“Has Mr. McCallister checked out?”
“One moment . . . No, he’s not due to check out until tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Kelli hung up and immediately her cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Hamish. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Same here. Where are you?”
“On my way to London, I’m afraid. Why don’t you join me? You’ll have to hurry, though, my flight leaves in forty minutes.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve got to work the concert tonight with the photographers. It’s important to my piece, and I’m going to want more work from this magazine.”
“I understand. Kelli, I have to give you some serious advice, but what I’m going to tell you is completely confidential. Is that agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“There is very likely going to be a serious disruption at the hotel sometime this evening. Skip the concert and get the next flight back to New York. Do you understand?”
“No, not really.”
“Leave the hotel. Got it?”
“I’ve got it, I guess.”
“I’ll call you from London next week, and we’ll reschedule. Good-bye, love.”
“Good-bye.” Kelli hung up. What the hell was he talking about?
—
Holly sat nervously with Stone, Mike, and Steve Rifkin, waiting for the results of the search. Rifkin’s phone rang.
“Steve Rifkin.” He listened for a moment, then hung up. “Nothing,” he said. “No Hamish McCallister.”
Holly thought for a moment. “Do an airline search for his name,” she said. “All flights departing for Europe.”
Mike Freeman spoke up. “I can do that faster than you can, Steve.” He made a call. “I’m on hold while they check,” he said. “Yes? Thank you very much.” He hung up.
“There’s a Hamish McCallister traveling to London on BA 106, nonstop to London Heathrow. Departed eight minutes ago.”
“Shit!” Holly said.
“You’ve got ten hours to arrange a reception committee for Mr. McCallister at Heathrow.”
“I don’t want him in London, we’d have to deal with the Home Office bureaucracy.”
Mike turned to Steve. “You must know somebody who can divert that flight to an American airport,” he said. “And you’d better get it done before that aircraft crosses the Canadian border,” Mike pointed out.
Steve got out his cell phone and called his director in Washington. He explained himself as quickly as he could, then asked that the flight be diverted to JFK on the excuse of mechanical trouble. There was some back-and-forth, then he hung up and put away his phone. “He’s going to get the flight diverted,” Steve said. “The only problem is, we’ve got to get the FBI involved.”
“Too bad,” Stone said. “That’s always a complication.”
“Yes,” Rifkin replied. “I hate it, but it’s a jurisdictional thing.”
Stone turned to Holly. “What are you going to do with him when you have him?”
“Good question,” Holly said. “I’ll need to talk with my director.” She left Stone’s cottage and went next door to the presidential cottage. She found the first lady in the living room talking to Felicity Devonshire.