Stone Barrington 36 - Scandalous Behavior (25 page)

“From the airport, call a man named Edgar Furrow, who lives in Beaulieu. He will make a hotel reservation for you. His daughter, Sadie, works at Windward Hall, and she can give you the layout. Edgar also has sources for weapons. You can call me on my cell phone if absolutely necessary, or you can e-mail me.” He gave the man a card with the number and the address.

“Anything special to tell me?”

Calhoun thought about that. “Yes. Do the son first. I want the father to know he’s dead.”

“As you wish.”

“Good luck,” Calhoun said, then walked away, feeling better, relieved.

48

A
l Jr. settled down in first class, had a couple of bourbons, avoided the fish and chose the steak, washed down with two glasses of wine. He enjoyed travel at the expense of others, and he was looking forward to England.

At Heathrow an immigration officer asked him, “Business or pleasure?”

“A little of both.” He cleared customs, changed some money, then found a phone and called Furrow.

“I’ve booked you a room at the best hotel in town,” Furrow said, giving him the name and address.

“Make it a suite,” Al said. He then went to a rental car desk and asked for a Mercedes, got an E-class sedan with a GPS; he entered the hotel’s address, and half an hour later he had cleared
the airport and was turning onto the motorway south. He longed for a shower, a shave, and a long nap.

At the hotel he checked in, and as he turned from the desk a large, ruddy-faced man approached him. “Al? I’m Edgar Furrow. Can I buy you some breakfast?”

“Just coffee. I had breakfast.”

They sat down in the restaurant. “I was told you might need tools. Anything special?”

“Can you obtain exotics?”

“How exotic?”

“Ideally, a smallish nine-millimeter handgun and a sniper rifle, with a fitting for a tripod and an eight-power scope, and that will break down and fit into a briefcase—both of them silenced.”

“The silencers are no problem. I’ll have to inquire about the other.”

Al gave him his cell number. “Call me after noon. I need to sleep until then.”

“Don’t you want to know the lay of the land?”

Al sat back. “Sure.”

Furrow unfolded a hand-drawn map and showed him where the two houses were located. “My daughter, Sadie, works at Windward Hall. She says there are a lot of movie people in and out of there all the time. The son and his partner work in an office in the southwest corner of the ground floor, and the father has an office next door to them.”

“How do they move between the two houses?”

“Most of them drive, both the father and the son have taken
to riding horses. They take a trail through the wood here, they jump a stone wall here, then ride to Curtis House. Sometimes they go together, sometimes alone.”

“What time of day?”

“They leave Windward Hall around eight in the morning and return around six. The father doesn’t stay all day, sometimes he’ll take a ride around the Curtis property.”

“Is either of them armed?”

Furrow laughed. “You’re in Britain, where guns are rare, except for shotguns. I have a military source—the army is all over Salisbury Plain, north of here.”

“Anywhere around I can rent a horse?”

“The nearest place is ten miles or so.”

“How about a bicycle?”

“There’s a very good shop in the town, in the high street, where you can hire or buy. It’s next door to a bank.”

“I came down here from Heathrow on the motorway, past Southampton. Is that the best way back?”

“It’s the fastest.”

“Is there a back route?” He took the map Calhoun had given him from a pocket.

“You can go north across Salisbury Plain and connect with the M4 motorway west of Heathrow, here, or you can navigate cross-country.”

Al thanked the man and gave him his cell number. “Call me if there’s anything I should know.”

“Certainly.”

Al collected his luggage and found his suite; it was small but comfortable. He undressed and got into bed and was still sleeping when the phone rang. “Yes?”

“It’s me. Your tools will be ready tomorrow this time of day. Someone is modifying them to your specifications. There’ll be a box of ammo for each of them. Do you need a holster for the nine?”

“Something to wear on my belt would be good.”

“Done.”

“I don’t want to meet at the hotel again.”

“On the road toward Windward Hall there’s a pub called the Rose & Crown. Meet me there at two o’clock tomorrow in the saloon bar. It’ll be quiet at that hour.”

“I’ll find it.” Al hung up, showered, shaved, and dressed, then left the hotel, with directions to the high street. He found the bicycle shop, and it was a good one, also selling maps, travel books, and birding equipment. He asked the clerk to show him a good touring bike and selected a Raleigh five-speed. He chose a roomy set of saddlebags, as well, and picked out a large, comfortable seat. “Will you take American dollars?” he asked the clerk.

“You’ll get a better exchange rate at the bank next door,” the man said. “Your bike will be ready to go in twenty minutes. Oh, and you’ll need a lock, unless you plan to keep it indoors.”

“You have binoculars?” Al asked. “I’d like to do some birding.” He looked at some, chose a ten-power pair, and bought a tripod, as well, then he went next door, changed three thousand
dollars for pounds, went back, and rode away on his new bike, whistling a tune, the binoculars and tripod in a saddlebag. He rode out of town, past the Rose & Crown, then found the gates to Windward Hall and Curtis House.

He didn’t go inside; he would do that later.

49

C
alhoun was going through his files, deciding what to take with him and what to shred, when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“I’m on-site,” Al Jr. said. “Your man here seems to have everything in hand. I’ve been out there and looked over the estates from the road. The setup is good for an outdoor event. I’ll try for that—it’s a lot less time consuming than getting inside.”

“Sounds good,” Calhoun said. “Keep me posted. I may be leaving the country soon, but my cell phone will work wherever I am.”

“Right.” Al hung up.

Calhoun found himself breathing faster. He took a catalog case from his luggage rack and packed the cash into it, then put it into the safe. He packed the deeds into four large FedEx boxes and addressed them to his secretary at his L.A. office.

He packed some clothes into two cases; those, his briefcase, and the catalog case would make up all that he would take with him. Anything else he needed he either already had in the Rio apartment or could buy there.

Cheree came to the door and saw his luggage. “You’re serious about this, then?”

“Did you ever doubt it?”

“Well, I guess I’d better get packed, too.”

“Try not to take too much.” She always took too much. “Think of how you’ll enjoy the shopping.”

“Are we taking the cash?”

“We are, and there’s more stashed in Rio.”

—

A
l left his hotel and bicycled to the Rose & Crown, arriving early for his meeting with Furrow. He consulted the menu and ordered a lunch of steak and kidney pie and a pint of bitter. Both were good.

Furrow arrived on time, carrying a black aluminum briefcase, which he set under the table until a few people had left the room. When they were alone he set the briefcase on the table and opened it. Al was impressed. “Somebody made this?” he asked, removing the stockless, barrel-less, pistol-gripped guts of the rifle.

“No, I’m told it’s a special sniper’s rifle, made to the army’s specifications. It fires a .223 round, high-velocity. The scope is ten-power.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got a tripod already.”

“The pistol is a general officer’s model, compact.” It fit into the case, too. “The silencers, my man made. All this has to go back to the armory when you’re done with it. He can’t have it missing if somebody takes inventory, and no policeman will ever think to look for it in a military armory.”

“Fair enough,” Al said. “I wouldn’t want to carry it through security or customs, anyway.”

“I should think not. Would you like some lunch?”

“Thanks, I’ve already had mine. I need to do some sighting in.”

“Be careful with that—don’t be seen.”

“Of course not, and I’ll use the silencers, too.”

“Very good.”

Al got up, shook Furrow’s hand, and took the briefcase with him. The case fit nicely into his saddlebag, and the cover closed over it. He pedaled down the road, past the Windward Hall gate and almost to the Curtis House entrance, where he stopped, looked and listened for traffic, then lifted the bicycle over the stone wall and vaulted over. He took the case from the saddlebag, slung his binoculars around his neck, and stuffed his birding book into a jacket pocket.

The wood was only a few yards away; he left the bicycle leaning against the inside of the stone wall and set off through the trees. After a few minutes he came to the riding trail and crossed it, then passed a small wooden house. He peeked through a window and found it deserted, then continued on until he saw clear daylight ahead, beyond the trees.

He picked a spot from which he could fire between trees to a spot on the stone wall that separated the two properties. He could see that the riding trail left the woods and wound down to the wall, the grass pounded flat by recent hoofs. He set down the briefcase and walked to the edge of the wood and brought his binoculars to bear, first on Windward Hall, in the distance, then, slightly nearer, on Curtis House, where there was much activity.

Trucks and cars were parked in the forecourt, and men came and went, carrying tools and materials. He could hear the sounds of power tools coming from the house, a good thing, cover for him.

He went back to where he had left the case, opened it, and removed and assembled the rifle. The barrel was slightly shorter than he would have liked, but it made the weapon more easily concealable. He loaded a magazine, shoved it into the rifle, and sighted toward the stone wall, picking a spot where the hoof marks ended. Excellent; he would be shooting from behind the horsemen.

He sighted through the weapon then looked around at trees, gauging the wind direction and speed. There wasn’t much of either. He picked a stone on the top of the wall, sighted it in, and squeezed off a round. The silencer was very effective, and he watched through the scope as his round ricocheted off the stone below the one where he had aimed. He made a small adjustment to the sight and repeated the process, striking the stone dead center.

Then he heard the sound of hooves on turf.

50

B
illy Barnett, née Teddy Fay, woke at seven o’clock, as if by an alarm. His wife slept soundly on. Since breakfast was prepared and brought to their room she didn’t have to get up and make it, as she did at home.

Billy shaved carefully and gave some thought to allowing a mustache to sprout. He left his upper lip unshaven. He dressed in the riding clothes he had bought in the village and was sitting at their little table when the maid brought what the locals called “a full English breakfast.” He woke his wife with a kiss, and she joined him for their morning meal.