Lucid Intervals (2010)

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.
    “He did. The documents are signed and in the safe in his office. I’ll present them to the board in a few days, but as of right now, I’m CEO, and it will stay that way.”
    “What about you?” Stone asked. “Do you have a succession plan?”
    Freeman chuckled. “So soon?”
    “As I said, I don’t think we’re out of this yet.”
    “There are a couple of younger men, one in London, the other in Johannesburg, who’ll be competing for the COO slot.”
    “How long have you been with Strategic Services?” Stone asked.
    “Just passed the ten-year mark,” Freeman replied.
    “How did you happen to come aboard?”
    “Jim hired me to work out of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. I had spent some time out there, and I had the language.”
    A little bell went off in Stone’s brain, and he remembered the last thing Jim Hackett had said to him before he was shot. “Except for that business about the Somersville churchyard,” Hackett had said, “I never lied to you about anything.”
    Stone looked over his shoulder. The moonlight that was coming through a window illuminated Felicity, fast asleep in her comfortable seat, a cashmere blanket over her. He took a deep breath. “I remember now,” he said. “Jim told me about how Lord Wight recommended a man to him, someone with experience in North Africa and the Middle East.”
    “Yes, that’s how I found my way to Jim,” Freeman said.
    Stone turned and looked at Freeman. “And he told me the man’s name.” He saw Freeman wince. “Stanley Whitestone, I presume.”
    Freeman’s shoulders sagged. “Can Felicity hear us on the intercom?” he asked.
    “No, she’s not wearing a headset,” Stone replied, “and she’s asleep.”
    Freeman sighed. “I thought that, with Jim’s death, I’d be safe. I should have known that someone would figure it out. I’m sorry it was you, Stone.”
    “So you arranged Jim’s death?”
    Freeman turned to face him. “I most certainly did not! My, God, I loved the man!”
    Stone shrugged. “I had to ask.”
    “Does Felicity believe that Jim was Whitestone?”
    “Pretty much,” Stone said.
    “Are you under some ethical obligation