Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(68)

54



STONE AND KELLY followed the duke and duchess slowly around the perimeter of the dining room, staying as far from the tables as possible.

“My great-grandfather used to hold mud-wrestling matches in this room,” the duke said.

“Really?” Kelly asked.

“No, not really, I’m just moving my lips for the benefit of anyone watching us, and sometimes words come out.”

“Please continue,” Stone said as they worked their way around the room, looking up.

“The gilding was applied by itinerant Italian craftsmen,” he said. “It took them two years to finish the whole house.”

“Really?” Stone asked.

“Yes, really. I thought I’d better stick to facts rather than making up stuff.”

“Please go on.”

“There was a picture hanging here,” he said, pointing at a wall, “that was attributed to Leonardo da Vinci, one of less than twenty in the world. It now hangs in the National Gallery.”

“The identity of the artist couldn’t be verified?” Kelly asked.

“No, if it could have been, it would now be hanging in my drawing room.”

They had reached the high double doors, and the duke pointed upward. “The edges of these door frames are called jambs; I’ve no idea why.” Then they were out the doors and into the grand hall, picking up speed. They grabbed their coats from the cloakroom and ran out into the night.

A few yards away, big headlights came on and a twelve-cylinder engine growled to life. Herbert got out and held the door for them as the four of them piled into the rear compartment.

“The airfield, Herbert,” the duke said, “if you please.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” Herbert clambered into the driver’s seat and made a U-turn.

“Slowly, please,” the duke said. “No more than twenty miles an hour. We don’t wish to alarm anyone bearing weapons.”

Herbert slowed down. “It’s this way, Your Grace?”

“It is. Hold your course.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Stone,” the duke said, “what are we going to do when we arrive at the airfield?”

“Inspect it,” Stone replied.

“Ah, yes.”

“Especially the hangars.”

“Of course.”

“What do you hope to find?” the duchess asked.

“The best possible outcome would be to find nothing,” Stone said. “The worst would be to find a ticking bomb.”

“Do bombs still tick?” the duchess asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Stone replied.

“Sometimes they tick,” Kelly chipped in. “Other times, they just detonate without warning.”

“How reassuring,” the duchess replied archly.

They drove on over the dense lawn, occasionally hitting a bump or a stone and rocking slightly.

“It’s the soft suspension,” the duke said apologetically. “The old thing is accustomed to smooth roads.”

“She’ll do,” Stone said. “I much prefer her to a golf cart, in the circumstances.”

Up ahead they could see the soft, blue glow of landing lights.

“How does this glass partition go down?” Stone asked.

The duke pointed at a button on the armrest. “There,” he said.

Stone found the button and brought the glass down a foot. “Herbert?” he called.

“Yes, sir?”

“The end of the runway is off to your right; please drive over there, then drive down the centerline of the runway toward the hangars. Twenty miles an hour is still good.” He left the glass down and turned to the duke. “She’ll prefer the runway to the grass, I should think.”

“Quite so,” the duke replied.

They had driven, perhaps, a thousand feet when suddenly, two figures clad in what appeared to be military battle dress, but without insignia, appeared on the runway before them. Herbert stopped and rolled down his window. One of the men, carrying a Kalashnikov assault rifle, walked around to the window.

Herbert shouted an unintelligible stream of what sounded like Russian at the man, and the man jumped back. Herbert continued driving.

“What did he say?” Stone asked Kelly.

“He said that the occupants of the car are the Duke and Duchess of Kensington, the honored guests of President Petrov,” Kelly replied. “Herbert,” she called out, “that was splendid. Where did you pick up your Russian?”

“It’s George Herbert, miss, of MI-5. I learned it at Bletchley Park, our code center and language school.”

“Well,” Kelly said, “it works.”

“It does sometimes, miss. Sometimes they shout back, and I have to resort to violence.”

“Let’s try not to do that tonight,” Stone said. “We’re outnumbered and more poorly armed.”

“Are we armed at all?” the duke said.

“We have two pistols between us,” Stone replied. “I don’t think they’d get us as far as the Bentley has.”

They rolled on down the runway and seemed to attract no further notice, until they approached the hangars.