“They were right before the suicide bombing attacks on the London underground. As I recall, fifty died and hundreds were injured. The messages were much like the ones the NSA intercepted more recently.”
“I’ll call Agent Rifkin immediately,” Mike said.
“I wonder if the president’s visit should be canceled?” Stone said.
“Air Force One arrived at LAX at eight this morning after an overnight flight from Rio to Washington, thence here. The president and his party are probably all asleep by now. The president of Mexico is due in momentarily.”
“I see.”
“I’ll call Rifkin now, and I’ll see you later today.” Mike hung up.
“Did I hear you say the president?
??s visit should be canceled?” Felicity asked.
“That’s what I would do, if I were the Secret Service detail commander, but of course, I’m not. The president arrived early this morning and is in bed asleep. The president of Mexico is due shortly.”
“What sort of quarters does the president have?”
“Both presidents are in large cottages that have bulletproof windows and walls, and each has a basement bomb shelter. I’m told there’s no place in Los Angeles that is more secure.”
—
Mike Freeman watched as Agent Rifkin talked on a telephone at the other end of the living room. There was a conversation of ten minutes, then Rifkin came back and sat down beside Mike.
“We appreciate the information, Mike, but our director, after consulting the White House, believes we don’t have sufficient information to scrub the visit. A huge amount of staff work has gone into the preparations for the talks between President Lee and President Vargas, and the powers that be are unwilling to disrupt their conferences. A major treaty is to be signed at the conclusion of their talks, and there would be a huge flap in the media if we scrubbed it, and that wouldn’t be to the benefit of your hotel.”
“I understand,” Mike said. “Did you rerun the background checks on the list of hotel employees I gave you?”
“Every one of them, and we didn’t turn up a single piece of information on anybody that we didn’t learn in the first investigation.”
“I guess I’m glad to hear that,” Mike said. “My people had the same result in their rerun.”
“My director has told me that he’s putting another fifty agents outside the hotel grounds, patrolling the surrounding neighborhood, so if there’s somebody out there with a rocket-launched grenade or two, we’ll have a shot at finding him.”
“I think that’s a smart move,” Mike said.
—
The Gulfstream landed at Burbank, and was met by three Bentleys from the hotel, along with a Porsche Cayenne for the overflow luggage. Half an hour later they drove through the main gate of The Arrington and were immediately shunted into a parking area where they were asked by Secret Service agents to get out of the vehicles.
Stone looked around and saw landscapers unrolling swaths of sod and trimming shrubs. The grounds were very beautiful.
Peter came over. “Vance planted hundreds of specimen trees here,” he said, “and they seem to have saved them all.”
“I remember the landscape architect mentioning that,” Stone said. “The sod looks like the last of their work.”
Passports and other ID were examined and checked against the guest list, the luggage was unloaded and the cars thoroughly searched by a swarm of security personnel. Finally, they were all cleared, the cars were reloaded, and they were driven to their cottages up the hill.
They dropped Felicity at her cottage first, then Stone and his party were delivered to the main building, which was formerly the Vance Calder mansion, and across a road from the two presidential cottages. The cars drove around the building to deliver the luggage, but Stone wanted to see the finished reception building.
He took a few steps inside and froze in his tracks. Dead ahead of him stood Arrington.
Peter came and stood beside him. “I remember this well,” he said. “It embarrassed Mother, and she took it down.”
Stone stared at the portrait, which was life-sized. Arrington was dressed in riding clothes and stood next to a beautiful horse, which seemed to be nibbling at her shoulder. He didn’t know who the artist was, but he had caught Arrington perfectly. Her hair was a little windblown, and there was mud on her boots, all of which added a natural quality to the work.
The hotel manager walked up and greeted Stone and his party. “I expect you’ve seen this before,” he said.