“What is your interest in my half brother?” Hamish asked.
“Tell me, is Shazaz a common name?”
“It’s not uncommon, at least, not in the Middle East.”
“Has your brother ever visited the United States?”
“He attended a boys’ school in Virginia for a semester, when he was eight, but he was unhappy there, so he returned to England and completed his education here.”
“Is he an observant Muslim?”
“Yes, but not radically so. I mean, at this moment he is consuming a glass of champagne. I would say he is about as observant as I.”
Holly couldn’t think of anything else to ask. She ended the call and went back to the living room, where people were starting to move into the garden for the buffet dinner, and found the first lady.
Kate listened intently to Holly’s report of her conversation with Hamish. “Well,” she said, “maybe it’s just a coincidence, if the name is not uncommon in the Middle East.”
“I remember that Hamish’s mother’s family has a home-a castle, I think-on a Scottish island,” Holly said.
“Yes, that’s correct.” She was quiet for a moment, looking up at the stars, then she turned back to Holly. “May I borrow your agency phone?” she asked. She walked away toward the light coming from the living room, dialed a number, and spoke to someone.
Who was on the phone?” Kelli Keane asked.
“Just an acquaintance.”
“Why did you say you were at Annabel’s?”
Hamish smiled. “Because she’s in L.A., and if she knew I was here, well…”
“She would be displacing me in bed?”
Hamish turned toward her and took her in his arms. “No chance of that at all,” he said.
Kate came back and handed Holly her phone. “Thank you. I’ve had Langley track Hamish’s phone, and it puts him in Berkeley Square, London.”
Hamish went into the bathroom, taking his phone with him. He pressed a speed dial button, and the phone took a moment to connect.
“Yes?”
“It is I. Where are you parked?”
“Just outside Annabel’s.”
“Wait one hour, then go back to my address and park the car outside the house.”
“It will be done.”
Hamish flushed the toilet, then went back into the bedroom. “Where were we?” he asked, jumping into bed.
46
Stone took his plate and went to sit by Dino. Viv was in deep conversation with Immi Gotham a few yards away.
“I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you the past couple of days,” Stone said.
“Not your fault, pal. I’ve been pretty busy myself.”
“And I don’t blame you a bit,” Stone said. “Viv is a knockout.”
“Okay, so what the fuck is going on around here? What have you and Mike and that Secret Service dick been up to?”
“You got something against the Secret Service?”
“I’ve got something against all feds,” Dino replied. “Every time I’ve tried to work with them I’ve gotten fucked.”
“Well, there is that.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Dino pointed out.
“Would you believe me if I told you you wouldn’t want to know?”
“Half of what I know I didn’t want to know.”
“You probably noticed a lot of security around here-I mean, more than when we arrived.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Well, they searched the whole property, and they found a bomb in a wine storage room adjacent to the main restaurant.”
“What kind of bomb?”
“Both simple and sophisticated, the expert said. A kilo or two of plastique.”
“Since we’re sitting here having dinner with the president, my guess is they disarmed it.”
“Right, but there may be two more. Not here, because the place has been ransacked, but somewhere. They may try to get them onto the grounds.”
“I hear they’re practically strip-searching every arrival.”
“That’s true, so if the bombs are not here, it’s a pretty sure thing that they’re not going to be.”
Dino nodded. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you look like you know something you don’t want anybody else to know.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Come on, are you kidding me? Should I be running for a flight out of here?”
“I think the answer to your question is right over there,” Stone said, nodding in the direction of the president, “eating fried chicken with his fingers.”
“I always thought that was the best way,” Dino said. “I mean, if you’re gonna eat fried chicken. And if he feels safe, so I and mine should feel safe?”
“You see the young man talking to the president?”
“I think I recognize him. He’s related to you, isn’t he?”
“He is. And if I thought he weren’t safe, he would be on a plane back to New York, along with the rest of us.”
Peter Barrington sat on the sofa next to the president of the United States and ate his fried chicken with his fingers.
“You know,” Will Lee said, “I’ve got a son-stepson, really-who’s a little older than you. His name is Peter, too.”
“I heard that,” Peter replied. “I heard he slipped up and went to Harvard.”
Lee laughed and handed his plate to a passing waiter, then wiped his hands carefully. “Our Peter sent us a copy of your film, Autumn Kill. Kate and I thought it was terrific, and I couldn’t believe a student did it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Peter replied.
“How much of it was true?”
Peter shrugged. “Well, nobody has sued me yet, though I hear it caused quite a stir at my old school. It was based on rumors, really, kind of a legend that gets handed down from class to class. I filled in a lot of blanks, just made up stuff, but the reaction made me think I might have guessed right.” Peter wiped his fingers, and a waiter took his plate and the president’s napkin.
“You’re at Yale Drama, right?”
“That’s right. Ben Bacchetti and I are, anyway. Hattie, whom you met, is studying composition at the School of Music.”
“I hear she’s quite a pianist.”
