Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

too. Never mind, he would leave the man to the police.
    He was halfway back to Santa Monica Airport before it occurred to him that Majorov wasn’t going to call the police.

Majorov took one glance into Vlad’s bedroom and saw the body on the floor, covered with blood. He reached for the weapon he carried in a shoulder holster and pointed it into the bedroom, waiting for someone to appear. No one did.
    He tiptoed around the suite, looking into corners and closets, and found no one. He picked up the phone and was about to dial the hotel operator, but he stopped and thought for a moment. He hung up, got out his cell phone, and called his pilot.
    “Yes?” He sounded sleepy.
    “We’re leaving Los Angeles immediately,” Majorov said. “Get to the airport as fast as you can, and file for Gander, then Moscow.” He would feel safer at his dacha outside Moscow than in his Paris apartment.
    “I can be ready to taxi in one hour,” the pilot said.
    “Have the airplane brought to the ramp immediately. I’ll wait aboard for you to arrive.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Majorov hung up and looked at his watch: seven-forty. Vlad had room service deliver his breakfast every morning at eight. In a panic he went to his closet, got out his three cases, and began throwing things into them, then he went to the bathroom and raked his toiletries off the shelf over the sink and closed the small valise that carried them. He went back to the bedroom and called the front desk.
    “Yes, Mr. Majorov?”
    “Please send a bellman to my room immediately and get me a car and driver for the airport.” He didn’t mention which airport; if the police came too soon, they would think LAX.
    “Are you checking out, sir?”
    “Yes, but my companion is staying for one more day. Just put it on my bill.”
    “Yes, sir. I’ll send a bellman right away.”
    Majorov hung up, then carried his four bags to the front door, opened it, and set them outside on the little entry porch. He couldn’t have a bellman entering the suite. He noticed that the DO NOT DISTURB sign was already on the doorknob. Had Vlad put it there? No, probably his murderer. Burnett—it had to be Burnett.
    He went back to the bedroom, put on his necktie and jacket, and returned to the living room. As an afterthought, he closed Vlad’s bedroom door.
    The bell rang, and he let himself out to find the bellman loading his cases onto a cart. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he said to the bellman, handing him a hundred-dollar bill. “Go ahead and load everything.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man began pushing the cart away.
    Majorov went back inside and checked for any of his belongings he might have left. Then, instead of taking the usual route along the hotel paths to the parking lot, he walked to the road, walked down the hill and into the lot, where he found the bellman closing the trunk of the hotel limo. He ambled, as casually as possible, to the car, where the driver held the door open, gave the valet a fifty, and got into the rear seat.
    “LAX, sir?” the driver asked, as he closed his door.
    “No, to Santa Monica Airport, Atlantic Aviation.” The car began to move.
Good God!
he thought.
I forgot to call room service!
He checked his watch: seven-fifty. “And step on it,” he said, “I’m running late.”
    “I think we’d better avoid the freeway if you’re in a hurry, sir. May I take Sunset to Bundy and go that way?”
    “Fine, whatever you say.” He was sweating, and he pulled the silk square from his breast pocket and dabbed at his brow, then he adjusted the air-conditioning for more flow.
    •   •   •
    Stone got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When he returned, Emma was sitting up in bed, reading
The New York Times.
“Breakfast in bed or downstairs?” he asked.
    “Oh, I think in bed,” she replied.
    “Order me bacon and eggs, orange juice, and coffee,” Stone said, getting into a robe. “I’ve got to give Peter his car keys.”
    He grabbed the keys from the dresser and walked downstairs. Peter, Hattie, and Ben were having breakfast in the dining room. He gave Peter the keys. “Don’t be late for work,” he said.
    “Dad, we’re traveling in the Strategic Services car.”
    “Oh, I forgot,” Stone said. “Have a good day.”
    “Dad, how long do we have to do this security stuff?”
    “Not much longer, I should think,” Stone said. “I’m just guessing, of course.”
    “Great.”
    Stone went back upstairs, shed his robe, and got back