Collateral Damage (Stone Barrington 25)
“Holly, I want you to leave for New York immediately, by the fastest conveyance available, pick her up, sit her down in a quiet room, and frighten her to the bottom of her soul.”
Holly stood up. “Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else?”
“Do you have any doubts about the ability of Stone Barrington to keep this to himself forever? And Dino Bacchetti? It was his gun.”
“No, ma’am, I have no doubts about either of them. They’re both under contract to the Agency as consultants and, as such, have the highest security clearance.”
“Good. Get going.”
Holly went to her office, picked up a phone and called the director of transportation. “This is Assistant Director Holly Barker. Is there a chopper on the pad right now?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied, “but it’s leaving momentarily for Dulles, to pick up a visiting dignitary.”
“Cancel that flight immediately and find another way to transport the dignitary. I want the aircraft fueled and the flight plan filed for New York by the time I can get down there.” She hung up without another word, got her ready bag from her closet, and headed for the elevator.
The rotors were already turning on the brand-new Sikorsky X2 helicopter, not even certified yet, but on loan to the Agency. Holly hadn’t expected this, but she was looking forward to the ride. She hopped into the cabin and buckled in.
After what seemed like only a moment, the sleek machine was flying north, directly into the D.C. no-fly zone and at no more than a thousand feet. She put on her headset. “Hey,” she said to the pilot, “aren’t we a little low?”
“On purpose, ma’am,” the pilot said. “No traffic over Washington at this altitude.”
“Can this thing really break two hundred fifty knots?”
“That’s classified, ma’am, but you have an honest face, so yes, ma’am. It’s the fastest chopper ever, and it’s all mine! I guess you got your seat belt fastened?”
“I have.”
“Well, right after we blow past the White House, I’m going to show you some climb performance.”
“You go right ahead.” Holly looked out her window and the White House blew by, indeed; she could see the ground-to-air missile launchers on the roof. Suddenly, the helicopter raised its nose, and Holly looked over the pilot’s shoulder at the speed tape on the glass cockpit’s pilot’s flight display. It was moving too fast for her to keep up with. Then they leveled at twelve thousand feet, leaving her stomach in the air, and the climb seemed to have taken but a moment.
“You enjoy that?” the pilot asked.
“I’ve always loved roller coasters,” she replied.
“We’ll be on the East Side pad in less than an hour.”
“Does the satphone work?” she asked.
“On this bird, everything works, ma’am.”
Holly picked up the phone, called the Agency’s East Side facility and asked for the agent in charge.
He came on the line immediately. “Holly Barker?”
“That’s right. I’m inbound for the East Side Heliport, ETA forty-five minutes. I need a vehicle to meet me, and I need an immediate location for a Kelli Keane, a writer for Vanity Fair magazine. She’s freelance and may work from home.”
“We’re on it.”
“Send a team to find her, stat, then politely but firmly bring her to your location. Clear a room for me to have a quiet chat with her. No video or audio, is that clear?”
“Clear.”
“Over and out.” Holly hung up the phone and sat back to watch the countryside stream past her window.
—
Kelli Keane was having lunch with a woman friend at a chic downtown restaurant when her cell phone went off. “Kelli Keane.”