by Stuart Woods
“This is lovely,” she said. “I’ve heard of Turtle Bay, but I’ve never been here.”
“You’ll always be welcome.”
“How long are you going to live here?”
“Stone has said I can stay as long as I like, but eventually I’ll want to buy something.”
“Wait a minute, Stone Barrington?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“No, but my boss and her husband are very tight with him.”
“Right.”
“Listen, I’d better explain about my face.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Let’s get it out of the way. After our training at the Farm I was stationed in various parts of the Middle East, the last in Israel. I was sitting in an outdoor café in Jerusalem with one of my local sources, and the place got hit in a drive-by, sprayed with automatic weapons fire. I woke up in a hospital two days later. A couple of days after that the Agency airlifted me home and put me in Walter Reed Hospital, where I had a number of surgeries over four months, then spent another seven months in rehabilitation. The Agency kept me on the payroll through all that, but afterward, I didn’t want another foreign assignment, so I resigned and came to New York.”
“You seem to be fine now,” he said.
“I am fine—an occasional headache, but that’s it. I still have one more surgery to go, but I’m glad to be out of the line of fire.”
“I don’t blame you,” Charley said.
“What did you do after the Farm?”
“I did hitches in Stockholm and London.”
“Did you learn Swedish?”
“No, I was playing the part of an American businessman, and nobody expected me to speak the language.”
“I assume you didn’t have that problem in London.”
He laughed. “No, not once I got the hang of speaking Britslang.”
“You said you had left St. Clair. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to work with Stone and your boss, Mike Freeman, doing mergers and acquisitions in a partnership we’re forming. I’ll be working in your office building.”
“So you’ll be conveniently located.”
He smiled. “You, too.”
—
THEY DINED AT a table in the living room as rain began to fall outside.
“I don’t know any restaurants with food this good,” Kaley said during the main course, “or with a better cellar.”
“Stone lives well,” Charley said. “Tell me, do you know anything else about Jake Herman, other than what you’ve already told me?”
“Not really, but I formed the impression that he was a pretty tough guy, and that he was doing dirty work for St. Clair, and I didn’t want to be involved in that. He was inordinately impressed that I had served with the Agency, and he pressed me to tell him about the skills I’d learned at the Farm. I just told him I couldn’t talk about it.”
“Did you meet St. Clair?”
“Just in passing. He stopped by Herman’s office, and I was introduced. He seemed much nicer than Jake Herman.”
“He seemed that way to me, too, but then I wondered why he was employing people like Jake Herman.”
“A very good point.”
“Since St. Clair died, the place is being run by a guy named Erik Macher, who struck me as not much better than Jake. I viewed the place as a snake pit, and I got out after less than a month. Herman actually tracked me to Stone’s house, although I made a minor effort to cover my tracks. Our instructors at the Farm would be ashamed. Macher’s got a couple of guys in the block, now, keeping an eye out for me.”
“What do they want from you?”
“I think they’re worried about what I might know more than they think about how they do business. A pall of paranoia hangs over St. Clair.”
“What did you find out while you were there?”
“Well, for a start, Macher and the company’s lawyer falsified St. Clair’s will in a manner that gave Macher control of the whole shebang. They also made an effort, though not an illegal one, to take over the Carlsson Clinic, but Stone got involved and put an end to their bid.”
“I know a little about that. The clinic is our client now, and my boss, Viv, oversaw their security. It’s still going on.”
Fred Flicker came in to take their dishes, and Charley introduced him to Kaley.
“When you’re ready to leave, miss,” Fred said, “I’ll drive you home. We have unwelcome visitors outside that you don’t want to meet while looking for a cab.”
“Thank you, Fred,” Charley said. When he had gone, Charley told her about the butler. “Fred’s an ex–Royal Marine commando, and tough as nails. You’ll be safe with him, and you’ll depart from the garage without being seen on the street.”
“It’s like being back at the Agency,” Kaley said.
—
AFTER DINNER, it didn’t take long for them to be back in bed together.
“Just like the old days,” Kaley said, when they had both climaxed.
“Better,” Charley replied. “We’re older and wiser. And I have the feeling that the next few years are going to be the best I’ve known. Of course, I’ll need your company to enjoy them fully.”
“That’s nice to know,” she said.
“What sort of work has Strategic Services had you doing?”
“Personal protection stuff, at first, Secret Service–like. Viv and I have become close, though, and I’m working more with her on security evaluation and planning, and I like that. Occasionally, I still go out with a team, as I did at the Carlsson Clinic. I and another woman were assigned to Marisa, the daughter, and the old man became enamored of my partner. They’ve been seeing each other since. There’s an age difference, but it doesn’t seem to bother either of them.”
—
AROUND MIDNIGHT, after they had showered and dressed, Charley buzzed Fred, then he walked Kaley to the garage and put her into the Bentley. He made a point of getting back inside before the garage door opened, but he could hear the rain coming down hard.
“I hope you didn’t bring an umbrella!” he yelled into the night.
28
The following morning Fred drove Charley Fox to the Strategic Services building on East Fifty-seventh Street, with his briefcase and a couple of boxes of office stuff. It was still raining.
“Mr. Fox, you’ll be happy to hear your two tails got properly doused last night,” Fred said.
“That does make me happy.”
“There are two new ones there this morning, in raincoats, hats, and carrying umbrellas like weapons. They look like proper spies.”
“They don’t have wheels, do they?”
“No, don’t worry, they’re not following us. Still, I’ll take further precautions.” Fred made a couple of unnecessary course alterations, then pulled up under the portico of the building and carried Charley’s boxes inside for him.
Charley presented himself at the front desk, showed them two picture IDs, then was photographed and presented with a newly minted security badge to clip to his breast pocket. A man in a black suit led him to an elevator and up to the fourth floor.
“My name is Chaney, Mr. Fox. You’ll be pretty much alone on this floor,” the man said, “as it’s kept for expansion and for lone wolves like you. Two temporaries—a receptionist and a secretary—have been assigned to you, until you find your own.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chaney,” Charley replied.
They came to a double glass door on which had been affixed the words THE TRIANGLE PARTNERSHIP in large gold letters. An attractive young woman sat behind the front desk.
“Mr. Fox, this is Stella, your receptionist.”
They shook hands.
“Welcome to Strategic Services,” she said. “I’m sorry—to The Triangle Partnership.”
“I’ll have to get used to that myself,” Charley said.
They continued to an office suite, where a middle-aged woman was occupying the secretary’
s desk.
“This is Maggie Everson,” Chaney said. “She’ll be running you.”
Charley laughed and shook her hand. “I’ll look forward to that, Maggie.”
“He’s all yours,” Chaney said, and exited.
Maggie led him into a roomy corner office with a desk, a small conference table and other matching pieces of furniture, plus a seating area with a leather sofa and matching chairs. “We’ve got a warehouse full of stuff downtown, if there’s anything you want to shop for,” Maggie said. She opened the wide curtains, revealing a rain-swept garden below. “There’s a lot of sun when it comes out.”
“This looks very well equipped,” Charley replied. It was much handsomer than his offices at either Goldman Sachs or St. Clair.
Maggie opened a desk drawer and handed him a box of business cards. “There’s engraved stationery in the other drawers, and here’s your new cell phone.” She handed him the latest iPhone. “If you want to keep your old phone, as well, I can have your calls transferred to this one. It has some Strategic Services apps and security features that I’ll take you through later. You should memorize the new number as soon as possible.” She helped him open his boxes and distribute his belongings.
“Your computer is an Apple mini Mac, and our usual software has been customized for the purposes of Triangle.” She took him through the operation of the computer, then showed him how the phone system worked. “You have a direct line for personal calls, three office lines, and three fax lines. Line one is the one on your business cards, and your new e-mail address is there, too—charlesfox-at-triangleparnership-dot-com. Stella is the phone operator, as well as the receptionist, and she answers all incoming calls, except your direct, private line. There are four other offices attached to this suite for future hirees. They have their own phone and fax lines. Your fax machine is outside, next to my desk.” She opened a cabinet across the room to reveal a clever kitchenette, a well-stocked bar, with an ice maker and a coffee and espresso maker. “What else can I tell you?”
“Where’s the men’s room?” Charley asked.
She laughed and pointed at a door across the room. “That’s your private one, and it has a shower, too. There’s a bed, too, should you need to pull an all-nighter. Strategic Services frowns on sex in the office, but then this isn’t their office, it’s yours, and their rules don’t apply.”
Charley laughed. “Good to know.”
“Visitors must check in first downstairs, as you did, and they’ll be issued with visitors’ passes. If some of your visitors are regular, they can be issued with permanent passes.”
“That’s fine.”
“Two floors up there are two restaurants—a cafeteria for all employees and a more luxurious one called Safe House, with its own chef, for senior officers. You may use either. They’ll swipe the bar code from your security ID and bill Triangle for all charges. Anything else?”
“Not right now. Thanks, Maggie.”
She left, and a moment later there was a knock on the door, and Stone Barrington and Mike Freeman entered, one carrying a champagne bucket and the other a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame.
“Welcome,” Stone said, opening the bottle and grabbing three glasses from the bar. They raised them and drank.
“So,” Mike said, “how much money have you made for us so far?”
“Zip,” Charley replied, “but I have some ideas. I also have a list of companies that Christian St. Clair was interested in, glommed from his computer system. I think I’ll start with those.”
“You can hire anybody you want for receptionist and secretary,” Mike said, “but if you’re happy with these two, I’ll transfer them.”
“I’ll let you know. There are also two people at Goldman that I’d like to steal from them.”
“Go right ahead,” Stone said. “You’re going to need help.”
“Make up your own office budget and send it to me,” Mike said. “We’ll also take care of background checks on the people you want to hire. Anybody who works in this building has to submit to that, and they’re thorough. Don’t commit to a hiring until that has been done. It rarely takes more than a few hours.”
“Of course. What about polygraphs?”
“Only for senior Strategic Services staff, and those others we may have questions about.”
“I’d like to have full workups on Erik Macher, Jake Herman, and Thomas Berenson, the St. Clair lawyer.”
“Good idea,” Mike said, “always good to know about the opposition. I understand you’re acquainted with Kaley Weiss.”
“You’re very well informed.”
“I try to be. What, may I ask, is your relationship?”
“Close,” Charley replied. “We knew each other at the Farm, but our duties separated us after that. We had dinner last night and renewed our acquaintance.”
“Well, we’ve already run our background check on you, Charley, and as far as Strategic Services is concerned, you are qualified to continue seeing her.”
Charley laughed. “I’m relieved to hear it—it saves me from having to tell you to go fuck yourself.”
Everybody laughed, but Charley had made his point.
29
Jake knocked on Macher’s office door and was shouted in.
“What is it?” Macher asked sourly. He had been in a bad mood since Fox had so suddenly departed.
“Just an update,” Jake said. “I’m getting no results on watching Barrington’s house. His car has left the garage a couple of times, but the windows are tinted and my guys can’t spot who’s inside. Also, they weren’t dressed for last night’s unforecast big rain, and one of them has what sounds like walking pneumonia and is going to be in bed for a few days.”
“Did you put new people on it? People with umbrellas, maybe?”
“Yes, sir, they’re on station now, but they’re getting nothing. Also, I think there may be a rear way out of the house, through the common garden, but we can’t cover that. It’s private, and somebody would immediately call the cops.”
“Maybe it’s time to hurt somebody.”
“What would that accomplish, sir? We’ve lost the Carlsson takeover, and we can’t get that back.”
“All right, just annoy them, make them think we’re thinking about them.”
Jake sighed. “All right, sir. I’ll have my men take out a couple of the Bentley’s tires. That will take time and effort to correct. The car will have to be flat-bedded to a dealer.”
“Call it a goodbye kiss,” Macher said, managing what resembled a little smile.
“I’m on it.”
“Oh, and I’ve made two new bids for small companies, ones that were on a list Christian was working from.”
“What are they?”
“An electronic parts maker and a company that sends out mechanics to work on cars at people’s homes or garages. They’ve already got twenty-five men working in the city, and they’re ready to expand to other cities, if they can get fresh capital.”
“Sounds great. I hope you didn’t underbid, like Christian did.”
“Get out of here,” Macher growled. “And keep an eye on the computer file of those two companies.”
“Yes, sir.”
—
FRED WAS BACKING the Bentley out of the garage when he felt two small jolts to the car, one in back, one in front. He had a notion of what that was, but he waited until he had turned onto Third Avenue before getting out and inspecting the vehicle. There were two small marks, one on a rear tire, one on a front tire. He found a place at the curb and called his boss.
“Yes, Fred?” Stone asked.
“Mr. Barrington, our two watchers outside the house have taken a couple of potshots at two of our tires.”
“With what effect?”
“No real effect, sir, since the tires are the special ones you ordered, constructed to absorb rounds and reseal. I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Any reason to take it to the dealer?”
“I shouldn’t think so, sir.”
“Then carry on.”
“Yes, sir.” Fred got back into the car and continued on his mission.
—
STONE WAS THINKING this over when Dino called.
“Hey.”
“You sound thoughtful,” Dino said. “Something on your mind?”
“Yes. Macher has two people watching the house. We’ve been ignoring them, but this morning they tried to shoot out two of the Bentley’s tires. No effect, since they’re security equipment. Still, I don’t think I should let it go unanswered.”
“Are they still there?”
“They’re always there. This morning they were both wearing trench coats, hats, and carrying umbrellas.”
“Leave it to me,” Dino said. “I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Sure, just the two of us?”
“Yeah, Viv is traveling.”
“You mind if I bring my new investment partner, Charley Fox? He’s an interesting guy—CIA, followed by Goldman Sachs and St. Clair.”
“Sure. P. J. Clarke’s at seven?”
“See you then.”
Joan came into his office. “I thought you’d like to know that I just saw the cops pick up our two watchers outside.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Any trouble?”
“An argument, quickly resolved by the uniforms. They’re gone.”
—
JAKE HERMAN WAS at his desk when a call came in. “This is Jake.”
“Jake, it’s Martini. Gimlet and I got busted outside Barrington’s house an hour ago. We need bail money.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Well, you told us to take out two tires on Barrington’s Bentley, and we did, but it drove away. Fifteen minutes later we were busted, and Gimlet doesn’t have his carry permit yet, and we’re both charged with vandalism.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Nineteenth Precinct. They’re taking us downtown to be arraigned in a few minutes.”
“I’ll have a lawyer meet you there.” He hung up and phoned an attorney St. Clair kept on retainer for such things. He didn’t feel like telling Macher about this just yet; he’d let it ride until tomorrow.
