Shoot Him If He Runs (Stone Barrington 14)

he bill going to come to?”

“A little under three thousand.”

“Charge it to the credit card number I gave you, and leave a copy of the bill on the seat. I’ve rented hangar number four, so put the airplane in there and lock it up. The combination on the lock is 4340.”

“Yes, sir; it’ll be in there by tomorrow night.”

“Thank you, Tito.”

“Let us know if you need anything else.”

“Will do.”

Teddy hung up and continued driving. Less than a minute passed before the phone vibrated again. “Yes?”

“Mr. Martin?”

“Yes?”

“This is Cornwall Shipping Agents; the shipment you told us to expect arrived this morning. It should clear customs by noon tomorrow.”

“Oh, good; what’s the tariff going to be?”

“Around eight hundred dollars.”

“All right; charge it to the credit card number I gave you.”

“Do you want it delivered?”

“How large is it?”

“Two wooden crates, one about eight feet long, the other about five feet. Not all that heavy, though.”

“I’ll pick them up tomorrow afternoon, then. Will they be ready to go?”

“Yes, sir, just back up to our loading dock and tell the man on duty you want shipment number 00028, and make sure he gives you both crates.”

“See you then.” Teddy hung up. This was all coming together very well, he thought. His purchase ostensibly included all the tools he would need, but he was going to have to buy a chain saw.

Right now, though, all Teddy needed was a drink.

14

Kate Lee was dropped by her driver at the White House entrance, and, led and followed by her Secret Service agents, she took the elevator to the family quarters. The two agents remained at the downstairs elevator door. It was nearly eight o’clock, and she was exhausted.

As she got off the elevator she was grateful for the smells coming from the family kitchen. She flung her coat at a living room chair, dropped her bulging briefcase on the floor beside it, then walked into the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” she said to the man in the apron with his back to her, “who do I have to fuck around here to get a drink?”

Will Lee looked over his shoulder, turned the steaks on the grill of the Viking stove and came toward her. “You’re looking at him,” he said, kissing her and dragging a stool up to the kitchen island for her. He went to the freezer and extracted a full bottle of premade, very dry martinis, poured her one in a crystal glass and dropped in two olives. He handed her the drink. “My new speciality,” he said, picking up his own glass. They raised their glasses, gazed into each other’s eyes and took large sips.

“Mmmmm,” she said, “and what is the secret of this libation? What gives it that interesting something?”

“That interesting something is that the olives are stuffed with anchovies.”

“But I hate anchovies,” she said.

“That’s why it was a secret.”