“Are you expecting me to figure out who they are? Because I don’t know how I would do that.”
“Your job is to be my eyes and ears. The figuring-out will be up to me, Carly, and Jillian. We’ll set you up with a hidden camera so that we can watch live from here in Maine. All you need to do is make sure to get everyone who attends on camera.”
“That plan’s not half bad. When is the funeral?”
“Saturday morning in London, followed by a burial at my country house.” Her house was just across the Beaulieu River from Stone’s place, Windward Hall.
Stone checked his calendar. He had a meeting Friday afternoon that he couldn’t get out of, but if he left soon after, he could be in the U.K. in time to attend. “It’ll be a quick trip, but I can do it.”
“Thank you, Stone. I’m told one of Lance’s people will bring you the gear before you leave.”
“Can’t wait,” Stone said with little enthusiasm. “Is there anything else?”
“If you could shed a few tears during the service, I wouldn’t complain.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 11
Leonid Bronsky was just sittingdown to a late dinner at the Four Seasons Hotel Gresham Palace in Budapest when Ustinov called him.
“Good evening, Boris,” he answered.
“I have good news for you,” Ustinov said. “I talked to the director, and he is very impressed with your initiative.”
Bronsky grinned. “Of course he is. I knew there was nothing for me to worry about.”
“He would like to meet with you. When can you be in Moscow?”
Warmth bloomed in Bronsky’s chest. Just like he’d hoped, he was being brought back into the fold, thanks to his hard work. Finally, his sputtering career was getting back on track.
“I should think sometime tomorrow afternoon,” he said.
“I’ll set up a meeting for six p.m., if that works for you.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Until tomorrow, then,” Ustinov said and hung up.
Bronsky wanted to shout in triumph, but since he was in public, he contained his excitement and kept his expression to a broad grin.
He was halfway through his meal when his phone buzzedagain. It was a text from one of the contacts he’d used to arrange the hit on Dame Felicity.
Need to meet. Urgent. Same place as before, midnight.
Bronsky frowned. What possible reason could the man have to require a face-to-face?
He considered texting back to ask just that but refrained. It was always best to leave as little digital footprint as possible.
With twelve a.m. rapidly approaching, he gulped down the rest of his meal, then headed out, reaching the meeting point beneath the bridge over the Danube a few minutes before midnight.
The man was waiting for him in the passageway, standing in the shadows and looking around nervously.
“What is it?” Bronsky asked as he approached.
“I received a message from my man in the U.K.,” he said. “There is a good possibility that the target wasn’t in the car.”
Bronsky stared at him, sure he hadn’t heard correctly. “That’s ridiculous. The news is reporting her death.”
