Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(74)

Everyone got out of the car and allowed themselves to be electronically frisked.

“They’ve had a dose of radiation,” Hanson said, “but a small one. There’s no need to confine them or the vehicle. I expect all they need is a nice cup of tea.”

“Then get them one,” Lance said.

“Where’s Owaki?” Stone asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Lance replied. “Wasn’t he at the dinner?”

“We never saw him,” Stone replied. “There was someone else at the dinner who might interest you, though.”

“And who might that be?” Lance asked.

“Alexei Petrov,” Stone replied, and Lance’s mouth fell open.





60



LANCE GAPED AT STONE. “You’re shitting me!”

“I am not,” Stone said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this when you called during dinner?”

“Because you rushed me. And because I was making the call surreptitiously, from under a dinner napkin, not seven feet from where Petrov sat.”

“Well, let’s go and get the sonofabitch!”

“I’m afraid you can’t do that, Lance.”

“And why the hell not?”

Stone had never seen Lance so worked up. “Because all forty of the guests at that dinner have diplomatic passports—including Petrov, of course—and the head of the SRV and the Russian ambassador to Britain. You can’t lay a hand on any of them.”

“I wish those fighters were still armed,” Lance said. “I’d blow up the whole house.”

“What was the problem with the fighters?”

Lance threw up his hands. “The RAF had removed a radar component for an upgrade; nobody bothered to tell us.”

“Well, you got the chopper anyway. Have you found the shell?”

“Not yet. We don’t know if it’s whole or in pieces.”

“I don’t think it would be in pieces,” Stone said.

“And why not?”

“Because it’s heavily crated and sitting in an inflated life raft, and there’s a big parachute strapped to the top of it. All it’s missing is a layer of bubble wrap.”

Lance got out his phone and conveyed that information to someone, then turned. “What color is the life raft?”

“Yellow, should be easy to spot.”

Lance barked some more orders, then hung up. “I wonder if Owaki has a diplomatic passport.”

“I don’t see why he would have needed one,” Stone replied. “He didn’t have to enter the country; he was already here.”

“Then let’s go and take him.”

“Sure,” Stone said. “Do you have an arrest warrant?”

“No, I don’t,” Lance replied. “But my driver, that Special Branch officer standing over there drinking tea, has one. He’s had it in his pocket for a week, waiting to serve it. Let’s go. Kelly, too.”

They piled into a Range Rover and headed back toward Kensington House.

“Something just occurred to me,” Stone said.

“What’s that?” Lance demanded.

“I think we’d better head for the airfield. Owaki’s airplane is in the hangar.”

Lance told the driver to head cross-country, over the fields. After ten minutes of jolting progress the hangar hove into view. A tractor could be seen towing out the Gulfstream.

“What’s that very large airplane moving along the runway?” Lance asked.

“That’s an Irkut MC-21, the new Russian airliner. Petrov and his companions arrived in it.”

“All of them?” Lance asked.

“I believe so, there’s plenty of room.”

“I’d love to shoot down the thing.”

“Lance, get a grip,” Stone said. “The president of Russia is aboard it, along with twenty or so of the richest men in the world, and they’re all in the country legally.”

Lance winced. “They’d put me in prison, wouldn’t they?”

“Right after they stood you against a wall and shot you,” Stone replied.

The Boeing had back-taxied and was turning around at the end of the runway.

“Here they go,” Stone said, watching the power coming up and the airplane beginning its takeoff roll.

“And there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it,” Lance said.

“On the other hand, the Gulfstream that just came out of the hangar will have Owaki aboard, I expect.”

Lance punched his driver on the shoulder. “Get over there and park yourself in front of that airplane,” he said. The Range Rover started to move.

“It would be fun to shoot out his tires,” Stone said.

Lance grinned. “Wouldn’t it?”

The Range Rover was a sufficiently large impediment to the moving airplane, and it stopped.

“Don’t worry,” Stone said, “there’s no reverse gear on a Gulfstream. You’ve got him.”

They got out of the car and looked up at the pilot. Stone held up his arms and crossed them, the signal to cut engines. The pilot did so.

“Lance, there are only four of us,” Stone pointed out.