“That’s what it’s for.” Stone’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he glanced at the phone. A message appeared on-screen: Tracking Tirov. Stone pressed a button, and a map of the British Isles appeared on the screen. A green ball appeared over Ireland, and it was moving toward England.

“What is it?” Gala asked

“Just a text message,” Stone replied, and put away the phone.

13

They rode back to the house, gave the horses to the groom, and went upstairs for a jet lag–defeating nap. Gala was sleeping soundly in minutes. Stone switched on his phone and chose the tracking app. The green dot was at Heathrow.

—

She woke him from his nap in the late afternoon with a gentle touch, followed by more caresses. He rose to the occasion, and soon they were entwined. Recovery required another, shorter nap, afterward they showered together, then dressed for dinner.

While Gala did her makeup, Stone checked his phone again. The green dot was in the West End of London, and by zooming in, he could place it at Claridge’s Hotel.

They were having drinks when Geoffrey came in with a telephone. “Dame Felicity Devonshire for you, Mr. Barrington.”

Stone took the phone from him. “Good evening,” he said.

“My spies told me you were back.”

“An unexpected trip. I’ve brought a friend. Where are you?”

“I just got to my Beaulieu River house.”

“We’re just having a drink. Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

“Sold. I’m assuming your friend is female?”

“Quite right.”

“No matter. I’ll be at your dock in half an hour.”

“You’ll be met.” He hung up and rang for Geoffrey.

“Yes, sir?”

“Dame Felicity will be at our dock in half an hour. Will you have her met, please? And we’ll need another place set for dinner.”

“And who is Dame Felicity Devonshire?” Gala asked.

“An old acquaintance. You’ll enjoy her.”

“And why does her name sound familiar?”

“She is the director of MI6, the British foreign intelligence service, the equivalent of our CIA.”

“Ah, I expect I’ve read that name in the papers.”

“Her name used to be a deep dark secret, but things have loosened up a bit.”

“And how did you come to know her?”

Stone thought about that. “Let’s see. . . . Ah yes, MI6 retained me once to help them locate a former operative of theirs in the States.”

“And did you locate the operative?”

“I did, but I didn’t know it for a while. He had changed his identity.”

“It all sounds very mysterious.”

“Mysterious and confidential. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act, which means I could be jailed if I blabbed.”

“So you won’t tell me more?”

“What, do you want to see me in Wormwood Scrubs prison?”

“You make it sound ghastly.”

“All British prisons are ghastly. Hardly any of them have proper plumbing, last time I heard.”