Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

“No, all the glass in this house is armored. The CIA installed it when Dick was building the house.” He held the light steady, so Freeman and Felicity could see.

“Well, thank God for the CIA!” Felicity said.

Stone got out his cell phone and called Captain Scott Smith’s office and was transferred to his cell.

“Captain Scott Smith,” he said.

“Captain, it’s Stone Barrington. Our assassin is still out there; he just took a shot at my house. Fortunately, the armored glass stopped the bullet.”

“I’ll get a chopper over there right away,” Smith said.

“Hang on,” Stone said. He crawled to the back door and opened it. The sound of a boat’s engine could be heard leaving the harbor. He looked outside. “Captain, there’s a boat leaving the harbor right now. It’s just turning the point, headed south. It’s not wearing any nav lights.”

“We’re on it,” the captain said. “I’ll call you if we have any luck.” He hung up.

Stone stood up. “I think we’re all right now,” he said, helping up Felicity, who was still clutching her glass of brandy. “You didn’t spill a drop,” he said.

“Well,” she replied, “it’s awfully good brandy.”

56

It was past midnight by the time the state police had cleared the house. “You folks had better get some sleep,” Captain Scott Smith said as he left.

Stone shook his hand and closed the door behind him. “How is everyone?” he asked.

“Wide awake,” Felicity replied.

“I’m wired,” said Freeman.

“I’m not sure this is over,” Stone said. “Why don’t we get out of here right now and fly to Teterboro?”

“I’ll pack,” Felicity said.

“I’ll arrange a car to meet us,” Freeman said. “And I think you two should stay again at our company suite at the Plaza.”

“That’s good for me,” Stone said.

LESS THAN AN hour later Stone taxied to the end of the short Islesboro runway. He switched on the pitot heat, centered the heading bug and turned on the landing light and strobes.

“Want me to call the speeds for you?” Freeman asked. He was in the copilot’s seat, while Felicity sat in the rear of the airplane.

“Please do,” Stone replied. He set the takeoff speeds so that they would appear next to the airspeed tape on the primary flight display, then he stood on the brakes and shoved the throttles all the way forward to the takeoff detent. The ribbons on the power display rose and stopped at full power. Stone released the brakes, and the airplane leapt forward.

“Airspeed’s alive,” Freeman said. “Seventy knots. V1, rotate!” Stone put both hands on the yoke and pulled it sharply back, and the Mustang began to climb.

“That is a very short runway,” Freeman breathed.

At 700 feet Stone pulled the throttles back to the climb detent, switched on the autopilot and turned the heading bug to the southwest. Then he went into the flight plan and tuned in ENE-Kennebunk-their first waypoint, pressed direct, enter, enter and NAV on the autopilot. The airplane picked up the GPS heading for Kennebunk, and they climbed at 3,000 feet per minute into the cool Maine night.

At flight level 330, 33,000 feet, Stone let the airplane gain some airspeed, then pulled the throttles back to the cruise detent. There was nothing more to do until they picked up the Automated Traffic Advisory Service, ATIS, at Teterboro.

“Are you enjoying flying the Mustang?” Freeman asked.

“I am,” Stone said.

“Then continue to use it whenever you like,” Freeman replied.

“Did Jim plan for a succession?” Stone asked.