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  —

  The Cessna Caravan, a hefty aircraft often used as a flying truck, with fixed landing gear and a single, turboprop engine, was parked on a private ramp at San Jose airport when they arrived. With the help of the pilot, Hamish and Jasmine got all the luggage, including the trunk, loaded into the interior. The pilot was around thirty, with a Mediterranean look about him. “My name is Habib,” he said.

  Hamish shook his hand. “Have you filed your flight plan?”

  “I have, and we are fueled. We can depart immediately,” Habib replied.

  “Then let’s go.” Hamish embraced Jasmine, then climbed into the copilot’s seat of the airplane and watched carefully as Habib started his engine and ran through his checklists. The airplane had the same Garmin avionics as the Citation Mustang he was accustomed to flying, and he knew he could fly this one if he had to. Habib radioed the tower for his clearance and permission to taxi, and shortly, they were climbing out of San Jose toward the Pacific. At a thousand feet of altitude, Habib switched on the autopilot, and the airplane began to fly its flight plan. Since the aircraft was not pressurized, Habib leveled off at eleven thousand feet and set cruise power.

  —

  Three hours later they set down at Santa Monica and, getting instructions from ground control, taxied to the western end of the airfield, around a row of hangars to one facing south. The doors were open, and three men stood outside. Habib shut down the engine, and, without a word, the three unloaded the luggage, stowed it in the hangar, then helped the pilot back the aircraft into the hangar, where Hamish took the pilot aside.

  “Here is one-third of your money and some extra for cab fare and a motel room,” Hamish said, handing him a thick envelope. “You will receive the other two-thirds when we return north.” He gave the man a cell phone. “You are to make no calls on this phone,” he said. “I will call you at the appropriate time and tell you when our departure will be. Go to the FBO and ask them to recommend a motel nearby, then take a taxi there. Do not go anywhere out of cell phone range. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Habib said. “I will await your call.” He let himself out of the hangar and left.

  “Now, gentlemen,” Hamish said to the others, “we finally meet face-to-face. You have all done well in seeking and finding employment at The Arrington, but we have much more work to do, so I will give you further instructions.” He handed each of them a small case and told them to open it, then he handed each of them a key and instructed them on how to operate the device. “Remember, you will have thirty minutes to clear the area after turning the key to the right. Take the key with you and dispose of it.

  “Hans, after I am situated in the hotel, I will call you, and you will return here in one of the Porsche Cayennes operated by the hotel and load the trunk into it. It will fit if you put the rear seats down. Tell the security people on departing the hotel that you are going for a guest’s luggage, then they will be expecting you when you return with it. If anyone wishes to open it, tell them you do not have the key, then bring it to the suite I occupy, which will be on the south side of the grounds, overlooking the amphitheater. I will be there to receive it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Hans said.

  “I will e-mail each of you the time for activating the devices. Please turn the key at exactly that time, then leave the hotel.” He handed each of them an envelope. “These are your instructions on leaving the hotel. Do not return to your homes. Follow the instructions exactly. Do not open the envelopes until you are well clear of The Arrington’s grounds. Clear?”

  The three nodded.

  “Any questions?”

  The three shook their heads.

  “Hans, have you brought a hotel vehicle?”

  “Yes, it is outside.”

  “Get my two cases into it, and we’ll go. You others, help him get the car around to the hangar and loaded.”

  The three went outside with the luggage. Hamish went to one of the devices, opened the case, located a small panel, and with a fingernail, flipped down the first dip switch. With the altered dip switch , he handed Rick the case. “This one’s yours.” The three came back and collected their small cases.

  Hamish locked the hangar and gave Hans the key, then they got into the car. “Don’t speed, don’t attract attention. You have simply picked up a hotel guest at the Santa Monica Airport, should anyone ask.”

  Hans nodded and drove out of the airport, headed for Bel-Air and The Arrington.

  33

  Everyone’s luggage was loaded into Stone’s and Dino’s cars, and they departed for Teterboro. The big Gulfstream 550 was parked outside the Jet Aviation terminal, and the crew supervised the loading of the luggage. Shortly, everyone was seated, and the big cabin gave everyone room for comfort.

  The stewardess checked their seat belts and gave them the lecture about the oxygen masks and the life jackets, then the engines were started and shortly, the airplane began to roll. Runway One was active and their taxi was short. Stone watched as the pilot shoved the throttles forward, and they roared down the runway. For a while they were vectored at low altitude by ATC, until they were clear of the approaches to Newark Airport, then the aircraft climbed to its cruising altitude, and the stewardess brought everyone mimosas, straight orange juice for the kids.

  Stone went forward to the cockpit. “Mind if I ride jump seat for a while?” he asked the pilot.

  “Sure, make yourself at home. Do you fly?”

  Stone sat down and buckled his seat belt. “Yes, I fly a Citation Mustang. I just wanted to see what you have in the way of avionics that I don’t have.”

  The pilot gave him a tour of the G-550’s avionics suite. “What do we have that you don’t have?”

  “Not much, I’m glad to say.”

  Stone went back to the cabin and sat next to Felicity, who was very quiet. “Are you troubled about something?” he asked.

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  “Come on, Felicity, you’re not yourself. What’s bothering you?”

  She sighed. “All right, it’s Algernon.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “I wanted to wait until we got to the hotel and speak directly with the Secret Service, but I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “The name Algernon appeared in signals intercepted by our GCHQ facility, which is analogous to your NSA.”

  “When?”

  “A while back,” she said, “in July 2005, shortly before the suicide bomber attacks on the London underground.”

  “Oh, shit,” Stone said.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Any more details?”

  “The messages were similar to those more recently intercepted,” she said.

  Stone waved at the stewardess and made telephone motions. She brought him a cordless satphone handset, and Stone dialed the number.

  “Mike Freeman.”

  “Mike, it’s Stone.”

  “Good morning, Stone.”

  “I have some news you need to get to the Secret Service detail.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The Brits at GCHQ intercepted previous messages with the code name ‘Algernon.’”

  “Yes?”

  “They were right before the suicide bombing attacks on the London underground. As I recall, fifty died and hundreds were injured. The messages were much like the ones the NSA intercepted more recently.”

  “I’ll call Agent Rifkin immediately,” Mike said.

  “I wonder if the president’s visit should be canceled?” Stone said.

  “Air Force One arrived at LAX at eight this morning after an overnight flight from Rio to Washington, thence here. The president and his party are probably all asleep by now. The president of Mexico is due in momentarily.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll call Rifkin now, and I’ll see you later today.” Mike hung up.

  “Did I hear you say the president�
��s visit should be canceled?” Felicity asked.

  “That’s what I would do, if I were the Secret Service detail commander, but of course, I’m not. The president arrived early this morning and is in bed asleep. The president of Mexico is due shortly.”

  “What sort of quarters does the president have?”

  “Both presidents are in large cottages that have bulletproof windows and walls, and each has a basement bomb shelter. I’m told there’s no place in Los Angeles that is more secure.”

  —

  Mike Freeman watched as Agent Rifkin talked on a telephone at the other end of the living room. There was a conversation of ten minutes, then Rifkin came back and sat down beside Mike.

  “We appreciate the information, Mike, but our director, after consulting the White House, believes we don’t have sufficient information to scrub the visit. A huge amount of staff work has gone into the preparations for the talks between President Lee and President Vargas, and the powers that be are unwilling to disrupt their conferences. A major treaty is to be signed at the conclusion of their talks, and there would be a huge flap in the media if we scrubbed it, and that wouldn’t be to the benefit of your hotel.”

  “I understand,” Mike said. “Did you rerun the background checks on the list of hotel employees I gave you?”

  “Every one of them, and we didn’t turn up a single piece of information on anybody that we didn’t learn in the first investigation.”

  “I guess I’m glad to hear that,” Mike said. “My people had the same result in their rerun.”

  “My director has told me that he’s putting another fifty agents outside the hotel grounds, patrolling the surrounding neighborhood, so if there’s somebody out there with a rocket-launched grenade or two, we’ll have a shot at finding him.”

  “I think that’s a smart move,” Mike said.

  —

  The Gulfstream landed at Burbank, and was met by three Bentleys from the hotel, along with a Porsche Cayenne for the overflow luggage. Half an hour later they drove through the main gate of The Arrington and were immediately shunted into a parking area where they were asked by Secret Service agents to get out of the vehicles.

  Stone looked around and saw landscapers unrolling swaths of sod and trimming shrubs. The grounds were very beautiful.

  Peter came over. “Vance planted hundreds of specimen trees here,” he said, “and they seem to have saved them all.”

  “I remember the landscape architect mentioning that,” Stone said. “The sod looks like the last of their work.”

  Passports and other ID were examined and checked against the guest list, the luggage was unloaded and the cars thoroughly searched by a swarm of security personnel. Finally, they were all cleared, the cars were reloaded, and they were driven to their cottages up the hill.

  They dropped Felicity at her cottage first, then Stone and his party were delivered to the main building, which was formerly the Vance Calder mansion, and across a road from the two presidential cottages. The cars drove around the building to deliver the luggage, but Stone wanted to see the finished reception building.

  He took a few steps inside and froze in his tracks. Dead ahead of him stood Arrington.

  Peter came and stood beside him. “I remember this well,” he said. “It embarrassed Mother, and she took it down.”

  Stone stared at the portrait, which was life-sized. Arrington was dressed in riding clothes and stood next to a beautiful horse, which seemed to be nibbling at her shoulder. He didn’t know who the artist was, but he had caught Arrington perfectly. Her hair was a little windblown, and there was mud on her boots, all of which added a natural quality to the work.

  The hotel manager walked up and greeted Stone and his party. “I expect you’ve seen this before,” he said.

  “No, I never have,” Stone replied, “but it’s beautiful.”

  “We found it stored in a back room of the house, and we decided to hang it here. I hope you approve.”

  “Yes, I do, and it’s the perfect spot,” Stone said. “Who was the artist?”

  “Jamie Wyeth.”

  “I know his work, and this is the best thing of his I’ve ever seen.”

  “Did you know the car could have delivered you to your cottage?” the man asked.

  “Yes, but I wanted to walk through this building.”

  “I’ll give you the tour, then. This way.”

  —

  After the tour they walked to the new cottage; Stone made the room assignments. He unpacked his clothes in the master suite, then walked around the ground floor, checking out the house. It was impeccable. There were bouquets of fresh flowers everywhere, the bar was fully stocked, and there was a kitchen staff awaiting food orders.

  The doorbell rang, and a staffer admitted Mike Freeman. Stone mixed them a drink and they sat down on the rear patio.

  “What was the reaction of the Secret Service?” Stone asked.

  Mike told him of the steps that had been taken. “Everything that can be done has been done,” he said.

  “Good.”

  —

  Perhaps two hundred yards away, Hamish McCallister, who was accredited to the grand opening and the presidential conferences as a correspondent for a London newspaper and a travel magazine, watched a movie on the large-screen television set in the living room of his suite. There was a knock on his door and he answered it. Hans stood there with the Vuitton trunk on a hand cart.

  “This way,” Hamish said. “Just set it next to the window in the bedroom.”

  Hans did as he was told.

  “Any problems getting through security?” Hamish asked.

  “None at all.”

  “Hide your small case somewhere in your workplace,” Hamish said.

  “We had all assumed that would be the case.”

  “Wait for my e-mail message,” Hamish told him. That was still a couple of days away. “Soon our work will be done.”

  34

  Late in the afternoon Stone answered the phone in the living room. “Hello?”

  “It’s Holly.”

  “Well, hello, there. I heard you got in this morning.”

  “Yes, the president stopped in D.C. on the way back from a conference in Brazil and picked up the first lady.”

  “And you.”

  “And me. Have you settled into your new quarters?” she asked.

  “Yes, everyone’s here and unpacked.”

  “The first lady asked me to call you. They’d like to get together for a drink, but there are too many staff and Secret Service here to be having guests.”

  “We’d be delighted if they’d join us here for drinks,” Stone said. “We’re just across the road.”

  “I think she was hoping you’d suggest that. In an hour?”

  “That’s perfect. They have to be back over here at seven-thirty, since President and Mrs. Vargas are coming for dinner.”

  “We’ll see you in an hour.” They both hung up.

  Stone stood up and clapped his hands. “All right, everybody, go scrub up and change clothes. The president and first lady are coming here for drinks in an hour. Don’t overdress, though.” He called Felicity and Mike Freeman and invited them.

  The group scattered to their own rooms, and Stone went to the kitchen and asked the staff to have canapés ready and to find a bartender, then he went to the master suite, showered, shaved, and changed into a tan linen suit, which didn’t seem too formal.

  —

  By the time he got back to the living room, there was a team of Secret Service agents checking out the house, upstairs and down. Their work done, they vanished. Mike Freeman and Felicity Devonshire arrived soon, and Stone introduced them. Each pretended it was the first time they had met. Stone knew of their history and said nothing to make either of them uncomfortable.

  At the appointed hour the doorbell rang, and Stone answered it himself.

  President Will Lee came in first, his hand outstretched. “Stone, it’s good to see yo
u,” he said. Then the first lady entered, followed by Holly Barker and a female Secret Service agent. Another agent remained outside the door. Air kisses were exchanged.

  Stone led the group into the living room where he introduced Dino’s girlfriend, Viv, Ben and his girlfriend, Emma, plus Peter and Hattie. They were acquainted with Felicity, but Mike was new to the Lees.

  A bartender and two waiters worked the group quickly, then got out of their way. The first lady, Holly, and Felicity were drawn together, and after some polite chat with the group, the president asked Stone and Mike to show him the patio. The three men walked outside and took seats at a table beside the pool.

  “First of all, Stone,” Lee said, “I want to thank you again for your and Dino’s brilliant assistance when you were in Washington last year.”

  “We were delighted to be of help, Mr. President.”

  “Why can’t I get you to call me Will when we’re alone?”

  “Maybe when you’ve left office,” Stone said. “When I try, I become speechless.”

  “Mike, I’m glad to meet you at last,” Lee said. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you and your company.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “I knew Jim Hackett, of course,” Lee said, referring to the late founder of Strategic Services. “He was a good man.”

  “He certainly was.”

  “I want to thank you both for the way you’ve worked with Kate, the NSA, and the Secret Service concerning this visit.”

  “We haven’t done much, except listen,” Mike said.

  “I find it reassuring when all the relevant groups are agreed on the threat and the way to proceed. It makes it easier for me to make decisions. Stone, I’m grateful to you and your partners in the hotel for making the facilities of The Arrington available for this meeting. Our respective staffs have done a great deal already, but President Vargas and I still have a thorny point or two to negotiate, starting at tonight’s dinner, and we’re both appreciative of the solitude and beauty of this place, not to mention all you’ve done to make it secure.”