“I’m sleeping here tonight,” Felicity said. “Talk to you later.” She hung up.
Holly called Stone. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, I’ve been at it all day. I hope you had dinner.”
“I’m still waiting for you. Dinner’s in the oven.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hung up and headed for the elevator.
—
“All right,” Stone said, when he had dinner on the table and had opened a bottle of wine. “Tell me. You’ll feel better.”
“Well, since you’re in the loop on this one I guess I’m on solid ground if you know more.” She began with her visits to Kelli Keane, then went on to her conversations with Felicity Devonshire.
“So Jasmine is in the wind?”
“Absolutely. She could be anywhere by now.”
—
Jasmine was, in fact, thirty miles up the Thames from London in a secluded and comfortable riverside house.
“How long do I have this place?” she asked her contact, as she tossed her bags on the bed.
“The family is in Pakistan, visiting relatives. They’re not due back for another month. They’ve called
their housekeeper and told them that you are the doctor’s cousin, and you’re between flats and camping out here. She’ll do for you.”
“Thank God I don’t have to go out. That’s how the whole thing fell apart.”
“It was a fluke, that’s all. We’ve heard that the intelligence services circulated your passport photo widely in the ministries. No more headdresses. Dress fashionably.”
“As fashionably as I can with what’s in this bag,” Jasmine said, opening the case and starting to put things away in the guest room dressing area.
“I’ll get you some catalogues, if you want other things.”
“Thank you, Habib. I have to go to bed now.”
“Would you prefer to do so alone?”
“No, but I’m going to anyway.” She pulled back the covers and started to undress.
Habib left and closed the door behind him.
—
Kelli Keane was returning from a meeting with her editor at Vanity Fair when she stopped to pick up a bottle of wine for dinner. She left the wine shop and stepped into the street to do a bit of jaywalking, when a car she hadn’t noticed whizzed by so close that the side mirror took the wine bottle out of her hand, smashing it into the street. She jumped back, terrified, then ran the rest of the way home.
—
“What’s wrong?” Jim asked as she came through the door, tearing her coat off and flopping down in a chair.
“Somebody tried to run me down in the street,” she said. “Drink, please.”
Jim put some ice in a glass and poured her two ounces of bourbon. He put it into her hand and found it shaking. “What kind of car?”
“Dark—black, I think.”
“Sedan? SUV?”