To the Death

Jimmy laughed. “Well, I can’t just phone him and suggest that he load his machine gun, can I?”

“Certainly not. You need to go and see him, and you’ll find it harder getting Diana to agree. She’s very protective and senses, but does not know, just how important a warrior her husband is.”

“Sir, will you call him and tell him I’m on my way to see him, and I should be treated with consideration?”

“Not me. But I’ll send him an E-mail and tell him he should at least see you.”

“Tomorrow, sir. This is urgent. None of us wants Arnie to get killed.”

“You got it, Jimmy. I’ll send it now. By the way, Rick’s address is Hunter Valley Farms, Lexington, Kentucky. Better get out there.”

0930 Wednesday 1 August The White House

President Bedford already had an E-mail requesting that he speak to Admiral Morris at the National Security Agency at 9:45. Even presidents tend to hop to it when Crypto City comes calling. Because Crypto City does not usually bother the president unless it’s a five-alarmer.

When the admiral came on the direct line, Paul Bedford was both polite and extremely curious. When George Morris began to explain the situation and the clear and present danger to Arnold, Bedford was appalled.

“We have to bring him home,” he said. “These people are killers. And we cannot mount proper security in another country — not even with our friends in Great Britain.”

“That’s half the trouble, sir,” replied George. “We’ve been trying to curtail this trip for several weeks. He won’t give it up. And he always says the same thing, about giving in to the goddamned terrorists. You know what he’s like.”

“But surely he feels differently now, with George Kallan being murdered.”

“I’m afraid not, sir. You see, Arnold hardly knew George. Met him for the first time at Dulles Airport and never really spoke to him again. George was not on his regular Secret Service detail. This was his first assignment with Arnold.”

“Yes, but what about bringing him home, the funeral and everything?”

“According to Al, his chief bodyguard who’s spoken to Lt. Commander Ramshawe, the admiral said the one place in all the world he would never go would be to Kallan’s funeral. He thinks that’s where the killer is most likely to strike again.”

“Where’s Kallan from?”

“Peru, Indiana.”

“Birthplace of Cole Porter,” replied the president.

“If you don’t mind my saying, sir, that’s a truly remarkable piece of information. I thought he was from Long Island, New York.”

“So do most people,” said the president, grinning down the phone. “Guess that’s why I’m. er. sitting in this chair, et cetera, et cetera.”

Admiral Morris laughed. He really liked Paul Bedford. “Anyway, sir, the purpose of my call is to request your help in protecting Arnold from further attempts on his life. We’re trying to recruit a Navy SEAL, a combat veteran, to fly to England and take up position beside Arnold at all times.”

The president instantly approved of that. “Great idea, George. We got John Bergstrom on the case?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll get the best man we can. But he’s got to be armed, and able to shoot if necessary. That’s probably against the law in England, and we need you to get special permission for our man to be permitted to do everything in his power to protect Arnold.”

“No problem,” said the president. “I’ll call the British PM right away. He’ll fix it at the highest level, not because he wants to, but because it’ll take the heat off them if anything else happens.”

“My assessment precisely, sir. But we are in a bit of a hurry — could you help get our man there in the fastest possible time?”

“Let me know when he can leave. I’ll take care of it.”

1130 Same Day Blue Grass Airport Lexington, Kentucky

The U.S. Navy’s Lockheed Airies came swiftly in over Bourbon County, high above some of the most renowned racehorse farms in the world. Blue Grass Field was out on the west of the town, and the Navy pilot, who had made it in just over seventy-five minutes from Andrews Air Force Base, could see the runway up ahead.

He banked around to the south of Lexington, flared out, and landed the Airies immaculately in Kentucky. There was one passenger only in the aircraft, and the navigator walked back to let him out.

The uniformed Lt. Commander Ramshawe thanked him and climbed down the steps to a waiting farm truck, which had the words HUNTER VALLEY inscribed on the door, above a picture of a mare and foal. Jimmy Ramshawe had no luggage, and the truck driver just held the door open and let him in.

He introduced himself as Olin and revealed that he worked in the coverin’ barn all winter and spring, then took care of the farm vehicles all summer and autumn.

“Is Hunter Valley a big place?” asked Jimmy.

“Hell, yes,” said Olin. “Hundreds of acres. Around seventy mares and foals in residence. A lot of ’em born here.”

“That’s a big operation, right? Does Mr. Hunter run the whole thing himself?”