Severe Clear (Stone Barrington 24)

“I don’t know why we took this long,” Riley said sheepishly. “We should have had it last night.”

“What, Tom?”

“Algernon.”

“Yes?”

“When we ran the search on Mo, we got his birth certificate; we got Hamish’s, too, in his birth name of Ari Shazaz. What we didn’t pick up on was the deed poll.”

“Tom, what the hell is a deed poll?”

“It’s the legal procedure used when the name of a British subject is changed. Ari Shazaz’s name was changed at the age of nine, after his parents’ divorce. His full name became Hamish Algernon McCallister.”

Holly’s knees went weak, and she sank into a chair. “Tom,” she said.

“Yes, Holly?”

“Phone in a fire alarm on the house on the Chelsea Embankment. Put some smoke on the roof, if you can, for verisimilitude. When the fire brigade arrives, send your people in with them and detain both Hamish and Mo. Get them to a quiet place quickly and start interrogating them. No nice chat—use whatever you have to use to find out what they did in Palo Alto. No police department, no intelligence service is to be brought into this. When you have everything you can get from the two men, get them out of the country to Gitmo. Is that clearly understood?”

“It’s understood, Holly, but I’m going to have to hear it from the director, in person, before I can do any of that.”

“Stand by, Tom, don’t hang up.” Holly went into the next room and looked for the first lady; she was nowhere in sight. Clutching her phone, she ran up the stairs to the second floor where the first couple’s bedroom was. A Secret Service agent stood at the top of the stairs.

“Yes, ma’am?” the man said, blocking her way. “How may I help you?”

“I must see the first lady immediately, priority one.”

“And your name, ma’am?”

“Oh, God, you’re new, aren’t you?” Holly asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Holly Barker, assistant director of intelligence. I’m Mrs. Lee’s number two.”

“May I see identification to that effect, please?”

Holly smote her forehead. “It’s in my handbag downstairs.”

“I’ll wait while you get it, ma’am.”

“I don’t have time for this. Go and tell the first lady I’m waiting. I’ll be right here. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“I think I’d better call my supervisor,” the man said, producing a handheld radio. “Just a moment.”

“I don’t have a moment,” Holly said.

But the man was already speaking into the radio; he wasn’t moving, and he was too big for Holly to move. “This is Special Agent Jack Shorstein,” he said into the radio. “Chief of detail, please, priority.” He took the radio away from his lips. “This will take just a moment.”

Holly began to take deep breaths, trying to bring her rate of respiration down. She raised her phone. “You still there, Tom?”

“Yes, Holly. I can hear you having difficulties.”

“Just hang on.”

The agent’s radio crackled, and he put it to his hear. “Yes? Special Agent Shorstein, sir. A woman who says her name is Holly Barker is demanding to see the first lady. She has no ID. Yes, sir.” He handed the radio to Holly. “Special Agent Rifkin wishes to speak with you.”

Holly snatched the radio from him. “Steve? It’s Holly. I’ve got to see the first lady right now.”