Dishonorable Intentions (Stone Barrington, #38) by Stuart Woods Read Online (FREE)
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Stone Barrington spotted the Santa Fe airport ten miles out. “Albuquerque Center, November One, Two, Three, Tango Foxtrot has the airport in sight.”
“N123TF, contact the tower on 119.5. Good day to you.”
“Good day.” He tuned into the channel. “Santa Fe tower, N123TF nine miles to the north at ten thousand. Request straight in for runway two zero.”
“N123TF, I have you in sight. Cleared for the visual to two zero.”
“Tango Fox, cleared for the visual.” Stone lined up on the runway, reduced power, put in his first notch of flaps, and dialed in eight thousand feet. The autopilot began the descent. Five miles out, he dropped the landing gear, slowing the airplane further, then put in 35 degrees of flaps and let the airplane slow to approach speed.
At the sound of the gear lowering, Bob, Stone’s trusty yellow Labrador retriever, left his bed in the passenger compartment, jumped up on a seat, and looked out the window.
At five hundred feet above ground level, Stone slowed to reference speed of 107 knots, crossed the runway threshold, and settled smoothly onto the tarmac. As he put in the final notch of flaps to dump lift and began to brake, he spotted the Aston Martin parked on the ramp outside Landmark Aviation and the tall blond woman in sweater and slacks leaning against it.
He turned off the runway, stopped, and ran his after-landing checklist, then called the tower and was cleared to taxi to the ramp. A lineman waved him in next to the Aston Martin, then chocked the nosewheel. Stone pulled the throttles to the shutoff position and waited for the engines to spool down before turning off the main switch, which shut down the instrument panel. He struggled out of his seat, opened the cabin door, grabbed his briefcase, kicked down the folding stairs, and allowed Bob to deplane first.
Gala Wilde met them at the bottom of the steps, planted an enthusiastic kiss on Stone’s lips, and scratched Bob’s back. “Welcome back,” she said. “We’ve got dinner at seven at the Eagles’ house.” Gala was the sister of Mrs. Ed Eagle, Susannah Wilde.
Stone retrieved his overnight bag from the forward luggage compartment and tossed it into the rear of the Aston Martin along with his briefcase, which used nearly all of the available luggage space, then got into the passenger seat and let Bob crowd in beside him. “I’m ready for a drink,” he said.
“Sadly, I don’t keep the stuff in the car, so you’ll have to wait another twenty minutes.”
“I’ll try, but I may get the shakes. Flying always makes me thirsty.”
She started the engine, which emitted a pleasing, guttural noise, then waited for the gate to open. “Good flight?”
“Boring flight—the best kind. I read the Times and did the crossword.”
“Saturdays are always a bitch. They’re the most fun.”