Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

I’m tired of this. It’s wearing us all down, waiting for Vlad to pounce. I’m sorry I missed him yesterday.”
    “Patience is required,” Billy said.
    “I’m not a patient person,” Stone said. “My personal motto is
Si non nunc quandro?
”
    Teddy laughed. “‘If not now, when?’ I like it.”
    “You know your Latin.”
    “The product of a misspent youth,” Billy said.
    “You said the Bel-Air was too secure to take it to Vlad there.”
    “I did. That hasn’t changed.”
    “It would be less secure, would it not, if you were two?”
    “Half as secure,” Billy said. “Surely you’re not contemplating joining forces?”
    “I am thinking exactly that,” Stone said. “In spite of my missed shot of yesterday. I am extremely angry, and taking out Majorov, too, would be a great bonus.”
    “I think I prefer you in the role of lookout.”
    “Looking out for what?”
    “The Bel-Air is not a high-rise hotel with elevators and long corridors. It is a large cluster of buildings standing in a lush, tropical garden. That might make it easier to approach and enter a particular building, but the place is crawling with guests, and in particular, staff—maids, bellmen, room service waiters, valets, et cetera. However, it is possible to exclude them all from a particular suite for hours with a simple ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung on a doorknob. Unfortunately, that will not stop the other occupant of the suite.”
    “Quite right. I assume you have an inkling of a plan?”
    “I followed the two gentlemen when they checked into their suite, so I know the number. I have since had a word with a staff member who, for an emolument, gave me two valuable pieces of information. One, every morning at seven-thirty or so, Mr. M. takes himself to the outdoor restaurant, where he consumes a large breakfast. Two, Mr. V., on the other hand, does not rise until Mr. M. returns and rousts him from his slumber. That means there is about an hour’s time available to enter the suite and deal with him decisively. Perhaps both of them.” He looked at his watch. “Not enough time to prepare today, but tomorrow?”
    “Just tell me what you want me to do,” Stone said.
    “I would like you to send flowers,” Billy replied, then he continued.
    •   •   •
    When Billy had finished, Stone thought about the plan and the risk to himself. “You’re on,” he said.

Teddy returned to Centurion and found Betsy at her new desk, making calls.
    “Hi,” she said. “Peter asked us to join them and Stone at Spago for dinner tonight. Emma Tweed is back in town, and they’re taking her to dinner. She and Tessa are flying back to London tomorrow. I’m booking her ticket now.”
    “Book us at a separate table, but nearby. Tell the restaurant it’s for security purposes.”
    “All right. I’ll tell Peter.”
    “And when he goes to lunch today, I want you to come with me for an hour.”
    “All right.”
    Teddy didn’t much like the idea of Peter’s dining out, but with the two Strategic Services agents and himself, he thought they should be able to keep him safe.
    •   •   •
    At noon, Peter, Ben, and Hattie left for lunch, and Teddy put Betsy in a golf cart and drove her to the armory.
    “I’ve never asked you this, but have you ever fired a gun before?”
    “I shot some skeet with a boyfriend once, but I’ve never fired a handgun.”
    “After the near miss with the Viper, I’d feel better if you were armed.”
    “Now that you mention it,” she said, “I think I’d feel better armed, too.”
    He took her to the range and gave her his tiny Keltec .380 pistol, then he picked up the remote control and moved the target to ten feet. “Most gunfights are at this range or closer,” he said, “so there’s no point in training you to twenty-five or fifty feet.” He showed her how to operate the gun. “You couldn’t hit anything with this gun beyond ten feet anyway, the barrel is too short, so let’s have you fire some rounds now.”
    He showed her the proper stance and grip. “Point it at the middle of the target,” he said, “both eyes open. Pull the trigger slowly, which is called ‘squeezing.’ Don’t jerk.”
    She fired the six rounds; all of them hit the target, but none in the center. “Fire more slowly,” he said. “Concentrate on getting the first round in the center of the target. The rest will take care of themselves.”
    She fired another magazine and did better; one more and she