salisbury Plain tank warfare training ground; or, three, to shoot it down by any means available in any place available.”
“That last one is a non-starter,” the P.M. said quickly.
“Prime Minister,” Felicity replied, “that option would be employed only if the device were about to be lost, a circumstance we cannot allow to occur.”
“What if the bloody thing detonates?” the P.M. demanded.
“The device does not have detonation capability, according to the German Army. If we should have to shoot down the aircraft in a populated area, cleanup brigades would move in very quickly to remove any radioactive material. Damage would be minimal.”
“So you say,” the P.M. said. “You won’t have to answer to Parliament.” He appeared to be sweating lightly.
“I quite understand,” Felicity said firmly. “Every conceivable precaution is being taken. We have high confidence of a successful recovery without casualties.”
“It had damned well better turn out that way,” the P.M. said, “or every person in this room will become instantly unemployed . . . and unemployable.” He dabbed at his forehead with a napkin. “I except our American friends from that condition, of course, but I expect their superiors will be as unhappy as we.”
“I believe we all accept that, Prime Minister,” Lance said, the first time he had spoken.
“Are we all in agreement, then?” the duke asked. No one would look at him, and no one spoke. “Well then,” he said, “we’ll join the ladies, shall we?”
Lance walked with Stone. “Apparently,” he said quietly, “the P.M.’s surreptitious support of Owaki has melted away, in the circumstances.”
50
THEY JOINED THE LADIES in the library, which was large and ornate, and the port decanter followed them in. Conversation reverted to the mundane, and those who had heard the prime minister tended to look slightly ill.
Finally, as the level of port in the decanter receded, along with the conversation, the gathering began to break up, the prime minister and his wife being the first to depart. After a few minutes, only Lance and Felicity and Stone and Kelly remained. The duke had summoned another bottle of port, and they lingered over that.