Stone - 25 - Collateral Damage

waiter with his tray table. He opened the wine and tasted it while the table was being set up. The waiter carved the roast chicken Stone had ordered and served the vegetables, then retreated.
    “God, this looks wonderful,” Holly said. “I’m glad you ordered something simple.”
    “Did you talk to the director?”
    “This morning. I owe her a call, but I’ll wait until she wakes up tomorrow. I woke her at four A.M . this morning.”
    “The papers are over there,” Stone said, nodding toward the coffee table. “The bombing is wall-to-wall—on TV, too. Did you speak with Felicity?”
    “Not yet. I’ve just been trying to absorb what the staff here told me. I think it’s unlikely that she knows anything I don’t.”
    “You never know,” Stone said. “It’s her ‘patch,’ as the Brits like to say.”
    “I’ll call her in the morning. What did you do today?”
    “I visited my tailor, or rather, the tailor who has replaced my tailor. Doug Hayward died three years ago, and his shop was bought by another, larger shop. Most of Doug’s people have been let go. It was depressing.”
    “Poor baby. I wish I had had that good a day.”
    Stone laughed. “I wasn’t making comparisons. How long do you think you’ll have to stay?”
    “Three or four days, maybe a week. If I know Lance, he’ll be here as soon as he can. Of course, he had to travel all the way from Japan, so he’ll be terminally jet-lagged. I think I’ve found a possible replacement for Tom Riley, so I’ll recommend him. Lance may have other ideas, who knows? He was supposed to have replaced Dick Stone here.”
    Stone’s cousin had been London station chief, until he was promoted to deputy director for operations. He died before he could take that office, and Lance had moved up.
    “Yes. He’ll probably want someone who can replace him at Langley, if he gets Kate’s job when she retires.”
    “Any ideas about who the bombers were?”
    “Likely al Qaeda,” Holly replied. “I’m meeting with the Metropolitan Police tomorrow morning to find out what they’ve learned.”
    “Maybe I’ll have some shoes made tomorrow, or buy a hat,” Stone said.
    Holly began laughing. “You sound like the little woman on a business trip with her husband.”
    “That’s pretty much my role, isn’t it?”
    “Tell you what, just to make you feel necessary, why don’t you join my meeting with Special Branch tomorrow morning? You have all the clearances you need, and you’re a paid consultant to the Agency, so you might as well earn your keep. You could have some insights into how their investigation is going, too.”
    “Love to. You think Jasmine Shazaz did this?”
    “I’m trying not to make that a supposition in order to keep a clear head, but probably.”
    “There has to be a major manhunt on for her.”
    “Oddly, no. Not yet, anyway. So far, they’ve limited their hunt to circulating her photograph to employees of several ministries. That’s how they nearly got her the first time and lost six men doing it.”
    “I read the account in the Times ,” Stone said. “They’ll have to go all out in their search now. For what it’s worth, that’s what I would have done when the foreign minister bought it down the street.”
    “Was that near here?”
    “Maybe a hundred yards. The Porsche dealership is just before you get to Berkeley Square.”
    “I suspect that Special Branch will agree with you on that. I hear they felt excluded when Felicity sent in her own team.”
    “I expect so.”
    “Stone, let’s try not to get embroiled in their politics, shall we?”
    “I’ll just listen,” Stone said.

The following morning a car, less grand than the ambassador’s, called for Holly at the Connaught, and Stone accompanied her to the American Embassy.
    “It’s only a short walk,” Stone said, getting into the rear seat with Holly.
    “They don’t want me on the sidewalks,” Holly said.
    “Ah.”
    “Yes.”
    They arrived on the floor of the London station, where Stone was presented with a laminated ID card with his photograph on it, apparently from Agency records.
    “You can hang on to the ID card,” Holly said. “It might come in useful someday.”
    Stone looked carefully at the card: the letters CIA were printed large, background for the printed information. They would make the first impression if the card were flashed at someone. “I’m ‘deputy assistant director’?” Stone asked, reading from the card.
    “I thought