At nine o’clock the bell rang again, and a check of the peephole revealed a man in what appeared to be an airline uniform with a raincoat over his arm and a large bouquet of flowers in his other hand. Stone opened the door.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Don Quint, the first officer for your flight.” The man handed him the raincoat. “There’s a folded hat in the pocket. Please put them both on.”

He turned toward Felicity. “Dame Felicity?”

“Yes.”

He walked over and handed her the flowers. “If we encounter anyone, anyone at all, on the way out, please hide behind these.”

She accepted the flowers, and the two of them followed the man down the hallway, away from the main elevators. They took a service elevator to the ground floor, which opened into a kitchen, then followed the man through a scullery and out into East Fifty-eighth Street, where a black stretch Mercedes with darkened windows awaited.

The man in the airline uniform opened the rear door for them and relieved Felicity of the flowers. Then he got into the front passenger seat.

Mike Freeman was already in the car, sitting in a jump seat. “Good evening,” he said, and the car drove away. “Take the tunnel,” he said to the driver.

“Thanks for your help, Mike,” Stone said.

“I’m happy to be of service,” he replied. “I think you should both know that something odd has happened in the reporting of this story in London.”

“We noticed,” Felicity replied.

“Then you’ll know that it seems to be quashed and that the government has resumed the appearance of normalcy.”

“Quite.”

“What are your intentions on arrival?” he asked her.

“I haven’t entirely decided,” she replied. “I assume we’re going to an airplane.”

“Yes, at Teterboro. It’s our company jet, a Gulfstream 550.”

“May I assume it has a satellite phone aboard?”

“Yes, and a high-speed Internet connection. Both numbers are blocked, so no one you call or e-mail will know where the transmissions are coming from.”

“Very good. I’ll make my arrangements in the air, then.”

“As you wish. You’ll be landing at a general aviation field southwest of London, called Blackbush.”

“I know it,” she replied. “Good choice.”

“A car will be waiting to take you wherever you wish to go. Stone, the airplane will wait for you at Blackbush to return you to New York. If you find you’ll be in London for more than forty-eight hours, please call me at this number, and I’ll make arrangements for your return whenever you wish.” He handed Stone a card.

“Thank you, Mike.”

They were through the tunnel now and on the way to Teterboro. When they arrived at the airport, they were driven through an opened gate to the airplane, which sat on the tarmac, its engines already running.