Hot Pursuit

by Stuart Woods

  She laughed. “I wasn’t useless when I woke up this morning,” she replied. “I would have been very useful if you had still been here.”

  “A nice thought—hang on to it for next time.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “You should write a letter to your doctor tenant whose lease is running out and tell him you won’t be renewing and that you want the space back. Send it by registered mail.”

  “If I’m going to be a landlord I’ll need a lawyer,” she said. “Will you write it for me?”

  “Sure—e-mail me his name, and I’ll take care of it. Being a landlord’s attorney is out of my line, though, so I’ll find somebody with the correct expertise to represent you. You’ll also need one for your business.”

  “Good idea. Did I mention that I have three more clients?”

  “No, and congratulations!”

  “I think somebody at Cessna is recommending me to owners taking delivery of new airplanes.”

  “That’s a good source of clients—cultivate it.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to intrude on your privacy, but is there somebody in your life who might be a threat to you?”

  She waited for a long beat before replying. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because when I left your building around two AM, there was a man sitting in a car with the motor running a few yards down the street, and when I approached to try to get a look at the driver, he took off, ran a red light to get away from there.”

  She was still silent.

  “Hello, hello, anybody there?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” she said.

  “I’d be worried if somebody was parked all night outside my house,” he said.

  “He’s harmless.”

  “Those could turn into famous last words.”

  “I lived with a guy in Wichita for two years. We were supposed to go into the business together, but I ended the relationship when I left.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Kevin Keyes. We worked for the same airline, the one that went out of business.”

  “Would he know where you live?”

  “He and I stayed with Greta once when we were visiting the city.”

  “Does he have a key to the apartment?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t sound certain.”

  “I had a key—Greta may have given him one, too.”

  “Do you have a security system in the house?”

  “No. I asked Greta, and she said she never got around to installing one.”

  “Get a pencil. I’m going to give you a name.”

  “Ready to copy.”

  He gave her Bob Cantor’s number. “He’s a friend of mine, an ex-cop who’s in the security business. Call him right now and get him over there. Have him change the front door lock to the building and the lock to your apartment, also the lock for the French doors leading to your garden. You want high-end locks—expensive, but necessary. And don’t forget to give your upstairs tenants the new keys to the front door.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet them, yet.”

  “Then put their keys in envelopes with a note telling them who you are and slide the envelopes under their doors.”

  “If you say so.”

  “This won’t wait until tomorrow—get it done today. In fact, I’ll call Bob for you, so if you want a shower before he gets there, do it now.”

  “Yes, boss!”

  “I tell my friends that their lives would be so much richer, fuller, and happier if they would just take my advice.”

  “I’ll take it, I’ll take it!”

  “See you later. Bob will be there in less than an hour.”

  He hung up and called Bob Cantor.

  “Hey, Stone.”

  “Hey there. I’ve got work for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  Stone gave him the name and address and told him what was needed, and fast. “Use good equipment, especially the locks.”

  “I never use any other kind. Any particular reason for the rush?”

  “She may have a stalker on her hands.”

  “Does she have a gun?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The possible stalker’s name is Kevin with a K Keyes. Former airline pilot. Run the name, will you?”

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  “I told her you’d be there within the hour.”

  “All right already!” Bob hung up.

  Stone didn’t feel relieved just yet.

  13

  STONE CALLED Herbie Fisher. “Hey there,” Herbie said.

  “Thanks for lunch yesterday.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I’ve got a small piece of business that would be good for an associate. It’s nothing much now, but it could grow.”

  “What sort of business?”

  “Her name is Pat Frank. She’s just started a flight department business that would manage the maintenance and paperwork for owner/pilots of jets. Also, she owns a small apartment building on the East Side, and she’ll need legal work for that.”

  “There’s a smart kid down the hall named Richard Searle who would be good for it. He owns a small airplane, too, but I’m not sure what kind.”

  “Great. Have him call Pat this morning and make a date to meet with her.” Stone gave Herbie the address and phone number. “Thanks, kiddo.” He hung up and dictated the letter to Pat’s doctor tenant, signed it, and told Joan to mail it.

  There, he thought, I’ve got that one off my plate. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

  Dino called and asked him to lunch at that place on the East Side. Stone took a cab and entered by the front door; he was ushered in by one of the staff wearing the ubiquitous black suit and green tie.

  “Good day, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. “Welcome back. Commissioner Bacchetti is waiting for you in the bar, second floor.” Stone took the elevator and found Dino in the cave-like, paneled room that sported a richly stocked bar and a few tables.

  Stone joined Dino at a table. “You think they have Knob Creek in this joint?”

  “If they don’t, I’ll shoot the bartender,” Dino said. “You drinking at lunch these days?”

  “Not really, just thought I’d ask.”

  “Phillip,” Dino called to the bartender.

  “Yes, Commissioner?”

  “Do you stock a weird bourbon called Knob Creek?”

  “Yes, sir, ever since Mr. Barrington joined us. Your Laphroaig is in stock, too.”

  “Thank you, Phillip.”

  “How did they know?” Stone asked.

  “Word gets around.”

  “You’ve moved up to a single malt?”

  “I think it’s more in line with my station in life.”

  “I think you’re right,” Stone said.

  “You’re agreeing with my tastes?”

  “Once in a great while.”

  “That about describes the frequency.”

  Others began to arrive in the bar, and the dining room filled quickly.

  “Let’s see,” Stone said. “From here I can see a former secretary of state, a Supreme Court justice, and a producer of Broadway plays and Hollywood movies. There’s also a great actress over there in the corner, having lunch with a very good actress, and that guy with a political show on MSNBC. Are there any nobodies in this club?”

  “Probably, but none that you haven’t heard of.”

  “Who proposed you?”

  “Salton, just like you. Bill Eggers was my seconder.”

  “It annoys me that Eggers could have proposed me, but didn’t.”

  “Relax, it’s considered ba
d form to propose people you’re in business with. The founders didn’t want this to be a club of businessmen, and there are very few of them on the membership list.”

  “Where is the membership list?”

  “Downstairs there’s a board on the wall with all the names. When a member comes into the building a peg is put next to his name. When he leaves, the peg is removed. You can tell at a glance who’s here and who isn’t.”

  “It’s a very quiet dining room, isn’t it?”

  “These are very quiet people, who are accustomed to being heard without raising their voices.”

  A well-known literary personage in the center of the dining room raised an index finger without looking away from his companion, and a waiter instantly appeared at his side.

  “That’s how you summon a waiter here,” Dino said. “A finger is all it takes.”

  The mayor of New York City, formerly the commissioner of police and Dino’s mentor, entered the dining room with the senior senator from New York, Stanley Bauer. He waved at Stone and Dino, then came over to their table in the bar.

  “Welcome aboard, Stone,” Tom Donnelly said.

  “Thank you, Mayor,” Stone replied, shaking his hand.

  “Dino, you seem to be keeping a lid on things.”

  “That’s because I sit on the lid,” Dino said. “Something you told me to do a long time ago.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to hear my words reverberate from those I instructed,” the mayor said, then returned to his own table.

  “He hasn’t changed,” Stone said.

  “He’s more relaxed, I think. It’s a little scary to think he finds the mayor’s job less stressful than mine.”

  Stone laughed. “Are you finding it stressful, Dino?”

  “All the time—you just have to learn to live with it.”

  Stone looked up and saw a handsome man in a pin-striped suit and a dark, clipped beard enter the room. He wore a diamond earring in one ear. “Did you see that guy at the Saltons’ house in D.C.?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Holly said something about him, I can’t remember exactly what, but it wasn’t favorable.”

  “He’s a Saudi. He’s something either at the embassy in Washington or the UN embassy here, I’m not sure which.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen it in the papers—always on the party pages—but I can’t remember.”

  “Who’s he with?”

  “I don’t know the guy. Why are you interested in them?”

  “I just feel as though I ought to be interested—something Holly said, I guess. I wish I could remember what it was. Maybe I should call her.”

  “Cell phones are a no-no here,” Dino said. “Texting is okay, or e-mails, but not speaking into them.”

  They placed their orders but kept the table in the bar.

  “So, Dino, what’s keeping you awake nights?”

  “Nothing keeps me awake, I sleep like a stone, you should pardon the expression.”

  “Not even terrorism?”

  “What’s the point of losing sleep?” Dino asked. “It wouldn’t solve any problems. I do better if I sleep when I’m in bed and worry when I’m awake.”

  Their lunch arrived. “The food is excellent here,” Stone said.

  “There’s a saying here,” Dino said, “if the food were any better, you couldn’t get a table.”

  14

  HOLLY GOT to her desk on Monday morning at 6:40 AM. Ten minutes later a young woman she didn’t know appeared in the doorway to her office.

  “Yes?” Holly said, then looked again. “My God,” she said. “Millie.”

  “Is this what you had in mind?” Millicent Martindale asked.

  “It’s actually better than what I had in mind. Sit down.”

  Ms. Martindale arranged herself artfully in a chair.

  “Do you have any idea why I made you do the do-over?” Holly asked.

  “I suppose you’re adopting the sexism of the men around here.”

  “The men around here aren’t sexist,” Holly said.

  “Then they’re unlike the men anywhere else.”

  “The difference is, they’re all working for a woman, and if you walk up and down the halls of the West Wing, you’ll see that a small majority of the people at the desks are women. Men work for them.”

  “Okay, so why’d you put me through this?”

  “Because I want you to be effective while you’re working here. If you look like somebody who doesn’t give a damn about how she looks to other people, you will put yourself at a distinct disadvantage.”

  “You mean, I only get to make a first impression once?”

  “If you want to reduce it to a cliché, yes. You might recall I demanded something else from you besides clothes and a hairdo.”

  “Oh, yes, the attitude adjustment.”

  “You don’t seem to be quite there yet.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I know, it’s hard to present yourself well when you don’t give a shit what people think of you. The trick is to start giving a shit. If you do, they’ll look upon your advice more favorably, and they’ll remember it, instead of trying to forget it.” Holly sighed. “I don’t know why I have to explain this to you.”

  “My parents have been explaining it to me my whole life.”

  “Try and remember that your parents don’t work in the White House, so there’s no point in continuing to rebel against them here.”

  “I get your point, I really do,” she said, looking at her nails. “I despise nail polish,” she said as an afterthought.

  “Better keep a bottle in your desk so you can repair chips.”

  “You’re not wearing nail polish.”

  “It’s clear—you might try that, if color offends you.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “How’s your memory?” Holly asked.

  “Excellent.”

  Holly picked up a thick file on her desk and tossed it to her. “That’s the latest on Al Qaeda. Memorize it. There’ll be more tomorrow, if not sooner. It’s classified Top Secret and Need to Know, but your security clearance came through on Friday, and you need to know, because I say you do.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Millie said, then got up and went to her desk alongside that of Marge in Holly’s anteroom.

  Holly was alone at a table in the White House Mess, having lunch, when another woman pulled up a chair and set down her tray. “Mind if I join you, Holly?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’m Ann Keaton, the president’s chief of staff.” She extended a hand.

  Holly shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot.”

  “I understand we have a mutual acquaintance in Stone Barrington.”

  “We do?”

  “It’s more in the past tense for me—I’m seeing somebody else now.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I just wanted to clear the air, because you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

  “The air is clear,” Holly said. “I look forward to working with you.”

  Ann had some soup. “I hear you’ve been working practically underground for a while.”

  Holly laughed. “Practically. Now I get to see the sun sometimes.”

  “I know how you feel—working in the campaign was like that for me. I hear you found an apartment already. Where?”

  “Down Pennsylvania Avenue a good ways, over an antique shop.”

  “Have the security people vetted it yet?”

  “They spent most of the weekend with me, stomping around the place in their work boots.”

  “And you gave them a key?”

  “Yes, and they were kind enough to give me
my entry code, after they installed the new security system. They put in a direct line to the White House switchboard, too.”

  “Did they explain that any intrusions will alert our security police, instead of the old alarm system operators?”

  “Yes, though I’m not sure yet that that is an improvement.”

  “You’ll find that it is. Did they repair the plaster and clean up after themselves?”

  “They did, amazingly enough. Then I had to explain to my landlord why his key doesn’t work anymore and how he can’t come into the apartment unless I’m there.”

  “How are you feeling about the security cameras?”

  “I’m okay with that, now, after taping over the ones in my bedroom and bathroom.”

  Ann laughed. “I did the same thing. I expected to get flak for it, but I didn’t.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll look forward to no flak.”

  “Kate . . . I’m sorry, the president . . . thinks not just highly, but warmly of you—more so than just about anybody on the staff.”

  “That’s very kind of her, but she has always been very kind to me, since I worked for Lance and, later, for her, at the Agency.”

  “Do you stay in touch with Lance?”

  “He called on my first day to welcome me to Washington. That’s it, so far.”

  “You need to be careful with Lance.”

  “I’ve been careful with Lance since the first time I clapped eyes on him,” Holly said, “and I’ve never seen any reason to change that.”

  “Holly, I think you’re going to do very well in the White House.”

  “I hope you’re right, Ann.”

  The two finished their lunch talking about whatever came up, then they walked back to their offices, together most of the way.

  15

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Stone got a call from Bob Cantor.

  “Hey, Bob.”

  “Stone, we’re done at Pat Frank’s place. We wired her apartment, the front door, and the doctor’s office, after hours, and we changed the relevant locks. She’s about as secure as she’s going to get. Oh, and she does have a gun. When she was an airline pilot she qualified to be armed aboard her flights, and when the airline went belly-up, she kept the gun. She’s licensed to carry in Kansas, but unlicensed anywhere else, except on a dead airline.”